It was Fran Delaney night on that second Tuesday in June, 2007.  That particular Cruise Night in Norwich, Ct. was dedicated to Fran who was quite the car enthusiast. He was proud of his ’57 Chevy and his ’67 Chevelle S 96 Super Sport. At one time he even had his own race car. He loved life and was loved by everyone who was close to him. He was also somebody who fought a tough battle with multiple myeloma. Yet, through his myeloma years, he always held onto his optimism and kindness, and he would give you the shirt off his back, or at least his jacket.

I first met Carl Sherman outside a diner In Old Saybrook, Ct. He was a friendly and likeable character who had been diagnosed with multiple myeloma. He asked questions concerning my treatment, and at the time, he was considering an autologous transplant. A transplant seemed right for him, after all, it seemed that Sherman has been transplanted many times to many places. His office was his cell phone, and he had always gone far and wide to seek a fortune, and why not do the same when it comes to staying ahead of a deadly disease? He has always been the man on the move. Actually, in an 11-year period he moved 17 times.

“I knew that you didn’t see a hematologist and have a bone marrow biopsy when you had a hangnail.” That is how Joe Schwarz put it when he was being diagnosed for multiple myeloma in 1984. Now, nearly a quarter of a century later Dr.Schwarz, still an active, productive astrophysicist explains his disease and treatment. During these decades, Joe did have some remission, but for so many of these years, his myeloma was active, and he needed ongoing treatment that carried him from an early experimental transplant through the more common stem cell procedures, and even a bone marrow transplant from a sister who had two bouts of breast cancer. He is a marathon runner, too. And now, Joe seems to be setting another pace – this one to becoming the longest surviving myeloma patient with active disease. We are all out there on the track with him – following his lead, hoping we can make it, too.

“See, Stottlemyre’s so good even Brayton can’t catch him.” That’s how one fan summed up the experience when a very young Mel Stottlemyre was playing high school baseball, and legendary coach Bobo Brayton was catching for him – just to check out the boy wonder. Well, Bobo did have trouble catching Stottlemyre’s hot fast ball, and at the same time, he knew that someone who could make his pitch roar at that intensity toward home plate was bound to have quite a career. After graduating high school, Stottlemyre attended Yakima Valley Community College where Brayton was the coach. The star-to-be wanted to learn from Brayton – especially a particular pitch that worked so well for Brayton. The coach showed Stottlemyre how to throw his famous “sinker,” and it turned out to be Stottlemyre’s pitch of choice as he wound up and delivered for decades in the major leagues. Mel Stottlemyre was a true major leaguer, on the field and off. And when he was diagnosed with multiple myeloma in 1999, he still aimed for the strike zone. Brayton described Stottlemyre’s hands as being as strong as concrete – his heart was just as solid.

Fifty years ago, Walter Levine asked Fritzie Mogford to dance at an NCO club in Colorado, and according to Walter, “We have been dancing ever since.” These 50 years of marriage have brought four children and true lifetime adventures which just could not be imagined or even scripted for the silver screen. Even before his marriage, for Walter, drama was part of his life – building businesses, losing businesses, and building them again - all, at the same time befriending some of the most famous stars in Hollywood and New York. He has a gift of making money, a lot of it. But his real golden touch has arisen from his desire and passion to help others, especially those who are ill. Along with his 50th wedding anniversary, he is now marking his 15th anniversary with multiple myeloma. Walter is a survivor. He says, “I am a tough kid from Brooklyn.”  Maybe, even as tough as they get.

Three hours ago, midnight, I returned from the major annual fundraiser of the Yale Cancer Center. This is the seventh consecutive black-tie gala that I have attended, and each one seems better than the previous one – if only because I am still able to be there. And each year, I am always struck by the doctors, patients and families in the cancer community that so bravely deal with life-threatening diseases. These are truly exceptional people, and right now, I am about to write about an individual who is by far and away one of the most exceptional persons that you could ever know. His life, alone, has meant life to thousands, and yet, some of his most successful and meaningful work occurred while he battled multiple myeloma. Eventually, the disease won that battle, but the more I think about, I believe that Ron Burton really never lost because his legacy goes on – long after his passing.

I was on the telephone with Heather Cavalli when suddenly her eight year- old daughter Cesca (pronounced CHes-ka) burst into the room. It was mid-afternoon, and Cesca just came home from school. Her first words were, “Where’s my horseshoe crab, mommy?”  Heather said to me, “She is just like my mom.” No wonder, her daughter carries the same name as her grandmother, Cesca. But, little Cesca will have some pretty large shoes to fill, if she is proven to be a clone of her grandmother. In fact, senior Cesca was quite the expert on shoes, and many other matters. She was also a medical pioneer whose interest in the natural world extended far beyond horseshoe crabs. She devoted her life to the saving of human lives, including her own, devastated by an incurable blood disease.

December 1989. I could never forget that month. The average temperature was just 18 degrees in Connecticut, and that was the coldest December on record. The temperature was a good 10 degrees below “normal,” and if that difference were to be maintained over a long period, those thoughts of global warming would just be iced over memories. A major glacial advance would get underway. We would experience a new ice age!

It is just before 1:00 am, Sunday, Feb 26, 2006. I enjoy writing during the wee small hours of the morning. Those of you familiar with Dexamethasone know very well that a high dose of the steroid is quite the sleep terminator. But this has been part of my current therapy, and it has worked well over the past three years.