Max and Stella. There is no off-season.

I have run five full marathons. Despite the fact that each one is unique and stands apart in my memory, during all of them I got to experience what I call the “Kilometer #38″ syndrome.

After running 38 kilometers, you do not feel at your best. No matter who you are or what pace you have been running, I don’t think anyone is really comfortable at kilometer 38. Your legs and lungs burn, your feet kill, and everything else feels like it’s about to just fall of your body like the muffler on an old VW Bug.

Mentally, it’s also tough. If you have never run a marathon, you might assume that everyone is happy at kilometer 38, since you only have four more to go. You have finished ninety percent of the race. The rest should be a piece of cake, right?

Wrong. At least for me, those last four kilometers feel like another forty. And knowing that the pain will continue — and in fact get worse — can be pretty darn demoralizing. Last January in Tiveria, I had run the race of my life, but at kilometer 38 I was about to admit defeat. I felt I could just not face those last four kilometers. If it were not my friend Chaim running next to me, I might have stopped right there.

Despite all the fantastic news — and we are so aware of what a miracle we are seeing unfold — Stella is right now at kilometer 38. She is battling through another round of chemo that is really knocking her around. After the chemo, we have lots of tests to get ready for the surgery, then the surgery itself will be on January 1.

Yes, all of us who love Stella are dancing and singing with joy that she CAN have the surgery. But we are not the ones who have to HAVE the surgery. Already feeling low from the chemo, Stella is not looking forward to this very involved operation and the recuperation period after it. She mentioned to the surgeon how she was a “bit nervous” about the operation, perhaps looking for some comforting words or reassurance. Maybe he would tell her that this procedure was nothing to worry about, that it would be a piece of cake.

He just looked at her and said “Do you want to live?”

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I have said before that the nights are the hardest part for me.

I have lain awake countless times at around two or three in the morning, when my strength is gone and keeping the nightmares at bay is just too much.

Eventually, I give up on trying to get back to sleep and just “long for the dawn” as the Psalm (Tehillim 130) says.

On both a literal and figurative level, the battle with cancer is like one long night.

You long for the sun to come up because usually you feel a little more in control when the sun is shining.

You feel a little bit more hope with each new dawn. When Stella is up and we talk, I feel a bit more of a sense of normalcy and can often push the nightmares back into the box where they hide out.

But getting through the night gets harder and harder.

And I am getting really tired.

I’m tired of feeling helpless while Stella fights her courageous battle with the cancer that has turned our lives upside down. Demonstrating love and support and comfort are a given. Of course I do that as much as I can. But I need to do more.

So I have come up with an idea, and I hope you will join me.

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On Sunday, I had a work meeting downtown. After the meeting, I got on the bus to go home. It was hot and a whole crowd of people were pushing to get on, knowing that most would not get a seat.

An older woman avoided the crowd by getting on the bus from the side exit and sitting in a free seat. I happened to be one of the first ones on through the regular entrance. As I was moving back, she handed me her ticket and asked if I would give it to the driver so he would know she had paid.

I took her ticket and tried to make my way back to the driver. This was difficult because people were getting on who were intent on getting a seat. I said “excuse me” in my nicest Hebrew and explained that I needed a second to get up the the driver. But there was one guy who just didn’t care. Rather than letting me through, he pushed me and yelled “move!”

Something in me snapped. I have been walking around with a lot on anger lately. Usually, I can get it out when I run. That’s why some people have said they see me snarling when I go by. But on Sunday I woke up too late for a run.

So without thinking I pushed right back and yelled “F…. You,” right in this guy’s face. He responded by punching me in the chest.

I started losing control and pulled my fist back and for a second wanted nothing more in the world than to beat the crap out of him. In my mind, this guy was Stella’s cancer. I could finally do something to protect her instead of sitting around feeling helpless.

I heard people on the bus start to yell while others jumped out of the way. But mainly I was consumed with rage. I pulled my fist back and was about to throw the first punch I have thrown in a few decades.

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People have asked me about the picture of Stella that I used in the first post and have now put on my homepage. You know the one of her in the baseball cap with a big, glowing smile. It’s my favorite picture of her because it really represents her personality so well.

Here’s the scene. Last year, we had planned a big family vacation with my parents and my brother’s family. We went camping in a few of the national parks in the U.S. One that we visited, Bryce Canyon in Utah, is simply magnificent. If a scene can literally be described as breathtaking, it must be that of the rim of Bryce Canyon.

Now my brother had planned out a whole day of horseback (mules actually) riding. It is the best way to really see everything the Canyon has to offer. For us, living in Israel, an opportunity to go horseback riding in Utah does not come up that often. So we were very excited about the trip.

The only problem is that on the one day (booked months in advance) that we had planned for the trip, we awoke to pouring rain. Most of us started grumbling and decided to just scrap the day. Not Stella. She insisted that “it’s not so bad” (her favorite line no matter what the situation.) So while the rest of us were complaining, there she was smiling as if there were blue skies and warm weather. That’s when I took her picture, standing in the rain telling us all that it was going to be a great day.

And you know what? Shortly after we started, the sun came out and we had an amazing time. And I really think she simply willed the weather to get better just like she is going to will this cancer to go away. She has an inner glow.

And now she has an outer one too!

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The only thing we have learned to expect these days is the unexpected. Here we thought we would have a “day off” and I even planned to get a little work done.

That’s when the doctor called and asked us to come in for a “quick” procedure. Now, I have learned that words like “quick” have different meanings when it comes to hospitals. Here we were figuring we would swoop in to the hospital, do this procedure and continue with our day. Not exactly.

When you hear phrases like “ten minutes” in a hospital, the actual meaning might be “an hour.” It might be “three hours.” And it might even mean “all day.” The only thing it will most definitely NOT mean is “ten minutes.”

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