Robert is
Blood Cancer United

My story starts in March 1983. I was lucky to have been chosen to attend Squadron Officer School in residence at Maxwell, AFB, Alabama. I was, I thought, a healthy 28-year-old and newly married with a promotion to captain the following month. Then, a worrying symptom suddenly occurred. Everything was going dark briefly under physical exertion. I shrugged it off as heat exhaustion until just climbing one flight of stairs resulted in a blackout without unconsciousness. It was then I decided to drive home for the weekend to advise my wife and decide my course of action.

It was a 2-½ hour drive as I remember to Keesler, AFB in Biloxi, Mississippi. Doctors told me later they couldn't believe I was able to drive it. I had to tell my startled wife of less than two years what was going on and why I was home. We made a plan to go to the base Saturday morning to either shop or go to the regional hospital if I was still feeling bad. In retrospect, I guess I was lucky in a way that I felt really bad and made the right choice to go to the hospital. Being the weekend, only an intern was handling my case. The key first finding was my white blood count was near 300,000 with no obvious signs of infection. The intern responded with, "I don't like the looks of this." Then the results of the spinal and bone marrow biopsy came in. By this time, the resident came down to timidly give the news that I had six months to live. He didn't need to be so apprehensive, as all I could say in my drugged stupor was, "That's nice, just keep the Demerol coming." Then began the three-drug cocktail of chemotherapy

Then another fight began, not for my life but my career and my wife's future financial state. The doctors wanted me to medically retire immediately so that my wife would get more survivor benefits. Even in my admittedly drugged, weakened, and depressed state, I knew two things. One, the April Fools surprise of acute myeloid leukemia (AML) wasn't going to have a willing victim, and I was going to pin on Captain in two weeks. Second, my wife was therefore going to get more as a captain’s widow than as a medically retired 1st lieutenant. One problem, three full colonels at the end of my bed were insisting, in fact, ordering me to sign the medical board paperwork before they could send it.

"Wait, you can't send it without my signature? Can the board decide before I pin on Captain? Do you have a leukemia ward in military prison because I refuse to sign before I pin on Captain?" All hell broke loose.