Day 36: A Special One

Today is not just another day on the ocean. Eight years ago today, early in the morning of February 5th, 2001, my mom, Kathie Ridley, passed away from malignant melanoma after a brutally short four-month battle with the disease. Despite chemotherapy and consultations with expert oncologists at a major New York City cancer hospital, the treatments available to her were not enough to save her life or even buy her much time.

I was 17 years old in February of 2001, and I witnessed her struggle unfold at a particularly formative point in my life when, as a senior in high school, I was beginning to realize that the decisions I made in the next several years would go a long way toward determining who I'd be as an adult. The impact my mom's death had on me was profound, and is single-handedly responsible for where I am at this very moment -- 31 degrees 35 minutes West, 18 degrees 20 minutes North -- in a 19-foot boat 359 nautical miles from the nearest land (Cape Verde) and 1,736 nautical miles from the end of my journey.

Every year I treat this day as an opportunity to reflect on the progress in my life over the last 12 months, and particularly my most meaningful successes and failures. This year, as you can imagine, much of my focus has been on Row for Hope. Here the jury is still out because, despite the fact that the expedition is going well, there is a lot of progress still to be made on the fund raising front. Unlike other expeditions, the success or failure of Row for Hope will be decided not by miles rowed, but by dollars raised.

Through this row I'm hoping to make a statement in as bold a way as I know how -- that cancer research matters and the pace of life-saving progress must be accelerated with additional funding.

Row for Hope has been lucky to be supported by so many passionate donors and volunteers. We've benefited from bake sales and bus trips, jeans days, Superbowl pool winnings, donors young and old, classrooms, companies, big checks, loose change, and heart-felt encouragement nearly everywhere we go. For this support I am personally very grateful.

If you enjoy following Row for Hope and my expedition, or know someone who has been affected by cancer, today would be a great day to make a donation by visiting www.rowforhope.com. If you've already donated and would consider donating again, please do. Keep an eye out for a post from Peter Lamothe of Yale Cancer Center with more detail on how your donation will be put to work to accelerate the remarkable progress that takes place there every day.

Thanks,

Paul

A difficult anniversary, and the reason why we're here

This is Joy, with a personal note from our family. It's been 8 years today since Paul and I lost our mom and since our family lost its center. As the emotional member of the Row for Hope team I've been nominated to mark the occasion. I could write all day about the person she was, and the loss we won't ever recover from, but I know she'd prefer that Paul and I turn our grief into something bigger and better. That is what we've tried to do in creating Row for Hope, and that is the reason why Paul is pulling the oars every day.

As a reminder of why we're all here, we asked Yale Cancer Center to write today's blog and to describe the critical work that they do. Every additional dollar Row for Hope is able to contribute to their programs is one step closer to a cure for the cancer that changed our family and too many others. Thanks to the countless people who have supported us in this incredible journey. Thanks to Dr. Sznol and Yale Cancer Center for the life-saving work they do every day. And thanks Mom, for giving us life, and for making it good. We love you!

Quote from Dr. Mario Sznol, Co-Director, Yale Cancer Center Melanoma Program

Everyone at Yale Cancer Center's Melanoma Program joins me in thanking Paul and Joy for choosing to help others who will face melanoma in their lifetime. It is a wonderful testament to their character and conviction that they travel this incredible journey to benefit patients and families they may never know. Row for Hope's impact will be both immediate and far reaching. By helping to fund today's research, our understanding of the disease and the treatments we provide our patients in the future will improve considerably.

Yale Cancer Center Melanoma Program

The Yale Cancer Center Melanoma Program is a multidisciplinary team of physicians and scientists dedicated to state-of-the-art clinical care and research to improve the outcome of patients with melanoma. Melanoma can be a devastating disease, and although current treatments can cure or delay progression of the disease in a small number of patients, most patients do not benefit from available therapies. Therefore, there is critical need for research to develop more effective and less toxic treatments.
The Yale Cancer Center Melanoma Programis uniquely positioned to take advantage of existing opportunities to rapidly advance the treatment of metastatic melanoma. It was developed over 25 years ago to discover new treatments and provide state-of-the-art treatment for patients with melanoma. In order to achieve its objectives, the Melanoma Program brings together scientists, experts in clinical research, specialists in melanoma surgery, medical oncologists devoted to melanoma treatment, community oncologists, dermatologists, pathologists, dermatopathologists, and radiologists.

Program Co-Directors

The Melanoma Program is co-directed by Dr. Stephan Ariyan and Dr. Mario Sznol. Dr. Ariyan is a nationally recognized plastic surgeon and former Chief of Plastic Surgery at Yale-New Haven Hospital, with 30 years of experience in the care of melanoma patients, and a distinguished record in research of surgical approaches and management of patients with melanoma. Dr. Sznol is the current Vice Chief of Medical Oncology and brings to Yale nationally recognized expertise in drug development and development of immunotherapy treatments for melanoma.

Basic Science Research

The basic foundations of the Yale Cancer Center Melanoma Program are basic research, clinical research, and skilled multi-disciplinary care of patients. The basic research is headed by Dr. Ruth Halaban, a molecular biologist who has made fundamental contributions to the understanding of melanoma biology. Dr. Halaban is Director of the recently awarded Skin SPORE grant, one of only 4 in the country, which supports multiple research projects in melanoma that translate basic science into clinical application. Other members of the Melanoma Program have combined clinical and laboratory programs. For example, Dr. Kluger, has a laboratory program focused on tissue microarrays, which provide a means to discover biomarkers for prognosis and response to treatment, and potential targets for drug treatment. Dr. Kluger's program is closely allied with Dr. David Rimm, who leads the Yale Tissue Microarray Program and Yale's efforts to discover prognostic markers for early melanoma lesions.

Clinical Research

Clinical research initiatives are led by Dr. Sznol. The goal of the clinical research program is to introduce and investigate novel treatments for patients with melanoma. Currently, 6 clinical trials are available for patients with metastatic disease, including novel chemotherapy regimens, anti-angiogenesis agents (drugs that destroy or inhibit the formation of blood vessels that feed tumor), and new agents that stimulate the body's immune system to attack the melanoma tumors. In addition, patients with metastatic melanoma who are no longer eligible for melanoma-specific studies may be offered novel cancer treatments through the Yale Cancer Center Phase I Clinical Trial Program.

Clinical Care

Clinical care of melanoma patients is a coordinated effort of the YCC Melanoma Program surgeons, medical oncologists, dermatologists, radiologists, surgical and dermatologic pathologists, and radiologists. Dr. Ariyan directs the weekly conference in which care and management of patients is discussed among the Program members. Clinical history, physical exam findings, surgical procedures, x-ray studies, and pathology slides are reviewed at the conference, and optimal approaches to treatment are proposed and discussed at length. The Program emphasizes communication with all physicians active in the care of patients. Joining Dr. Sznol in the medical treatment of patients with melanoma is Dr. Harriet Kluger, Associate Professor of Medical Oncology. In addition to caring for melanoma patients, Dr. Kluger is involved in conducting studies on patients' tumors and blood samples and incorporating these findings into the clinical trials of the Melanoma Program, further facilitating bench-to-bedside advances.

Private Support

There are two established research areas within the Melanoma Program that benefit directly from new funding like Row for Hope. The first is non-clinical translational research, intended to develop and test drugs (or combinations of drugs) against specific targets in melanoma cells (identified from basic research), and to develop and test drugs that activate the body's immune system to destroy the melanoma. The second is clinical research, intended to test the best drugs and drug combinations in patients and determine their safety and ability to effectively treat melanoma.

Day 35: Swimming with the Fishes

After much less deliberation than expected, I went in the water tonight around 7PM and scraped the bottom of the boat. I couldn't see the bottom, but from my map my best guess is that it was between 8,774 feet and 8,869 feet deep (2,675 to 2,704 meters)! I actually didn't plan to go in the water today, as the seas aren't all that calm (10-15 feet, maybe?) and by the time I started thinking about it, it was already getting late in the day.

Here's how it went down... Rowing along in the middle of the PM shift, and the boat's feeling slower than ever. I still haven't scraped barnacles and it has probably been long enough for there to be some growth under there. Maybe I'll see if I can feel anything under the waterline? So I reach under as far as I can and to my surprise the hull is like a shag carpet of barnacles! Bad news...

So I think, OK, well, I hear there are supposed to be light winds next Tuesday; I'll go under then. Then, well, winds are supposed to be good until Monday night; do I really want to waste five days of good winds by not scraping the bottom? Nope.

So I dig out my mask, snorkel, and barnacle scraper (a plastic cement spreader), tie a rope around my waist (other end to the boat, obviously), and I'm ready to go...technically. Then I climb over the grab rail and proceed to sit on the gunwale for at least 5 mins, thinking... "what time of day do sharks typically feed?"...and "don't freak out if you go under and see a Dorado. It's not the same as a shark"...and "it's OK, you can put this off till tomorrow"...

Then finally I'm in the water...first thought is "oh, crap I'm in the water!" Second thought is "scrape like hell'...so I do. All the way around the boat, and barnacle carnage everywhere. Small fish with black and white vertical stripes stuck around to feast on the now-homeless barnacles, but they were the only fish I saw. I even put my head under the water to scope out the hull to be sure I got every last one, bow to stern. At one point I even looked down and saw nothing but bright blue, which was actually slightly reassuring.

I clamber out of the boat wet and cold, but mission accomplished! In hindsight, and based on my terrible mileage numbers for the past week, it seems that I started to slow down around Day 25, which means I need to scrape the bottom about every three weeks. That means I'll have at least a couple more reasons to go for a dip before Antigua.

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 34

After the big entertainment yesterday, a shorter update today. Everyone's curious about "the swim." Haven't gone for a dip yet, but I'm planning on it next time the wind and waves die down. I actually don't really like swimming where I can't touch the bottom. A little ironic, isn't it? Not to mention the fact that I'm not a particularly good long distance swimmer. Maybe because my leg muscles are bigger than they should be from rowing and my arms are tiny in proportion? If you're curious, my map says that the ocean where I am is 2704 meters (I think) deep!

Biggest excitement of the day was when during my lunch break I was putting some food away (transferring from a week's worth that was in a garbage bag in the forward compartment to the cabin, where I keep food inside my balled-up survival suit, borrowed from Norwalk River Rowing Assn -- thanks Charles!), when I took the biggest splash yet in the rear hatch and directly into the cabin, soaking everything in sight. The biggest concern was the satellite phone, which took a glancing blow, but seems to be OK. If the sat phone where to go down it would be a big, big, problem -- no blogs, no calls to home/media/friends. Note to self: stop being stupid and leaving the hatch cracked open!

I'm headed out shortly to try a short night shift. Hopefully I can work an extra hour or two into the routine after dinner, to help get my mileage up. Seems like the wind's been weak for a while now. What happened to my days of clocking 40 plus good miles? Arggg...

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit www.rowforhope.com.

Paul

Day 33 - Liv Meets the Nordic Cosmos

Around noon today I'm rowing along in a relatively calm sea, rowing, rowing, rowing...in the middle of contemplating life with some David Gray on the iPod. As I'm rowing along, I think to myself..."was that a beep?"...then again..."Yeah, that sorta sounds like a beep..."

Then I take a glance to my immediate left and..."OH #%@#!"

I'm staring straight at the enormous bow and reddish brown hull of a huge freighter headed right at me and maybe a quarter mile away. Close enough that I can clearly see waves being thrown up from its bow cutting through the water, and I know it's moving fast. Quick, turn on the VHF, channel 16:

"LARGE CARGO SHIP, LARGE CARGO SHIP, THIS IS OCEAN ROWBOAT LIV, OCEAN ROWBOAT LIV, I AM 500 METERS OFF OF YOUR BOW DEAD AHEAD. COME IN CARGO SHIP"

Nothing....

"LARGE CARGO SHIP, THIS IS OCEAN ROWBOAT LIV, I AM DEAD AHEAD AND REQUESTING AN IMMEDIATE TURN TO STARBOARD!"

A few seconds pass...and I see cloud of black smoke coming from the ship's half-dozen smoke-stacks. The captain is gunning the engines to make a turn, and I gradually begin to see more and more of the ship's port side come into view...this is good!

By this time I've poked my head in the cabin to check my chart plotter. I notice that the AIS alarm (which had been beeping) was reading "Closest Point of Approach - 0.00nm". Wow. That's close!

Then from the VHF...

"This is Nordic Cosmos, sorry Liv I didn't see you on the radar and wasn't looking at the AIS. I see you now. Turning to starboard."

My reply, "Thanks! Sorry for the scare, I should have seen you coming. Good to hear from you though, I'm 33 days out of the Canary Islands bound for Antigua and you're my first sign of life in two weeks."

"Wow. Is everything ok? Is there anything you need?"

"No, I'm fine. Where are you coming from?"

"OK. Coming from the United States."

"Do you see me on your AIS?"

"Yes, sorry. I see you now on AIS but didn't see you on radar."

"OK, good to know I'm still transmitting. Well, good to talk to you. Have a good trip."

"OK, Liv. Standby channel 16..."

So, how's that for some excitement? In hindsight I don't know why he didn't have his own AIS alarm set. Who knows how close we would have ended up, but the answer is at least "pretty close" and much too close for comfort. At the closest it got (after making its turn), the boat looked something like a 4-iron's distance away...so 200 yards or so? Yikes!

Well, lessons learned today include:
1) iPod headphones in one ear only
2) If I hear a beep, or think I hear a beep, at least take a look around!
3) Don't get so caught up in contemplating life that I forget my surroundings, even if I haven't seen anything but ocean in weeks.

After the excitement was over I got out the camera and took some pictures. These are not zoomed in, and will serve as the most recent installment of BEARD WATCH, marking just under two months of growth:

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit http://www.rowforhope.com/.

Paul

Day 32

Shorter update today, since it's getting late and I just spent the half hour I usually use to write playing with my AIS transponder. As I was eating dinner while sitting in front of the main hatch, enjoying the fresh air and the view of the moonlit ocean, a wave hit my starboard side at just the right angle to send a splash of water into the cabin. As I was toweling things off I must have knocked loose the connection from the VHF antenna to the AIS unit, because shortly thereafter it was blinking wrong color lights, which indicates a problem.

AIS (Automatic Identification System) is like a next-generation radar that sends data through VHF radio signals (think walkie-talkies) to other ships up to 25 miles or so away. Where radar would just show me a blip on the screen where there's something to reflect a radar wave, AIS actively sends and receives lots of information that's useful to ships at sea, including the ship's name, call sign, ID number, position, heading (direction it's pointed), speed, rate of turn, etc... With this information, I can tell where a ship is and how close it's going to get to me. When I plug the AIS information into my chart plotter (GPS mapping gadget), it shows other ships on the screen, and sets off an alarm if any are going to come within a certain range of me and Liv. Since I'm paranoid and want to know about every ship out there, my alarm goes off if there's a ship within 25 miles.

AIS also lets other ships know I'm here, and they get the same information about Liv that I get about them. I show up on their screens as "LIV - OCEAN ROWBOAT"... at which point I'm sure they think, "You've got to be kidding me." So far none have come over to take a closer look.

Anyway, I reinstalled the plug that connects the VHF cable and the AIS unit, which I had first installed back in Gomera. As I write this the unit is blinking away all green lights and everything's back to normal.

In other news, lighter winds forecast for tomorrow and Tuesday before picking up again from Wednesday on. Maybe I'll go for a swim to scrape the bottom of the boat in the next couple of days? Will be sure to check for sharks and giant squid before I go in!

Thanks to all who have supported this expedition and important research at Yale Cancer Center with a donation to Row for Hope. If you haven't donated, or if you would consider donating again, it would be much appreciated. To donate online use the link in the upper right-hand corner of this page or visit http://www.rowforhope.com/.

Paul

Day 31: Update from Home

Here's Paul's position at the end of his first month at sea (click to enlarge). He's almost exactly 1,000 miles from La Gomera, with 2,100 miles to go.

And here's some evidence of the "Row for Hope mania" that's sweeping the country! (And, no, it's not my Blazer....)

Thanks for every sign of support!

Mark Ridley and the Row for Hope Team