JOE SPORTS

[monakitty]

I heard a while back that oe Sports was battling leukemia, and, as a result was off Calgary radio and TV to fight the disease. Has anyone stayed in touch and know his condition? I'd love to get a hold of him! We worked together at CJAY for a long time.

[XFM]

I'm glad you posted this. The last update I saw was in the Herald, a column he wrote himself the day before his bone marrow transplant (I think.)

[monakitty]

Do you remember any highlights of that article. I'd be grateful.

[XFM]

THANK YOU CALGARY HERALD. (I didn't want to simply post the link, in case it didn't work as this is a subscriber only page.)



Sportscaster's guide to leukemia
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Font: * * * * Joe Sports, Calgary Herald
Published: Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Editor's note: Calgary sportscaster Joe Sports, a.k.a. Collin Smith, is continuing his battle with a form of leukemia. Today, he'll undergo a bone marrow transplant and spend the next month in hospital recovering. Here are his thoughts as he fights the disease.

For the second time in two years, I've shaved my head. ...Back in 2004, I buzzed the lid as part of payment for a lost bet when the Flames made the playoffs for the first time in seven years. Who knew all it took was a shaved melon from a local sportscaster to break the seven-year curse. The event two springs ago also helped raise more than $3,000 for Special Olympics.

This time around, getting the Kojak look took place with no fanfare. The same person, Ruth Fullmer, did the honours of chopping off the locks, stopping in the middle for a Flock of Seagulls album cover look.

The cut didn't take place in the Zamboni entrance of the Saddledome. It wasn't carried live on Global News; there weren't any newspaper photographers on hand to find the best shot for a glistened cranium.

Heck, even my daughter, Laura Smith, wasn't interested in taking the clippers to Dad's mop. She's too busy thinking about being the first child with Down syndrome to first attend and now graduate from Lord Beaverbrook High School.

No, this time the head was shaved to prepare for entrance into an exclusive club -- the Bone Marrow Transplant Club.

And, for some strange reason, I find it an honour to join. Maybe it's because with membership comes an opportunity for life.

Eight months ago, I was diagnosed with Chronic Myeloid Leukemia (CML). I was then advised to take Gleevec, a chemotherapy drug in a tablet form. This new drug had the potential to put my leukemia into remission.

It didn't.

But I always had a plan B, and that was a bone marrow transplant. All I needed was a suitable match . . . preferably a related one. The odds of finding a match from siblings is about 33 per cent. Out of my five siblings, three matched. Hello . . . buy a lottery ticket; you have some major horseshoes in your shorts.

So, last month, my wife and I went to a BMT consultation. To put it mildly, it was the complete opposite of the best day of my life.

In fairness to the doctor and nurse who were present -- they were only doing their job -- especially with the leukemia becoming very aggressive again. The unfortunate thing was they were talking about my life and that statistically it didn't look good.

I've never been one for statistics . . . especially that stupid plus/minus in the NHL. A player does absolutely nothing to add to a goal being scored or one given up and yet he gets himself a little plus or minus for doing nothing -- that statistic and the one where a team gets a point for losing.

Yeah, yeah, I've heard the argument. A team plays hard for 60 minutes they should get something for their efforts. What about the team that plays hard for 59 minutes and gives up a last-minute goal, shouldn't they get something too? Maybe half a point for a fine 59-minute performance. Just use the 3-2-1 system -- three points for a regulation win, two for an overtime victory and one for the shootout.

[XFM]

Part 2

But I digress. Where were we? Oh yeah, statistics.

On April 26, I was given two choices. One was to go with supportive medicine and hope I lived long enough for new medication to come along to save the day. The only problem with that option was the new drugs would likely arrive in years, while my life was now being counted in months.

OK, what's behind door No. 2, Monty? Well, the good old bone marrow transplant. The odds of surviving a BMT in my condition at that time were 60 per cent.

We agreed to go ahead with it and a date was decided -- May 31 (today). In the meantime, I had appointments for bloodwork, bone density tests, chest, nose and jaw X-rays, dentist, optometrist, tbi (total body irradiation) instruction and pharmacy teaching regarding all the medications I take and will be taking. I felt like I was getting a drink from a fire hose.

But then the wheels fell off.

It was the day just before the May long weekend and just after my last bone marrow test. Unlike my brother (the donor) who's the smart one and takes it with sedation, I still take it like a POW. (A quick side note. I had my first ever nose swab that same day. I highly recommend it. The doctor shoves the swab up so high you think your head's going to turn into Old Faithful.)

The good news is we're still talking, but the bad news was the governor called a week ago Friday and said hold the phone on your transplant, the leukemia is going full-steam ahead.

The bone marrow tests showed 25 per cent blasts (leukemia cells) and that changes the odds of everything. The doctor told me I now likely had only weeks to live and the success of my transplant was now between 10 and 40 per cent.

I have to admit it didn't faze me a bit. OK, I lie, it did faze me a tad, but to me they are all just numbers 10, 40 and 60. All I need to hear is I got a chance and I'm good to go. There was no choice, the bone marrow transplant was the way to go and I'll undergo that late this afternoon or early this evening.

So here I sit in the Tom Baker Centre overnight for the fifth straight night. I got a little worried the other night when I thought I was having a relapse, but then realized it was just because the Oilers had won.

The hardest part in all this is having to stare into your wife and kids' faces and tell them the odds are against their dad and husband living very long.

But like I've told them over and over again, they can count on me fighting this till I come out on top. I have faith in myself, I have faith in my family, I have faith in the medical staff at the Tom Baker, and I have faith in the Lord above.

And how can you wrong when there's a guy named Dan the milkshake man on Unit 57. (and a slurpee machine as well). The life of Riley I tell you. You can't get this kind of treatment just anywhere.

Until next time . . . anyone seen my upchuck bucket.


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I haven't seen anything else, Mona, and I read the Herald everyday. It didn't sound good as he wrote the article. I hope he was wrong.

[monakitty]

OMG.
Does anyone have an update or contact info. Please? I truly had no idea. He's my pal.

[monakitty]

And thank you XFM. As much as I appreciate it, I am truly shaken at this moment.

[XFM]

Mona, please note, the date of the original article was May 31. I had to go into the Herald archives to find it. I have no idea of his current situation.

[monakitty]

Anyone else with an update?

[XFM]

I was listening to Mike Richards and a couple of other guys on location at Schanks this morning, and one told an anecdote which mentioned Joe Sports, but there was no comment on his condition.

Maybe an email to those guys?

[XFM]

MK
From today's Herald...

Hip, hip, hooray, it's my anniversary
Blood marrow test No. 4 hopefully will bring good news
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Font: * * * * Joe Sports, Calgary Herald
Published: Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Editor's note: Calgary sportscaster Joe Sports, a.k.a. Collin Smith, is continuing his battle with a form of leukemia. Here are his thoughts as he fights the disease.

I finally made it to the computer after getting the ice auger out of my hip. Yes, bone marrow test No. 4 is now in the books and it can stay in the books for a good while.

Maybe I'm just getting soft in my old age. Nah . . . this was a doozy to say the least.

The aspirate part was a breeze; it was the double dose of biopsy that made it brutal. I heard Dr. Chaudrey say those fateful words, "We didn't get a sample, we have to do this again."

For those unaware of what a bone marrow test/biopsy consists of, let me enlighten you. It involves skin freezing, then a needle into the hip bone (bones can't be frozen) and then extraction of bone marrow blood. That's followed by a needle-size drill (I call it an auger) that is pressed hard into the bone to get a small hunk of marrow. It is manually drilled, both in and out of the bone. Unfortunately, this go-round I had to have it twice.

OK, enough complaining -- its not my style. Of course, I'm sure some of you will beg to differ. Anyway what does this all mean?

Well, this latest bone-marrow test will tell us many things. First off, on Thursday I will find out if my bone marrow is in remission -- meaning no leukemia cells looking for free lodging in my marrow. Obviously, no cells is great news; some cells is so so news, and worst case scenario: a whole bunch of leukemia cells are having a great big party at my expense.

The other results consist of Philadelphia Chromosome levels and the percentage of my old blood cells vs. my new cells, courtesy my brother Nathan -- the donor. That information won't be known for a few weeks as it involves some pretty intense genetic testing; microscopes, bunsen burners, people in white coats with high IQs deciphering through all the data. OK, all that's just a guess on my part but you get the picture.

As for my liver, it continues to slowly trend in the right direction -- down. Unfortunately, so do some of my other blood counts. Ah, you can't win them all.

Now for the sentimental part. A year ago, I found out that I had leukemia. It still seems surreal at times -- until I catch a glimpse of me in a mirror and I'm quickly reminded I belong to the cancer club, not the poster boy for the Yul Brynner fan club.

But it does seem like yesterday that I was sitting in the Hot Stove Lounge down at the Saddledome talking about New England Patriots coach Bill Bellichek and then receiving the news during a commercial break to call home and hearing my wife say to me, "the blood test results are back and they think you have leukemia." Words I will never ever forget.

It's been a interesting journey to this point. I've seen lots of tears from family and friends. I might even have shed a couple myself, but, 12 months after the fact, I haven't wavered from my initial commitment to fight this to the end and to win the fight. I couldn't have done it without the support of all of you and I thank you for that.

Until next time -- happy anniversary to me.

Collin

? The Calgary Herald 2006

[monakitty]

Thanks XFM