Remembering Rob: Supporting Brain Cancer Research

My Dad had a signature: a two-tone, four-note melody which he whistled every night when he came back from work. No matter what we were doing and no matter how important, my brother, sister, and I would sprint to the door to jump in his arms, six little feet pitter-pattering their way through the house. If it was Friday, my dad would be whistling wearing his green, car-patterned tie, my favorite. If it was Saturday, you could be sure to hear the whistle from the crowd of one of our sports games, recitals, or competitions. Sunday the whistle could be heard right off of Lake Rd, directed at the ducks we biked to feed with bread as we sat on the rocks by the water.

Seven years ago, he was diagnosed with glioblastoma multiforme (GBM), an aggressive form of brain cancer. He passed almost two years later following a strong battle, but when my siblings and I try to make each other laugh about our silly memories with Dad, we must think back seven years, when my brother was 16, I was 14, and my sister was only 8. With the passing of each year, our shared pool of memories has started to dry up. Of course, we have a few ‘classic’ family stories which we will never forget, and how could anyone forget his friendliness to all, his care-free attitude towards life, dedication to his family and loved ones, free spirit, and ability to smile through anything. We hold onto these memories and cherish them as the smaller ones begin to slip away, and I take solace in knowing that even as the tone of his voice begins to fade and the sound of his laughter whittles away, I will always remember the melody of that whistle.

As it becomes more and more difficult to reach into the past and dig for memories, it becomes increasingly comforting to look towards the future. For my brother, it is the next Dolphin’s season, fins up! For my sister, it is the next sunny day in Central Park, where she walks the same routes he once did. For me, it is the next summer, hanging out at the beach where he has passed down to me his love for the ocean. For all of us, it is continuing his legacy in his battle against cancer by fighting for a cure. While it is too late for my Dad, there are over 10,000 others expected to succumb to GBM this year, and over 13,000 others expected to receive a diagnosis. Right now, only 25% of those diagnosed are expected to survive more than one year, and only 5% are expected to live over five years.

I am very lucky to have had the opportunity to shadow Dr. John Boockvar, Vice Chair of the Department of Neurosurgery at Lenox Hill Hospital, and director of the Laboratory for Brain Tumor Biology and Therapy at the Feinsten Institutes for Medical Research. Dr Boockvar’s compassionate care is highlighted in the critically acclaimed Netflix docuseries Lenox Hill and EmergencyNYC. The experience with Dr. Boockvar was both inspiring and transparent as I watched Dr. Boockvar and his dedicated team in their commitment to finding a cure for GBM and other brain cancers. The Department of Neurosurgery will be hosting their annual Brain Tumor Biotech Summit this June, where I will be speaking, in hopes of promoting the advancement of new treatments for patients. Working with Dr. Boockvar has cemented my strong sense of faith in their team, and I started this GoFundMe page to support their research, to which all funds will be directed. Please JOIN US in our fight to find a cure for GBM, so that families and patients can look forward to a lifetime of memories together.