Our Story

When I was seven years old, my family left our home and went to Houston, Texas where my baby brother began the fight for his life. I was introduced the the very tragic world of leukemia and had to learn that children suffer and die. It was 1977 and at that time, most kids diagnosed with cancer did not survive.

My brother Luke was a miracle. He survived his awful disease and today he is healthy and strong. But whenever I think about all those other kids who were fighting for their lives right there at Texas Children's Hospital back then, it crushes me to think that they should be in their 30s and 40s today, but instead 90% of them died.

It was only a couple of years before, that my husband Bill had to endure the horror of blood cancer. In 1974, his little sister Michelle fainted at the lake where their family was fishing. The next day, she was diagnosed with leukemia. Michelle bravely endured radiation and chemotherapy, but her fight against cancer came to an end one year later at the age of six.

When Bill and I met, I asked him to share with me some of the memories of his sister. He told me how they liked to go swimming together and how they would run and play and chase chickens at their grandparent's ranch. She was his best buddy. Of all the memories he shared, the most vivid of all was that of an 8-year-old boy bending down to a coffin to kiss his sister's cold cheek.

Little boys should not have to endure such pain! Even more troubling- when I think about my in-laws, no parent should have to bury their child! I cannot comprehend the profound sorrow they've had to endure over the loss of their little girl. And I cannot imagine what it must have been like for them when 11 years ago, they got a phone call and heard the news that another of their children had cancer.

I certainly will never forget what that moment was like for me. It was Tuesday, October 14, 2003, just a little before 10:00 that morning when Bill called from his visit to an orthopedic doctor. Bill and I were both competitive swimmers and at the age of 36, Bill decided to branch out into the world of multi sport and begin training for a triathlon. Not long after, his shoulder started hurting so of course, we thought he had a sports injury.

That morning, I thought he was calling to tell me he had a surgery date set. Instead he spoke the words that changed our lives forever: "It's cancer".

Two days later, we walked through the doors of The University of Texas MD Anderson Cancer Center where Bill was diagnosed with stage 4, highly aggressive, completely incurable non-Hodgkin lymphoma. More than 95% of his bone marrow had been replaced by cancer cells. Tumors (mostly the size of large apples) were found in his neck, chest, abdomen and pelvis. The cancer had spread to his bones causing the bones in his shoulders, ribs and hips to die. His body was eaten up with cancer.

Three weeks before this, we were celebrating Bill's 37th birthday and he was training to do his first triathlon. Instead of getting to do that tri, he got to start intensive chemotherapy. For the next several months of our lives, I watched my strong, athletic, young husband turn into a weak, sick, bald, thin old man. His treatments had to be aggressive because his disease was so aggressive. 

He suffered from vomiting, hair loss and constant sickness. He had burn marks on his skin because the chemo was burning him from the inside out. He was hospitalized with infections and I could only sit by his side and pray that he would survive.

And to make the troubles even more intense, we had a 5-year-old daughter and a 3-year-old son at home afraid and having to grow up much too soon. Without my mom's support, we could have never endured. She's the most angelic person I have ever known.

One moment I will never forget was the morning Bill's doctor walked into the exam room and said, "you're in complete remission". It was a shock. A good shock. But it was so strange. I thought, "why aren't we more excited? This is good news." And it certainly was amazing news. But there was still this dark cloud. You see, follicular NHL is completely incurable. So, while they can treat it and often achieve a remission, they cannot cure it and in 2004, there was a 98% chance it would recur and take his life within five years.

This meant we were back in the chemo unit an hour later for more nasty infusions of poison. Finally Bill finished that chemo in May 2004 so we re-gathered and tried to decide what to do next. The options were horrifying. Interferon for two years? More chemo for 18 months or longer? What? No way! Then we decided to try something that, for the time, was a little different. A monoclonal antibody called Rituximab had recently been approved by the FDA to use with chemo. This drug was made with mouse and human proteins and specifically looked for a protein called CD20 on a cell wall. When it finds that protein, it attaches itself to the cells that have it and kills those cells, but only those cells. It targets specific cells or in other words it's what is known as a "targeted therapy".

So, although the FDA had not approved it for maintenance therapy, we decided to use it that way anyway. By targeting only the cells where Bill's cancer originated, we were leaving his normal, healthy cells unharmed. So on Rituximab, his hair grew back. He didn't vomit all the time. He got strong and healthy again. In fact, only four months after finishing the intensive chemo, Bill finally did that long-awaited triathlon!

The day he crossed the finish line in that race, my kids and I stood at the finish line cheering. Tears poured down my cheeks. We witnessed Bill Crews, our hero, go from sick and almost dead to strong and athletic once again. And, we were all motivated. The kids and I started racing triathlons too.

Bill and I joined Team In Training with the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and started raising funds for cancer research while racing in triathlons and marathons. Every three months Bill would go in for an eight hour infusion of Rituximab. There were side effects. And there were long term side effects from his original chemo, but he was thriving. He was living life to the fullest. The only thing I said no to was the Ironman.

The chemo had likely caused damage to Bill's heart and I wanted him to be completely done with treatments before attempting the full 140.6 mile race. In July 2006, Bill finished Rituximab. Following treatments, he had a few complications and had to do IVIG and some other smaller procedures over the next year. But no one could tell by looking at him that he had ever had anything wrong.

Finally, he completed all treatments so of course, he called me from work one morning and said, "I'd like to register for Ironman." Well, I was going to stay true to my promise that I would support this decision once treatments were done. But what came out of my mouth shocked me...

"OK, sign me up too." WHAT??? He hung up the phone right away.

Ten minutes later, I received an email from Active.com which read, "Congratulations. You are registered for the 2008 Ford Ironman Arizona". Oh my gosh!!!

I did not get to see Bill cross the finish line on April 13, 2008 in Tempe, Arizona. He was ahead of me. That was one tough race. We both had suffered strep throat and I was not reacting well to the penicillin that day. It was 95 degrees and there were wind gusts up to 30 miles per hour on the bike course that day. But, just like we pushed ourselves to endure cancer, we pushed ourselves to endure Ironman.

I will never forget that moment that I turned left and saw the bright lights and heard the loud cheering and music and the finish chute. A volunteer had screamed excitedly at me, "Go Girl! You're 200 yards from becoming an Ironman". I couldn't believe it. I was hurting and exhausted and thinking this would never end. But there it was! And the most amazing thing happened. I saw Bill in the chute! He had finished before me and was standing there waiting to cheer me to the finish. He screamed out my name and then I got to that finish line and heard the words I'd longed to hear for 16 hours: "Dana-Susan Crews from The Woodlands, Texas, you are an IRONMAN!"

Wow, what an adventure. Bill and I endured so much together. We endured good times and bad times and sickness and health. Life is amazing.

Since this all began, our family has pushed ourselves to raise funds and awareness. In 2008 I founded my own charity, The Bill Crews Remission Run. Through this event, I raised funds for the Lymphoma Tissue Bank at MD Anderson. We also continued to support the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society as well as the Lymphoma Research Foundation. It's been quite the thrill. My parents and my sister have also supported our efforts and donated and done fundraising. It's a family affair.

We're not going to stop til there's no more cancer. Cannot wait to see what all the future holds.