To be afflicted with a life-threatening illness is to feel a host of strong emotions, not the least of which is isolation. This is especially true of bone marrow transplant recipients, whose compromised immune systems often restrict contact from the outside world. My brother is a social, warm person who makes friends easily and holds on to friends for decades. Imagining him cut off from people is like imagining the family dog not coming up to say hello when its owner comes home after a long day.
Fortunately, my daughters--who are as fun loving as their uncle--understood the potential problem, far sooner than I. Armed with enthusiasm, hope, and knowledge of Facebook, they started a "Show us your Wrist" campaign, hoping to connect people to Jerry throughout his transplant journey. Since Jerry wears the NHL red “relentless” wristband, they encouraged others to wear one too--in a show of silent solidarity. And they asked people to post pictures of themselves wearing the wristband so Jerry would know he is not alone in his battle.
The response speaks to the generosity of the human spirit—and its creativity. The site has about 150 posted photos, and each week more come in. They are of individuals alone in their own backyards or of large groups, gathered at restaurants, delis, bars, Knights of Columbus meetings, SWAT sessions, museums, FBI gatherings, sporting events. There’s even one of a large group aboard the USS North Carolina battleship. The photos include people Jerry has known all his life as well as those he has never met—like an entire college swim team; the Georgetown tennis coach who has worn his red wristband so long it has turned pink; the attorney general of the United States, Eric Holder; and CBS Medical Correspondent, Jennifer Ashton. There are photos that are funny--like those of wristband-wearing trees, dogs, horses, fish and butterflies--and photos that are poignant, like those of the Duke Medical team who helped Jerry and his donor, our brother Anthony; those of our dad in his final days; and those of FBI agents on tours of duty. There are people doing relentless things while wearing the wristbands, like climbing mountains; running in half marathons, marathons and triathlons; and standing on their heads in yoga classes; as well as people just having fun: dancing on tables, swimming with dolphins, bowling, whitewater rafting, tailgating, water skiing, and drinking beer (Jerry’s beverage of choice). In fact, there’s even a bunch of photos of beer cans themselves. Wristbands have been found on teddy bears, Halloween decorations, children’s toys, mimes, contortionists, bikini-clad beauties, and there’s even a photo of the Rocky statue in Philly donning a wristband and a large statue south of the border thats's holding one in his massive hands.
Perhaps the most remarkable thing is that, somehow, wristbands have managed to travel around the country--as well as the world. Wristband-toting supporters have posted from DC, Kansas, Hawaii, California, New York, North Carolina, the Jersey shore, Chicago, Philly--as well as from Cairo, Colombia, Mexico, Kosovo, London, Germany, Italy, Paris, Stockholm, Afghanistan, Kabul, India, and Qatar.
The show of support has clearly helped Jerry in his recovery. I had a feeling that would happen. But what I didn’t realize is that Jerry would, in turn, help us, his family and friends and all of those who have followed his story. With grace and humor, he has demonstrated what it means to be relentless, and by doing so he makes us realize we are capable of conquering our own battles—whatever they may be.
In the weeks before Jerry’s transplant, dad’s health took a sudden turn. Jerry was enroute to see him but the hospital staff told us the delayed plane would certainly not arrive in time. Dad hung on for many hours longer than was expected, and the nurses were surprised. Jerry managed to arrive in time to say his goodbyes. Then quietly, just a few minutes after Jerry’s arrival, dad let go. Of the many things I recall of that night, one stands out: dad’s hand in Jerry’s, both of them wearing the red relentless wristband.
Fortunately, my daughters--who are as fun loving as their uncle--understood the potential problem, far sooner than I. Armed with enthusiasm, hope, and knowledge of Facebook, they started a "Show us your Wrist" campaign, hoping to connect people to Jerry throughout his transplant journey. Since Jerry wears the NHL red “relentless” wristband, they encouraged others to wear one too--in a show of silent solidarity. And they asked people to post pictures of themselves wearing the wristband so Jerry would know he is not alone in his battle.
The response speaks to the generosity of the human spirit—and its creativity. The site has about 150 posted photos, and each week more come in. They are of individuals alone in their own backyards or of large groups, gathered at restaurants, delis, bars, Knights of Columbus meetings, SWAT sessions, museums, FBI gatherings, sporting events. There’s even one of a large group aboard the USS North Carolina battleship. The photos include people Jerry has known all his life as well as those he has never met—like an entire college swim team; the Georgetown tennis coach who has worn his red wristband so long it has turned pink; the attorney general of the United States, Eric Holder; and CBS Medical Correspondent, Jennifer Ashton. There are photos that are funny--like those of wristband-wearing trees, dogs, horses, fish and butterflies--and photos that are poignant, like those of the Duke Medical team who helped Jerry and his donor, our brother Anthony; those of our dad in his final days; and those of FBI agents on tours of duty. There are people doing relentless things while wearing the wristbands, like climbing mountains; running in half marathons, marathons and triathlons; and standing on their heads in yoga classes; as well as people just having fun: dancing on tables, swimming with dolphins, bowling, whitewater rafting, tailgating, water skiing, and drinking beer (Jerry’s beverage of choice). In fact, there’s even a bunch of photos of beer cans themselves. Wristbands have been found on teddy bears, Halloween decorations, children’s toys, mimes, contortionists, bikini-clad beauties, and there’s even a photo of the Rocky statue in Philly donning a wristband and a large statue south of the border thats's holding one in his massive hands.
Perhaps the most remarkable thing is that, somehow, wristbands have managed to travel around the country--as well as the world. Wristband-toting supporters have posted from DC, Kansas, Hawaii, California, New York, North Carolina, the Jersey shore, Chicago, Philly--as well as from Cairo, Colombia, Mexico, Kosovo, London, Germany, Italy, Paris, Stockholm, Afghanistan, Kabul, India, and Qatar.
The show of support has clearly helped Jerry in his recovery. I had a feeling that would happen. But what I didn’t realize is that Jerry would, in turn, help us, his family and friends and all of those who have followed his story. With grace and humor, he has demonstrated what it means to be relentless, and by doing so he makes us realize we are capable of conquering our own battles—whatever they may be.
In the weeks before Jerry’s transplant, dad’s health took a sudden turn. Jerry was enroute to see him but the hospital staff told us the delayed plane would certainly not arrive in time. Dad hung on for many hours longer than was expected, and the nurses were surprised. Jerry managed to arrive in time to say his goodbyes. Then quietly, just a few minutes after Jerry’s arrival, dad let go. Of the many things I recall of that night, one stands out: dad’s hand in Jerry’s, both of them wearing the red relentless wristband.
It is amazing how one word wrapped around a plastic band can unite us and give us strength we never knew we had.
"Relentless, adj: showing or promising no abatement of intensity, strength."
