There are so many charitable organizations out there and it is unrealistic to think I could give to all of them. One of my favorite charities is the Jimmy Fund. The Dana-Farber Research Center is committed to finding cures to all types of cancer. I hope you see this as one of your favorite worthwhile charities too.

The Jimmy Fund helps young and old alike deal with life threatening cancers.

Here are some moving stories of some very special people who have determination and courage.. inspirational heros... if you will:

Stephen Collins

Reflections of a stem cell recipient

In March 2003, I was diagnosed with a blood disorder called myelodysplasia, also known as myelodysplastic syndrome (MDS). By December, despite getting some treatment, the MDS had progressed to a point where part of it converted to leukemia, which sometimes happens. I have been treated primarily at Dana-Farber. I was hospitalized in the spring of 2004 at Brigham and Women's Hospital, where Dana-Farber inpatients are sent, in order to receive a stem cell transplant.

Although I began to recover, the transplant ultimately did not "take hold," and in seven or eight months I started to relapse. Between March and May of 2005, I returned for two hospitalizations and a second stem cell transplant. So far, the recovery from this procedure has gone well and is showing some promise.

Below are some observations, recollections, and reflections that have accompanied these life-changing events. Some are sobering, others humorous, but all are part of the range of experiences and emotions that we all must go through when we (or our loved ones) find ourselves in this position.

A star is born

I was the 1,000th stem cell transplant recipient from an unrelated donor serviced by Dana-Farber. This was a significant achievement, because not many cancer centers had reached this level.

Why me?

Why not? I was 59 when I got the MDS diagnosis. I've had a good run. Some people don't live nearly that long. We aren't born with a lifetime guarantee, or rather we are, but it's not the same one for everybody. Is it fair that some people seem to have more than their share of problems while others don't? Is life fair? No, and no.

I get the easy part

I've always felt that I, as the patient, have the easiest role to play in all this. If my wife or daughter were going through this crisis, I would be frantic trying to imagine what it was like, and worrying about what was going to happen next. As the patient, I am spared all of this speculation because I'm living it instead. I'm the one who gets the chemo, transfusions, needles, chest X-rays, meds, CT scans, biopsies, good news, and bad. In a weird sort of way, there's a certain level of comfort in all of this, at least for me. Besides, I'm the oldest of the three of us in the family and, since we don't live forever, I should be the first one to go. But let's wait a little while if we can.

I got pretty good at deciding what I'd need and wouldn't need when I went to the hospital. I brought my sense of humor and some patience, but left my dignity at the door. The sights, sounds, smells, and schedule of a hospital, not to mention the skimpy gown you have to wear, are not compatible with dignity. I brought reading material, music, a laptop, and a phone card. Finally, a patient should bring his own, how shall I say it, "bathroom tissue." It's bound to be softer than anything you'll find on the inside. You can thank me later.

The show

During one of my first hospitalizations, I had a bed facing a wall with a mirror. One day, with nothing better to do, I realized that I could raise my arms high enough so that just my fingers showed in the mirror, creating sort of a stage. I played some rock-and-roll and started to move my fingers around in sync with the music, sort of like finger puppets without the puppets. When the intern made her visit, I showed her. She was interested; maybe the team would want to see this later when they came by on rounds, she said. Just in case, I selected the perfect oldie ("Good Lovin'" by the Young Rascals) and the perfect medical lyric ("You've got the fever, yeah, yeah, I've got the cure!"). About mid-morning, the team arrived and wanted to see the show. I gave them an abbreviated demonstration as they all crouched down and stared up at the mirror to get the full "stage" effect. I'll never forget that scene as long as I live.

My donors

Since I was diagnosed with MDS and then leukemia, I have received about 50 units of red blood cells and about a dozen units of platelets. Isn't that an unbelievable quantity? I'm so thankful for the many individuals who are willing to donate blood and platelets whenever they can.

And, what do I say about someone who may have given me my life back? I have been very fortunate that two donors were found who were a sufficient match to qualify me for a stem cell transplant. The doctors told me that my stem cell "profile" was relatively common, making it easier to look for potential matches within the international bone marrow registry. It was one of the few times that I was happy to be considered ordinary. It only takes a mouth swab to get into the bone marrow registry, and a commitment to come forward (if healthy) when called upon. Many insurance companies will cover the processing costs.

Despite its name, and unlike an organ transplant, a stem cell transplant is non-surgical in nature and more closely resembles a blood transfusion. When the big day arrived, a nurse came in and hung the bag of cells on my IV pole, and I lay there and watched what might be my new life drip into me. One of the transplant doctors came by to check on me. "Happy birthday," he said. Two days later, I went home.

What now?

I've heard veterans of Vietnam and more recent conflicts say that once they got home safely, there was a feeling that the rest of their life was a bonus. I guess I sort of feel the same way. I try to live my life as normally as possible, but there's no question that I'm different and, to a degree, I'm now on borrowed time. We all are really, but some of us just happen to have a little more information than others about what might lie ahead. This is not necessarily a bad thing.

The future? If I continue to recover, it will be good to get back to a regular work schedule for a change. A little foreign travel would also be nice, but I have no plans to climb Mt. Everest or race down the Amazon. Paris or Rome would be more like it. In the end, I've always been a person who had found satisfaction in what most people consider very simple pleasures, like sports, music, and the companionship of family and friends. I doubt that this will change much now.

Whatever happens, you can be sure that I'll be trying not to get too far ahead of myself and to take it one day at a time. Wish me luck.

Beating Cancer

Cancer doesn't discriminate. It can strike anyone and it affects us all. Man. Woman. Child. People aged 8 days to 80 years. Every day, 3,000 Americans are diagnosed with the disease. But with your help, the Jimmy Fund is beating cancer.

The Jimmy Fund has been working toward "a world without cancer" for more than 50 years - with the help of thousands of people like you.

Since 1948, when Dana-Farber founder Dr. Sidney Farber was pioneering early methods of chemotherapy in cramped quarters in the basement of Children's Hospital, Jimmy Fund contributions have provided the underlying support for innovative cancer research at Dana-Farber.

Jimmy Fund dollars have enabled Dana-Farber's researchers and clinicians to pursue new ideas and to make discoveries now in use worldwide:

• More advanced diagnostic tools to detect cancer earlier
• New drugs and new combinations of drugs to treat cancer more effectively and with fewer side effects
• More precise radiation techniques
• Better surgical options
• Deeper understanding of the factors that cause cancer and the development of therapies that prevent the disease

New ways to treat cancers are continually being explored at Dana-Farber, and a new understanding of the basic genetic components of cancer cells has suggested cancer treatment strategies that would have been inconceivable only a decade ago.

Today, nearly 80 percent of children and more than 60 percent of adults with cancer are surviving. But we still have a long way to go: nearly 1.2 million people are expected to be diagnosed with cancer this year.

Each and every gift made to the Jimmy Fund is critical to Dana-Farber's efforts to prevent, treat, and cure cancer. You can help by giving generously to the Jimmy Fund - because it takes more than courage to beat cancer.

Caroline Bridges

Learning a "new normal"

Prior to my cancer diagnosis in December 2006, my normal life involved working two jobs, taking photographs for my school newspaper, and going to classes as a sophomore at Boston University (BU). I went to the gym a few times a week and walked everywhere. I did not always make healthy food choices, but that was fine with me. I partied a bit and flirted some. I paid no heed to my unusually pale skin and frequent, intense bruising.

These symptoms eventually led me to multiple tests at a local hospital, where I heard the words no one wants to hear: leukemia, specifically acute lymphocytic leukemia. It sounded like something you cough up when you have a cold.

Strangely, I was not worried about leukemia. I was more concerned about the fact that the doctor insisted I leave Boston immediately to begin treatment back home, near Chicago. He was adamant that I have a support network close at hand, which meant living, once again, with my parents in my childhood home.

Fighting cancer was no sweat. Losing my hair was hard, but I dealt with it. Nausea was gross and upsetting, but I got over it. Needles do not scare me now (except the huge, intramuscular ones), and I am an ace when it comes to blood draws. No, the hardest thing for me was to give up my "normal" life in return for a hospital room and bedroom full of memories.

Balancing college and cancer

My protocol calls for two years of treatment, so I took a semester off to receive the bulk of it at the University of Chicago Medical Center. The first eight months — January through August 2007 — involved intense chemotherapy, delivered in a 12-by-12-foot room, with vital signs taken every four hours. I had fist-sized bruises from injections, and lukewarm, spongy pasta for dinner — so much for normal. By August, my body was worn down. My white cell counts were taking too long to rebuild, so my final doses of chemotherapy were delayed for weeks.

This delay upset me terribly, but it ended up being a good thing, because my doctor told me I could return to BU for the fall semester and complete my treatment at Dana-Farber. When I moved into my apartment in Boston, I was barely strong enough to walk up the two flights of stairs to my new world. Still, on the first day of class, I was overjoyed that I had met my personal goal of returning to school.

The next four months were harder than the previous eight. Besides having to remember how to study and interact with my peers, I still had to go to Dana-Farber to finish my chemo. That phase ended in November, and I began another phase last January, which involves pills and a monthly injection, and will continue until next December.

The entire time I was in Chicago, in the hospital or at home, the only thing I wanted was to regain my life as a college student in Boston. Still, although my adopted city welcomed me back and freed me from the confines of a house in the suburbs, my life is not normal. It's true, I am healthy, working, and studying like everyone else, but all these things seem new to me. So now, my task is to remember what I've learned: that I can adjust to my "new normal," and I can do it in my own way.

Gifts

A gift to the Jimmy Fund provides hope to adults and children with cancer worldwide. Your support will help fund innovative cancer research and treatment programs at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. Visit http://www.jimmyfund.com

Stories were copied with permission