On the day this June that marked the one-year anniversary of my autol­o­gous stem cell transplant, Relay For Life, the fundraiser for the American Cancer Society, held a local event on our school campus. This is the fourth year that the event has been held on the campus of the school district for which I am super­intendent. I made a point of checking in with the organizers daily in the days leading up to the event to make sure that they had everything they needed to stage another successful relay.

As I observed all of the energy and enthusiasm that went into the setup for this event, I was struck with a sense of hope that I previously haven’t felt in living with multiple myeloma.

While taking in all of the informational and motivational posters and signs as I walked the track one last time before the opening ceremonies, one poster struck me as particularly rel­e­vant to our experience of living with multiple myeloma. It read “Celebrate, Remember, Fight Back.”

Despite serving as an honorary co-chairperson of our local event three years ago, together with my wife who had just been diagnosed with melanoma at the time, I was unaware when I first saw this sign that it is the motto of Relay For Life. According to their website, Relay For Life “Celebrates” the lives of people who have battled cancer, “Remembers” loved ones lost, and “Fights Back” against the disease.

My three-and-a-half-year experience with multiple myeloma leads me to believe that reversing the terms of this simple four-word motto to “Fight Back, Remember, Celebrate” makes it more relevant to those of us with multiple myeloma.

Multiple myeloma sufferers are in a perpetual state of fighting back against their disease. Being told one has cancer is, in and of itself, a traumatic experience. Being informed that we have a form of cancer that is in­curable adds immeasurably to that trauma. Even when treatment has yielded successful results, which I have fortunately experienced, remission is rarely categorized as complete, and relapse is inevitable. Add to that the side effects of various treatments, and that perpetual state of fighting the disease becomes a daily effort.

But fight back we must, buoyed by the hope that a new treatment regimen will buy us more time or that some­one will suddenly discover a cure.

While Relay For Life says that we should “Remember" so that we might "honor those who have fought or are fighting cancer,” I prefer to use it as a regular reminder to give me hope for the future.

We need to remember that we are not fighting back on our own. As myeloma patients, we tend to focus on the treatment side of dealing with multiple myeloma. That had been my outlook until I recently perused the websites of the major cancer research centers worldwide and read the curriculum vitae of the doctors in­volved with multiple myeloma at these institutions.

I had no idea of the amount of work they do in peer-reviewed research writing, clinical trials, fund raising, and public and professional educational initiatives. It is because of this that I feel confident that a cure will be found in my lifetime. Having said that, I can’t help but recognize what a formidable foe multiple myeloma is if such a concerted effort of highly motivated specialists has yet to find a cure.

One thing that I try to remember is that "incurable" does not mean "terminal," at least not in the sense that death is imminent. By imminent, I mean days, weeks, or months. I know that this is easy for me to say, as I am not classified as having high-risk myeloma. Every treatment I have undergone has been effective. I feel better now than I have at any previous time since being diagnosed in 2012. I am suffering only from the side effects of maintenance therapy – moderate neuropathy, diarrhea, and occasional fatigue.

But we also have to remember, regardless of our individual conditions, that multiple myeloma is a time rob­ber. As I reflect back on the last three years since my diagnosis, I feel I lost years – years when I should have been enjoying my son's final years of varsity sports, guiding my daughter through her career exploration as she finished college, capitalizing on my years of experience on the job to undertake important initiatives that had been planned, and enjoying more time with my wife as we became “empty nesters.”

Instead, everything during that time period was focused on treating the disease and getting to a sense of normalcy. That normalcy has been reached, even though it is a new normal, where time is robbed on a daily basis dealing with the side effects of maintenance therapy and the anxiety that goes with the regular check­ups.

I try to remember that we are just one doctor, one experiment, one changed procedure away from a cure for multiple myeloma.

My pastor’s recent sermon reinforced that thought as he shared his experience dealing with his son’s diag­nosis of a cancer that no one his son's age had ever survived. After his son went through several un­suc­cess­ful treatment regimens, my pastor received an unexpected phone call from a doctor who felt that he had de­vised a new surgical procedure that would prove effective, and he wanted to perform that pro­cedure on my pastor's son. This occurred over 18 years ago, and the son is now cancer free and a practicing nuclear medi­cine technologist.

I try to remember that not every ache and pain is myeloma related or an indicator that new lesions have de­veloped. Because multiple myeloma strikes most of us near or well past the age of 60, most of the aches and pains that we worry about are simply the effects of growing old.

While the idea of celebrating any aspect of living with an incurable disease may seem odd or overly op­ti­mis­tic, regardless of how serious the condition is, there is always something to cele­brate. It might involve cele­brat­ing the smallest of accom­plish­ments related to the disease and its treatment, such as a week-long respite from diarrhea, or that ultimate goal of achieving a stringent complete response. Those things worth cele­brat­ing will obviously be dictated by our individual conditions, but I have found that cele­brat­ing success, no matter how small it might be, makes for a much happier existence and provides a sense of victory over the disease.

Roxanne Emmerich, a celebrated motivational speaker, stated that we should "celebrate success at every stage. Celebrate it all. Everything that goes right ... celebrate, celebrate, celebrate!"

We would all do well to follow such advice.