A dramatic turn has matched me with acute myeloid leukemia. From the sidelines to being sidelined, 40 veins and 40 electrolytes.
I have acute myeloid leukemia, an aggressive type of cancer. The typical prognosis is 3-6 months to live, but I would like to stress that is for a patient who is not receiving treatment.
They wanted to try this outpatient chemo, and I said no problem. I was adamant. I didn't want to miss any games. It's where I'm supposed to be, and I wanted to be there.
Krista's got a great boyfriend; they've been going together for years. I want to be around to walk her down the aisle.
To those out there who are suffering from cancer, facing adversity, I want you to know that your will to live can make all the difference in the world.
I've had every chemo in the alphabet, most of them more than once. Some of them that aren't even in the alphabet, they're just numbers - clinical trials. But I bet if you added all those up, it would have to be like 60- or 70-something. I've had 23 bone marrow aspirations. Having one isn't fun and I've had 23. So that's been tough.
Sarasota in 1974 was a city of 46,459 people, the 73rd-largest market in the country and sixth-largest in Florida, according to Arbitron Ratings. To supplement my meager salary, I was a bartender at Big Daddy's on St. Armand's Circle and a sailing instructor at nearby Lido Beach.
Vice President Biden had recently launched the 'Cancer Moonshots', a campaign to finally eradicate cancer across humanity. He had lost his eldest son, Beau, in 2015, to brain cancer, and the ESPYs gave him a platform to raise awareness.
I don't know how much time I have left, and there are certain things I'd like to do. I've got five kids. Kacy, the oldest, I'd like to see her be happy and fulfilled with her dreams. I want Junior, who gave me the two transplants, I want him to find his niche; I know he's going to make a very big impact someday.
For our senior picture, they said, 'Black or navy blazer.' And I thought, Why do I want to look like everybody else?
When doctors tell you that your only hope for survival is 14 straight days of intense chemotherapy, 24 hours a day, you sit there, and you count down the 336 hours. You see, each day is a blessing.
I'm a kid from the small Illinois town of Batavia, who grew up on the Chicago Cubs and made sports his life's work, although there's never been a day where it actually seemed like work.
It seems everybody has been somehow affected by cancer, either through a relative or a close friend or somewhere, and they know how devastating cancer can be. And they see me, and I refuse to let it affect how I live and what I do.
So many times, when you're doing a job, you feel like you're a nuisance at times to people, intruding on their space when you ask them questions; maybe they don't want to deal with you at the time. And now, it's, 'Hey, welcome, where's Craig?' Whereas, now, it's kind of different.
I get this call and they go, you know, 'Do you want to do the finals?' and I go, 'Yeah, I guess, I've never, never done the finals.' Especially for somebody who's done as many thousands of games as I have, it kind of takes you one step further.
I have run with the bulls in Pamplona. I have raced with Mario Andretti in Indianapolis. I have climbed the Great Wall of China. I have jumped out of airplanes over Kansas.
I always see the glass half full. I see the beauty in others, and I see the hope for tomorrow. If we don't have hope and faith, we have nothing.
I was a big sports fan, and I had been closely monitoring Hank Aaron's home run totals since I was a kid playing on the sandlot adjacent to the Foundry and Machine Company in Batavia, Illinois.
Everyone has to face obstacles. Everybody has to face hurdles. It's what you do with those that determines how successful you're going to be.
If I missed a game, that meant I was losing the battle. I'm not going to let leukemia affect me.
