“When you die. It does not mean that you lose to cancer. You beat cancer by HOW you live. WHY you live. And in the MANNER IN WHICH you live…So LIVE! Fight like hell. And when you get too tired to fight. Then lay down and let somebody else fight for you.”- Stuart Scott
I was having lunch at work when my mom called, “Chris, we had to admit dad to the Brigham today. He had a scan today that didn't look right.”
Several hours later the doctors informed us that Dad had advanced Liver Cancer. It was inoperable and untreatable.
That was late October, just weeks after his 60th Birthday. He passed away several months later, at home, surrounded by his family.
I’ve seen cancer up close but I didn’t fully understand what Stuart Scott meant in that speech until I saw my dad battle this horrible disease. When a Doctor says you’ve terminal cancer, what other choice do you have, other than to Live and to Fight? From the day he was diagnosed until the day he died, my Dad lived. He lived and he fought like hell.
My mom, sister Jennifer, brother Leo, sister Emily and I spent every moment we could spare, together, at the house with him. We watched him fight. Good days. Bad Days. Doctors Appointments. CT Scans. Biopsies. A Stomach Catheter. Sleepless nights. High fevers. Bouts of speech loss. Ambulance rides. Through all of the complications my Dad kept his sense of humor. And on his worst days he kept those closest to him in tears of laughter. There was one night where he made us order Chinese Food (“Golden Temple, otherwise forget it”) to his hospital room. He didn’t let us feel sorry, or upset for a minute. He recounted some old stories that’d we heard a hundred times and managed to mix in a few we hadn’t heard. There was a point that night where we all laughed for so long the nurse popped her head in to make sure everything was okay. My stomach hurt the next day from it.
He was the funniest man I’ve ever known. In every sense of the word.
As the weeks went on my Dad began to tire. He spent more and more time in bed. Every day was getting shorter than the last. I sat next him him and said “You’ve raised four children who love you and love each other. You’ve made an amazing family.” He just looked me in the eyes for the longest time before simply responding. “I know, Chris.”
We were his pride and his passion. It was in that moment that I realized that he lived-- and he fought-- for his family. Not just from the day he was diagnosed with cancer but ever since the day his kids were born.
In the end he became too tired to keep fighting. It was his time to rest and let others fight for him…
This will be my fifth year riding in the PMC in an effort to find a cure for cancer. It’s the first time my Dad won’t be cheering me on as I ride over the Bourne Bridge. He would wake up in the middle of the night, drive from Boston to Bourne, before the Sun came up, grab a coffee and a donut, and stand at the base of the Bridge, all for one or two brief moments to cheer us on as we passed him on our bikes. It was crazy.
I ride along with Team Kevin Fitz.
Our team was formed in 2008 in honor of Kevin Fitzgerald who passed away after his long battle with Cancer. He was my Dad’s best friend and one of the most important people in my life. He was my coach, my mentor, and simply another father to help raise me. He treated me like a son and I've always considered his kids my brothers and sister. I grew up as much in his house as I did in my own. I remember how he taught me to keep my elbow in when shooting a basketball. And I remember his voice booming from the bleachers at little league games. KULIMA!! What'd that mean? I can't say for sure but it meant that Kev was there. I remember the sincerity and compassion in his voice when he talked about helping people. I remember him getting sick. And I remember walking into his house when his wife, Tricia, told young Kev and I that the chemo wasn't working. It was one of the worst days of my life.
On June 10th 2013 my uncle Matthew O'Brien lost his long, hard fought battle with cancer. Matt left behind a loving wife son and daughter. Barbara, Little Matt, and Delia are some of the most important people in my life. No family should have to go through what they did.
In January of 2015 I found out my little cousin Kevin Morrissey was diagnosed with leukemia. He was barely four years old and he's going to kicking leukemia's ass. He was supposed to be in the hospital for 30 days of intense chemotherapy. But due to complications from chemo, including liver infections, brain infections, and high fevers, he’s been in and out of the Children’s Hospital and the Dana Farber for over a year. Cancer sucks.
Last year a good friend of mine, Juan Sanchez was diagnosed with Leukemia at age 30. He had a very rare form of cancer that is highly treatable and he is on the road to recovery after 5 straight weeks confined to a hospital bed hooked up to IV’s of chemo, with a strict diet. He’s considered lucky.
The PMC is one way to not stand by idly before this disease takes someone else I love from me. 100% of the money raised goes to the Dana- Farber Cancer Institute to provide TANGIBLE BENEFITS. It goes towards something as small as a ride for a patient to their chemo appointments. Or an experimental trial for a patient who isn't responding to chemo or radiation.
Tangible. Benefits. That's what your donation provides.
Please Donate to our cause.
If you are unable to donate online but would like to contribute, please make checks out to Pan Mass Challenge
Checks can be mailed to:
Christopher Rusk
350 Harrison Ave.
Apt. 3-403
Boston MA 02118
“When you die. It does not mean that you lose to cancer. You beat cancer by HOW you live. WHY you live. And in the MANNER IN WHICH you live…So LIVE! Fight like hell. And when you get too tired to fight. Then lay down and let somebody else fight for you.”- Stuart Scott
I was having lunch at work when my mom called, “Chris, we had to admit dad to the Brigham today. He had a scan today that didn't look right.”
Several hours later the doctors informed us that Dad had advanced Liver Cancer. It was inoperable and untreatable.
That was late October, just weeks after his 60th Birthday. He passed away several months later, at home, surrounded by his family.
I’ve seen cancer up close but I didn’t fully understand what Stuart Scott meant in that speech until I saw my dad battle this horrible disease. When a Doctor says you’ve terminal cancer, what other choice do you have, other than to Live and to Fight? From the day he was diagnosed until the day he died, my Dad lived. He lived and he fought like hell.
My mom, sister Jennifer, brother Leo, sister Emily and I spent every moment we could spare, together, at the house with him. We watched him fight. Good days. Bad Days. Doctors Appointments. CT Scans. Biopsies. A Stomach Catheter. Sleepless nights. High fevers. Bouts of speech loss. Ambulance rides. Through all of the complications my Dad kept his sense of humor. And on his worst days he kept those closest to him in tears of laughter. There was one night where he made us order Chinese Food (“Golden Temple, otherwise forget it”) to his hospital room. He didn’t let us feel sorry, or upset for a minute. He recounted some old stories that’d we heard a hundred times and managed to mix in a few we hadn’t heard. There was a point that night where we all laughed for so long the nurse popped her head in to make sure everything was okay. My stomach hurt the next day from it.
He was the funniest man I’ve ever known. In every sense of the word.
As the weeks went on my Dad began to tire. He spent more and more time in bed. Every day was getting shorter than the last. I sat next him him and said “You’ve raised four children who love you and love each other. You’ve made an amazing family.” He just looked me in the eyes for the longest time before simply responding. “I know, Chris.”
We were his pride and his passion. It was in that moment that I realized that he lived-- and he fought-- for his family. Not just from the day he was diagnosed with cancer but ever since the day his kids were born.
In the end he became too tired to keep fighting. It was his time to rest and let others fight for him…
This will be my fifth year riding in the PMC in an effort to find a cure for cancer. It’s the first time my Dad won’t be cheering me on as I ride over the Bourne Bridge. He would wake up in the middle of the night, drive from Boston to Bourne, before the Sun came up, grab a coffee and a donut, and stand at the base of the Bridge, all for one or two brief moments to cheer us on as we passed him on our bikes. It was crazy.
I ride along with Team Kevin Fitz.
Our team was formed in 2008 in honor of Kevin Fitzgerald who passed away after his long battle with Cancer. He was my Dad’s best friend and one of the most important people in my life. He was my coach, my mentor, and simply another father to help raise me. He treated me like a son and I've always considered his kids my brothers and sister. I grew up as much in his house as I did in my own. I remember how he taught me to keep my elbow in when shooting a basketball. And I remember his voice booming from the bleachers at little league games. KULIMA!! What'd that mean? I can't say for sure but it meant that Kev was there. I remember the sincerity and compassion in his voice when he talked about helping people. I remember him getting sick. And I remember walking into his house when his wife, Tricia, told young Kev and I that the chemo wasn't working. It was one of the worst days of my life.
On June 10th 2013 my uncle Matthew O'Brien lost his long, hard fought battle with cancer. Matt left behind a loving wife son and daughter. Barbara, Little Matt, and Delia are some of the most important people in my life. No family should have to go through what they did.
In January of 2015 I found out my little cousin Kevin Morrissey was diagnosed with leukemia. He was barely four years old and he's going to kicking leukemia's ass. He was supposed to be in the hospital for 30 days of intense chemotherapy. But due to complications from chemo, including liver infections, brain infections, and high fevers, he’s been in and out of the Children’s Hospital and the Dana Farber for over a year. Cancer sucks.
Last year a good friend of mine, Juan Sanchez was diagnosed with Leukemia at age 30. He had a very rare form of cancer that is highly treatable and he is on the road to recovery after 5 straight weeks confined to a hospital bed hooked up to IV’s of chemo, with a strict diet. He’s considered lucky.
The PMC is one way to not stand by idly before this disease takes someone else I love from me. 100% of the money raised goes to the Dana- Farber Cancer Institute to provide TANGIBLE BENEFITS. It goes towards something as small as a ride for a patient to their chemo appointments. Or an experimental trial for a patient who isn't responding to chemo or radiation.
Tangible. Benefits. That's what your donation provides.
Please Donate to our cause.
If you are unable to donate online but would like to contribute, please make checks out to Pan Mass Challenge
Checks can be mailed to:
Christopher Rusk
350 Harrison Ave.
Apt. 3-403
Boston MA 02118
| 2020 | $0.00 | Sturbridge to Provincetown Monument (2-Day) |
| 2019 | $100.00 | PMC Fundraiser |
| 2018 | $4,900.86 | Sturbridge to Provincetown Inn (2-Day) |
| 2017 | $4,800.00 | Sturbridge to Provincetown Inn (2-Day) |
| 2016 | $4,710.00 | Sturbridge to Provincetown Inn (2-Day) |
| 2015 | $4,599.17 | Sturbridge to Provincetown Monument (2-Day) |
| 2014 | $4,300.00 | Sturbridge to Provincetown Inn (2-Day) |
| 2013 | $4,300.00 | Sturbridge to Provincetown Inn (2-Day) |
