Hola, Y’all – The events below have been organized by my oncologist, Dr. Stanley Walker, and the Oncology Center of Central Baltimore to benefit the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Thanks! – WPT
***
Help support the Oncology Center of Central Baltimore’s Dr. Stanley Walker in his ongoing bid for the title of the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society’s (LLS) "Man of the Year" at the Guest Bartender Benefit beginning at 7:00 p.m. tonight, Monday, March 1, 2010, at Padonia Station, 63 East Padonia Road, Timonium, Maryland 21093. Join host Adam Walker for a night of trivia, raffles, good food and drink. LLS will receive 15 percent of all sales. Bring your friends and neighbors, too!
The fun for a good cause continues next week when special guests Detour Dave Sandler (WBAL) and Michael Filippelli (100.7-FM "The Bay") tend bar beginning at 7:00 p.m., Wednesday, March 10, 2010, at the Mt. Washington Tavern, 5700 Newbury Street, Baltimore, Maryland 21209. The evening will include a silent auction of sports memorabilia from the likes of Johnny Unitas, Ray Lewis, Cal Ripken, Jr., Brooks Robinson, Todd Heap and more, as well as raffle items all night.
The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society is the world's largest voluntary health organization dedicated to funding blood cancer research, education and patient services. LLS's mission: Cure leukemia, lymphoma, Hodgkin's disease and myeloma, and improve the quality of life of patients and their families. Since the first funding in 1954, LLS has awarded more than $680 million in research funding. Learn more about LLS online at http://www.lls.org/hm_lls.
Showing posts with label oncologist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label oncologist. Show all posts
Monday, March 1, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
School of Rock Concert This Saturday to Support Leukemia & Lymphoma Society of Maryland
Hi, all,
Per below....Dr. Walker and his staff treated me for non-Hodgkin's lymphoma nearly three years ago, and without them I wouldn't be here. This event, which he has helped to orchestrate, benefits the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society of Maryland. And if you know of anyone who may be interested in this event, please feel free to share. Thanks! - WPT
School of Rock Baltimore
Presents
A Concert to Benefit
The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society of Maryland
Saturday, February 20, 2010
7:00 p.m.
Bourbon Street Baltimore
This year, for the first time ever, the School of Rock "Best of Season" show will be a concert to benefit the Maryland Chapter of the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS). LLS is the world's largest voluntary health organization dedicated to funding blood cancer research, education, and patient services. LLS's mission: Cure leukemia, lymphoma, Hodgkin's disease and myeloma, and improve the quality of life of patients and their families.
School of Rock Baltimore is partnering with Dr. Stan Walker, a Baltimore Medical Oncologist who has been nominated for the LLS Man of the Year. The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's Man & Woman of the Year (MWOY) campaign is a fundraising competition in communities across the U.S. in which participants vie for the title of Man or Woman of the Year. They raise funds for blood cancer research in honor of local children who are blood cancer survivors, the Boy & Girl of the Year. MWOY is one of hundreds of fundraising events held each year by LLS.
Like previous "Best of Season" shows, this benefit concert will include student-performed songs from each of the Winter 2010 seasonal shows. In addition, there will be performances by special musical guests, live and silent auctions, and appearances by local celebrities. We hope to show just how strong our School of Rock family is by raising a significant amount of money for this worthy charity.
How can you help?
* Buy tickets! 100% of the ticket sales go directly to LLS. Tickets for the benefit are just $20 each* and will be available beginning Saturday, January 9th at the Clapton show. After the 9th, tickets will be on sale at the School of Rock and upcoming seasonal shows.
* Sell tickets! Reach out to family, friends, neighbors, and coworkers for support for this special event. Many of you work for companies that will buy blocks of tickets as a charitable donation so please check into that. Again, 100% of the ticket sales will go directly to LLS.
* Donate and solicit auction items/services. To help us reach our fundraising goal, we need items/services for live and silent auctions. Contact School of Rock parent Chris Tittel at 443-956-3499 or ctittel@comcast.net with auction items. 100% of the money raised at the auction will go to the charity!
* Monetary donations. Monetary donations are greatly appreciated and provide a great way to participate if you can't attend the benefit. Many employers offer a charitable donation-matching program so please check with your employer. We will collect donations at the School of Rock and at each of the seasonal shows.
Again, 100% of all proceeds will be donated to the Maryland Chapter of the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society -- that means 100% of all ticket sales, 100% of all auction items, and 100% of all donations.
So, spread the word, talk it up, and let's fill the venue. Let's give back and help our kids help others.
* Each School of Rock student performing in the "Best of Season" show gets into the show for free. Each School of Rock family will be offered their first two tickets for the price of one. Each additional ticket will be $20.
Per below....Dr. Walker and his staff treated me for non-Hodgkin's lymphoma nearly three years ago, and without them I wouldn't be here. This event, which he has helped to orchestrate, benefits the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society of Maryland. And if you know of anyone who may be interested in this event, please feel free to share. Thanks! - WPT
School of Rock Baltimore
Presents
A Concert to Benefit
The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society of Maryland
Saturday, February 20, 2010
7:00 p.m.
Bourbon Street Baltimore
This year, for the first time ever, the School of Rock "Best of Season" show will be a concert to benefit the Maryland Chapter of the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS). LLS is the world's largest voluntary health organization dedicated to funding blood cancer research, education, and patient services. LLS's mission: Cure leukemia, lymphoma, Hodgkin's disease and myeloma, and improve the quality of life of patients and their families.
School of Rock Baltimore is partnering with Dr. Stan Walker, a Baltimore Medical Oncologist who has been nominated for the LLS Man of the Year. The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's Man & Woman of the Year (MWOY) campaign is a fundraising competition in communities across the U.S. in which participants vie for the title of Man or Woman of the Year. They raise funds for blood cancer research in honor of local children who are blood cancer survivors, the Boy & Girl of the Year. MWOY is one of hundreds of fundraising events held each year by LLS.
Like previous "Best of Season" shows, this benefit concert will include student-performed songs from each of the Winter 2010 seasonal shows. In addition, there will be performances by special musical guests, live and silent auctions, and appearances by local celebrities. We hope to show just how strong our School of Rock family is by raising a significant amount of money for this worthy charity.
How can you help?
* Buy tickets! 100% of the ticket sales go directly to LLS. Tickets for the benefit are just $20 each* and will be available beginning Saturday, January 9th at the Clapton show. After the 9th, tickets will be on sale at the School of Rock and upcoming seasonal shows.
* Sell tickets! Reach out to family, friends, neighbors, and coworkers for support for this special event. Many of you work for companies that will buy blocks of tickets as a charitable donation so please check into that. Again, 100% of the ticket sales will go directly to LLS.
* Donate and solicit auction items/services. To help us reach our fundraising goal, we need items/services for live and silent auctions. Contact School of Rock parent Chris Tittel at 443-956-3499 or ctittel@comcast.net with auction items. 100% of the money raised at the auction will go to the charity!
* Monetary donations. Monetary donations are greatly appreciated and provide a great way to participate if you can't attend the benefit. Many employers offer a charitable donation-matching program so please check with your employer. We will collect donations at the School of Rock and at each of the seasonal shows.
Again, 100% of all proceeds will be donated to the Maryland Chapter of the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society -- that means 100% of all ticket sales, 100% of all auction items, and 100% of all donations.
So, spread the word, talk it up, and let's fill the venue. Let's give back and help our kids help others.
* Each School of Rock student performing in the "Best of Season" show gets into the show for free. Each School of Rock family will be offered their first two tickets for the price of one. Each additional ticket will be $20.
Monday, November 2, 2009
In Case You Missed It...
Listen to Smile, Hon, You're in Baltimore! Editor William P. Tandy on the October 9 edition of local arts and culture program The Signal.
Monday, October 12, 2009
THE SIGNAL Redux
In case you missed the program (or have any interest), here is an MP3 of last Friday's edition of The Signal (88.1 WYPR-FM, Baltimore's NPR affiliate), featuring my essay "Late for Work"...
Monday, September 21, 2009
Late for Work
I arrived at work late this morning, having paid a visit to the oncology center for my regular checkup. Since undergoing chemotherapy, the frequency of such visits has gone from once a week to once every other month.
Today was the first day for the temp nurse who drew my blood. She’s filling in for one of the regular nurses while she’s out on maternity leave.
“I used to have great veins before I started coming here,” I warned her.
She spent a minute or two trying to spike the chemo-scarred vein inside my left elbow without striking paydirt. “Try somewhere else?” she asked after noticing my obvious discomfort.
“Please.” She had better luck with the back of my hand.
“That one just kept rolling out of the way,” she said, indicating the fruitless vein near my elbow. “If I were you, I’d tell everyone to just stay away from that one, as it’s basically kaput.”
The subsequent checkup went off without a hitch. Blood counts were good – or good for me, anyway. No signs, no symptoms. My doctor asked if I’d be participating in the Komen Race for the Cure again this year. I’ve walked with his team for the big annual fundraiser, geared specifically toward breast cancer (though I had non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma), every year since I finished treatment.
“Absolutely,” I said. This year will be my third walking with them.
“Great,” he said. “We need your support, not to mention that picture of you jumping through the fire.” He grinned at the mention of the profile picture I use on my fundraising homepage. He likes the picture, and from what he’s said, I gather there are few pix of his “alumni” leaping over bonfires.
On my way out of the office, I stopped by the front desk to schedule an appointment for my quarterly CT scan. I didn’t even recognize my friend Jeff nearby; rather, it was he who noticed me.
“There’s my friend!” he said with a big smile. I turned and smiled, and nearly at once realized who it was.
“Jeff!” I said, and we shook hands. I’d venture to guess Jeff is in his early 40s, and I’m ashamed to admit I don’t recall the exact type of cancer he was facing treatment for. For some reason, lung cancer comes to mind. We first met around the time I was finishing my treatment. We’d pass each other in the waiting area, or in the hospital hallways outside the oncology center. When I’d last seen him, nearly a year earlier, he was lean (though not alarmingly so), and his hair had just started falling out from a new treatment he had started.
But this morning he looked different. His head was topped with the soft, fine, wispy hair of a cancer patient, but his face and body were extraordinarily bloated – likely the product of steroids that comprise part of his treatment. He looked tired, though his expression suggested that seeing me had mustered within him genuine enthusiasm.
But the most notable difference this morning was that Jeff was in a wheelchair.
The receptionist called his name, indicating that it was his turn to head back to see the doctor. A young woman stood up from one of the nearby chairs and walked over to wheel him back. Jeff introduced her as his wife, and we shook hands and exchanged a few more words.
“Stay strong, Jeff,” I said, “and I will see you soon again.”
He smiled as his wife took the handles on his chair. “You…you have kids, don’t you?” he asked.
I nodded. “One,” I said. “He’s three.”
“Oh,” Jeff’s wife said, kindly. “We have a 3-year-old, too.”
I smiled. “They’re a handful.” We all laughed, and with that they disappeared down the long, bright hallway that leads to the nurses’ station – and the infusion room.
I was 31 at the time of my diagnosis, my son, just 13-months-old. When the word “cancer” was first suggested to me, it drove everything else in the world from my mind – everything, except for him. Hardly a day goes by that I don’t think of that, and I hope he was young enough at the time that he will have no memories of the whole ordeal.
My next CT scan is scheduled for five weeks from now – just before my next oncology checkup. I picked up the appointment form, put on my sunglasses and walked out into the warm morning light.
I was 90 minutes late for work.
And when I got there, I cried.
Today was the first day for the temp nurse who drew my blood. She’s filling in for one of the regular nurses while she’s out on maternity leave.
“I used to have great veins before I started coming here,” I warned her.
She spent a minute or two trying to spike the chemo-scarred vein inside my left elbow without striking paydirt. “Try somewhere else?” she asked after noticing my obvious discomfort.
“Please.” She had better luck with the back of my hand.
“That one just kept rolling out of the way,” she said, indicating the fruitless vein near my elbow. “If I were you, I’d tell everyone to just stay away from that one, as it’s basically kaput.”
The subsequent checkup went off without a hitch. Blood counts were good – or good for me, anyway. No signs, no symptoms. My doctor asked if I’d be participating in the Komen Race for the Cure again this year. I’ve walked with his team for the big annual fundraiser, geared specifically toward breast cancer (though I had non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma), every year since I finished treatment.
“Absolutely,” I said. This year will be my third walking with them.
“Great,” he said. “We need your support, not to mention that picture of you jumping through the fire.” He grinned at the mention of the profile picture I use on my fundraising homepage. He likes the picture, and from what he’s said, I gather there are few pix of his “alumni” leaping over bonfires.
On my way out of the office, I stopped by the front desk to schedule an appointment for my quarterly CT scan. I didn’t even recognize my friend Jeff nearby; rather, it was he who noticed me.
“There’s my friend!” he said with a big smile. I turned and smiled, and nearly at once realized who it was.
“Jeff!” I said, and we shook hands. I’d venture to guess Jeff is in his early 40s, and I’m ashamed to admit I don’t recall the exact type of cancer he was facing treatment for. For some reason, lung cancer comes to mind. We first met around the time I was finishing my treatment. We’d pass each other in the waiting area, or in the hospital hallways outside the oncology center. When I’d last seen him, nearly a year earlier, he was lean (though not alarmingly so), and his hair had just started falling out from a new treatment he had started.
But this morning he looked different. His head was topped with the soft, fine, wispy hair of a cancer patient, but his face and body were extraordinarily bloated – likely the product of steroids that comprise part of his treatment. He looked tired, though his expression suggested that seeing me had mustered within him genuine enthusiasm.
But the most notable difference this morning was that Jeff was in a wheelchair.
The receptionist called his name, indicating that it was his turn to head back to see the doctor. A young woman stood up from one of the nearby chairs and walked over to wheel him back. Jeff introduced her as his wife, and we shook hands and exchanged a few more words.
“Stay strong, Jeff,” I said, “and I will see you soon again.”
He smiled as his wife took the handles on his chair. “You…you have kids, don’t you?” he asked.
I nodded. “One,” I said. “He’s three.”
“Oh,” Jeff’s wife said, kindly. “We have a 3-year-old, too.”
I smiled. “They’re a handful.” We all laughed, and with that they disappeared down the long, bright hallway that leads to the nurses’ station – and the infusion room.
I was 31 at the time of my diagnosis, my son, just 13-months-old. When the word “cancer” was first suggested to me, it drove everything else in the world from my mind – everything, except for him. Hardly a day goes by that I don’t think of that, and I hope he was young enough at the time that he will have no memories of the whole ordeal.
My next CT scan is scheduled for five weeks from now – just before my next oncology checkup. I picked up the appointment form, put on my sunglasses and walked out into the warm morning light.
I was 90 minutes late for work.
And when I got there, I cried.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Can't, Sir
Ain't gonna worry wrinklin' my brow
'Cause nothin's ever gonna be alright nohow
No matter how I struggle and strive
I'll never get out of this world alive...
HANK WILLIAMS, "I'll Never Get Out of This World Alive"
Bimonthly visit to the oncologist this morning. Numbers okay, but unexpected internal swelling has landed me an appointment with another specialist, as well as a return to the oncology center in a month.
Ah, well - fuck it. Great life if you don't weaken - and what better evidence of this than Hank III covering one of his granddaddy's many timeless classics...
'Cause nothin's ever gonna be alright nohow
No matter how I struggle and strive
I'll never get out of this world alive...
HANK WILLIAMS, "I'll Never Get Out of This World Alive"
Bimonthly visit to the oncologist this morning. Numbers okay, but unexpected internal swelling has landed me an appointment with another specialist, as well as a return to the oncology center in a month.
Ah, well - fuck it. Great life if you don't weaken - and what better evidence of this than Hank III covering one of his granddaddy's many timeless classics...
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