here are just some of our reasons why

The day began like so many others; Melissa woke up, checked on her two teenage children, and got ready for work. Her ears and head hurt, like they had so often lately, but in the morning her mind was on other things. She arrived at school early and reviewed her lesson plan. She had piloted this middle school design program, designing first the 7th grade and now the 8th grade curriculum. She thought about the NASA unit she had coming up, her favorite one of the year. But man, that headache! No time to worry about it now, though – like every day,  she was too excited to share her passion for learning. 

Melissa had been experiencing headaches and earaches for a few
weeks, but they were getting worse. The first trip to the  emergency room showed signs of an ear infection, so she assumed the pain would go away with treatment. On that day, though, her head hurt more than ever, and by the end of the day it was unbearable. Back at the ER, she was sent for a CT scan. The results were a shock – the doctor told her the scan showed a brain tumor. She was
transferred to a larger hospital and admitted. After more tests, she was diagnosed with glioblastoma. 

A couple of weeks later, she was in the hospital recovering from brain surgery. The tumor had been removed, and all Melissa could talk about was getting back into the classroom. From her hospital bed, she dictated her application for a grant to attend the Space Exploration Educator’s Conference at NASA in Houston again. She reminisced about the prior year, saying it taught “the most interactive design thinking training out of all the conferences.” Melissa had big plans. In her application, she noted that not only would she use what she learned to improve the NASA design unit in her classes and share the information with other teachers at her school, but she had arranged to work with two other local school to bring design thinking to more students. She was also looking forward to attending the Teacher Innovator Institute (TII) at the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum in DC, a prestigious honor for which she had been selected the previous year. She hoped to be well enough to return to work before the school year ended; TII in July felt a long time away.  

She was released from the hospital and slowly began to gain her
strength back, thinking about her return to teaching, but the
firstgoal was getting to TII. As the summer began, it didn’t seem
possible. Navigating airports and the city felt like an unrealistic
dream, especially with luggage. She still wasn’t independently
able to take care of her personal needs like bathing and
dressing. Plus, would she have enough energy to participate in
the activities?

To ensure that her health needs would be taken care of so she
could participate, the organizer allowed her to bring an aide. Her
sister Melanie attended with her, making memories and learning
new skills to use in the classroom. Although Melissa was disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to start the school year in August, the trip was an unforgettable one. 

Unfortunately, Melissa’s symptoms worsened. Despite ongoing treatment, her family saw her speech and mobility decline. She struggled eating and drinking and could no longer move around the house even with a walker. Wanting to give her something to look forward to, and also create an opportunity for her to see friends and family while she was still able to enjoy it, her mother threw her a party. Sitting in her mother’s large recliner, which had been moved down to the common room, she spent hours visiting with people. Many hadn’t seen Melissa since she got cancer, so there were tears as they saw her unable to talk clearly or eat on her own and realized how sick she was. Still, there were also many memories and stories exchanged – from teachers and students, women in Melissa’s running group, people from her church, and family members. One friend even brought her a new pair of running shoes for when she could get back to her weekly 5-mile run.

Less than three weeks later, Melissa was back in the hospital. Overnight, she had lost motor control and was struggling to breathe. All talk of returning to work disappeared, and in its place Melissa’s pleading, “Help. Help kids.” Her fear was not for herself, but for her children. That week brought more tests, a failed attempt to insert a
feeding tube, and medication for the anxiety that had set in as she finally seemed to realize what was happening. A hospice doctor visited and transitioned her to palliative care, with pain medication no longer
limited. With her mother, sister, and husband around her, Melissa took her last breath.

Her story wasn’t over, though. Years before her cancer diagnosis, Melissa had decided that when she died, she would donate her body to science. Through this donation, Melissa continued teaching even after her death: she joined a neurosurgery course at the University of Texas Southwestern Medical School. Inspired by her spirit of
service and community, her sister wore those new running shoes in a half marathon to raise money to support the fight against brain cancer. And, of course, her drive and passion lives on in her children and in the countless students whose lives she touched over the years. 

Melissa is one of the #1MillionReasonsWhy we need to accelerate research on new treatments for brain cancer!

With a rich, baritone voice, Brett had built a successful career as a
professional musician and teacher. He was married to the love of his life, Dave, with whom he was building a life rooted in their strong faith in God. In fact, in the summer of 2009, he felt total peace, with a strong sense of conviction that he had lived the best life. “Thank you, God. If I die now, I’ve had a great life. Thank you.” 

At 47 years old, he was also in the best physical shape of his life after weight training for years. By fall, though, he started having terrible headaches. Dave suggested he talk to his doctor, who sent him for an MRI to rule out any issues. The doctor asked for a test with contrast because they had seen some things they didn't like, but he didn't think anything of it. When he got a call telling him to go in, he met with the doctor, who told him they had discovered a brain tumor – Grade 3 Oligodendroglioma. 

“Oh, wow. This must be so hard for you to have to tell some people”, said Brett. His atypical reaction surprised the doctor. Brett was right – oncologists give bad news to patients an average of 35 times per month, and informing patients of a cancer diagnosis is a difficult conversation (Baile et al., 2002). For Brett, in that moment it was natural to empathize with the doctor delivering the news. It wasn’t until he got home and had to tell Dave that he started sobbing, realizing the magnitude of what he had heard. 

Brett didn’t despair long, though. He was referred to the head of Neuro-Oncology at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. In December of 2009, a preeminent brain surgeon at Brigham & Women’s Hospital performed surgery to remove the tumor. Brett recovered well from surgery and completed chemotherapy and then radiation. He was still following up monthly, with testing to watch for any signs of the cancer returning, but he was generally feeling good. Then it happened. After one of those follow-up scans in early 2012, his doctor suspected that his tumor was growing again. That was the only time Brett felt afraid, or maybe it was anxiety combined with curiosity, wondering question “why?” His second surgery was a lengthy 12-hour procedure. Things were dark for Brett after that. He withdrew, unable to engage in the things that had made him whole. Most significantly, the emotional weight he was carrying rendered him unable to sing without crying. 

Not only was singing Brett’s passion, the thing that brought him
joy, it was also his vocation – as a professional musician and voice
teacher, not being able to sing was life-altering. On the advice of a
mentor, he started seeing a retired priest for counseling. They
explored together other ways Brett could express himself. That led
him to begin composing songs. He also began to learn about
living with an acute life-ending diagnosis. With Dave by his side
every step of the way, Brett started to emerge from that dark time
with a new perspective. He learned to focus on the current
moment because “right now is all we have.” After almost five
years, Brett and Dave decided not to continue holding their breath with life “on hold”.

Brett also felt a renewed desire to do more. In 2015, he began the
two years of training to become a chaplain. Specifically, he
wanted to be a chaplain serving oncology patients. During that
time, he was called to the priesthood. After four years of study, he
completed his Master of Divinity and was ordained by the bishop
of the Diocese of Massachusetts and became the Rector of Emmanuel Episcopal Church in 2023.

Brett doesn’t talk about his cancer all the time, but it informs everything he does. He stays more engaged with the present, and advises others to do the same, because it’s important to stay in the moment instead of catastrophizing. Still, Brett understands his condition. He calmly states, “I happen to know that I have a tumor
that's going to kill me eventually. I know that it could come back at any moment.” He also firmly believes that what you pay attention to in life, grows. He continues following up with his doctor and pays attention to
emerging treatments. He has talked to his doctor about how many more arrows patients and oncologists today have in their quiver compared to a generation ago.  

Above all, Brett lives his life with hope. He knows that the longer he lives, the more research will be done and the better his chances. Brett is one of the #1MillionReasonsWhy every day matters as we work to accelerate research and develop new treatments for brain cancer!