The walk is on Sunday, October 17, 2010 at 9:45 AM in Battery Park.
Click Here to register for the walk – be sure to sign up with Team Amy!!!

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On March 26, 2008, my mom went to the hospital to have a meningioma (a benign, slow growing tumor) removed from the left frontal lobe of her brain. That is what the pre-op note said. Four hours later, we stood in the hallway of Columbia University Medical Center and listened to the surgeon explain that the tumor was actually malignant. It was called Glioblastoma mulitiforme – a grade 4 tumor that is essentially terminal, threatening a less than 5% survival rate for its victims.

Brain tumors are really rare, and no one ever thinks that this sort of thing will happen to them. We believed we’d be the story of hope – the family to defy the statistics; it was the only way to get through the months of doctors appointments, radiation, chemotherapy, and about 1,000 MRIs. But above that, I believed it, because there was nothing my mom couldn’t do. Anyone who knew her knows she was not only a truly kind person, but in many ways she was relentlessly superhuman. She worked full-time as a nurse, and still somehow managed to raise four daughters and run a household. She was pretty successful, too; so far, none of us are delinquents :)

Over the 19 months during which her body was racked with poison, she lost her hair (she really rocked the scarf-around-the-head look) and weakened tremendously. Somehow, she still found a way to laugh with us, and keep our house running (seemingly) effortlessly. Even when she could barely stand up on her own, she insisted on doing the dishes, folding the laundry, and making our beds. She still continued to show concern for what was going on in our lives, and never complained about her own pain. No matter how sick she felt, she kept our house and the rest of our lives together. She was the “Crabtree glue.”

In the 10 months that she has been gone, as my sisters, dad, and I have tried our hands at running the Crabtree household and keeping each other’s lives in order, we are baffled by the amount of effort that went into everything she did. Even with five of us giving it our best (okay, sometimes not our best) efforts, we still come up short. We have started to adjust, though. My dad is learning how to do his own dishes, and he’s already mastered the washing machine!

My mom fought cancer with a combination of grace and vigor I never knew a person could possess. She always smiled and tried to laugh at the mishaps that are inherent in the side effect profile of a brain tumor. However, even with her upbeat humor and positive attitude, the tumor took over last summer, and the pain and frustration we all tried to ease and assuage as she struggled to communicate and lost her ability to move, eventually overwhelmed all of us in the final weeks when we realized there were no more answers.

This is why we need to keep walking – because 40,000 people in the United States are diagnosed with brain tumors every year, and over half of those tumors are malignant. This is a small number, but the worst part about brain tumors is that they can happen to anyone. No one is "at risk" for a brain tumor, and for that reason, everyone is. As far as science knows, brain tumors don't discriminate based on genes, and such a small percentage of the population gets them, that there is no screening protocol.

In 2008 Team Amy raised almost $50,000 for the Have a Chance Walk, and over 150 people showed up to walk in the rain with my mom and the rest of my family. That was a truly inspiring morning, and I know there were few other times over the past few years when she – or really any of us – felt so loved and supported. Last year, just as many of you came out to support my sisters and me (and Chet!), while my mom and dad were stuck at Northern Westchester Hospital. We raised almost $45,000 and as I showed my mom the pictures from yet another rainy 5K, she smiled. Last October, the moments when my mom smiled and laughed were the most important moments we had, so thank you to everyone who helped accomplish that.

Even though my mom is gone (actually, especially because she is gone) we will walk this year to honor her memory, to keep fighting the battle she lost, and to help other people who are fighting this insidious disease (and other brain tumors) know that they are not alone. I know not everyone is in the city, and if you can't be here, a donation would be greatly appreciated. Any amount will be helpful to the cause and to her team. So thanks in advance.

Click Here to register for the walk. Be sure to register for Team Amy. Email me (Chrissy) or call/text (646.533.6421) with any questions.

Hope to see you in October!