Earlier today I had to fill out a form outlining the issues my family has faced over the past 20 months (and counting). When I was done, I sent Bren a screenshot saying “sometimes when I write it out, I'm like holy sh*t." Pardon my French.
"Courtney was diagnosed with AML when her first son, Cillian, was born in September 2019. She was planning on returning to work as a Pediatric Intensive Care Unit nurse after maternity leave; however, due to her diagnosis, her family relocated from Pensacola, FL to NJ to be near a major transplant center per the recommendation of her oncologist. Her husband, Brendan, is in the military, so they were able to reassign him to McGuire Air Force Base. Right before starting treatment at two months postpartum Courtney underwent egg retrieval to be used for IVF in the future. The new family of three lived with Courtney’s parents; then in base lodging (motel), until they moved into base housing in January 2020. Courtney underwent induction chemotherapy, requiring a one month stay in the hospital in November 2019 and then three rounds of consolidation chemotherapy (one round in the hospital and two rounds at home) during the winter of 2020. Courtney received her transplant on 5/15/20 and was in the hospital during the peak of COVID for one month. She was hospitalized twice more for post transplant complications right after her son’s first birthday. Courtney, Brendan, and Cillian all had COVID in January 2021. Courtney has been unable to return to work as a nurse due to the pandemic. Once Courtney is vaccinated and Cillian is able to receive all of his childhood immunizations (there has been a delay due to Courtney’s immunocompromised state), Courtney can consider returning to work as a nurse and Cillian can be enrolled in daycare."
When I write out our story, it's easy to see that the focus over the past year and half has primarily been on me. Because...cancer. And, on Cillian, because he's our first born, our baby, our everything. He's the reason I was diagnosed in a timely manner and am still alive (in addition to my donor). I was saved by my own son and a baby I will never meet. I suppose not many can say that. So you can see how and why the focus has been on me and Cillian.
Behind the scenes, however, in our own home, we have been trying to shift the focus back to Brendan. A couple of days before Cillian was born and our world was turned upside down, Bren unknowingly took his last flight as a T6 Instructor. Normally a pilot will have a "fini flight" to celebrate their final flight in a certain aircraft. Bren didn't have a fini flight because it wasn't supposed to be his final flight. He was supposed to enjoy several days of paternity leave and then return to instructing. That didn't happen and I'd be lying if I said I knew when Bren registered that he'd be leaving his position as a T6 Instructor. Maybe it was when the Ob/gyn said I'd be meeting with an oncologist right before I was placed under general anesthesia for a c-section to safely deliver our son. Maybe it was when our son was in the NICU and I was on the oncology unit, rather than the Mother/Baby unit. Maybe it was when we sat in our living room devising a plan with our parents and closest friends about what in God's name we should do, rather than simply enjoying the bliss (and lack of sleep) of having a new baby. Was it when we sat with a white board listing the pros and cons of the top cancer centers, knowing that we'd potentially live in different states if it meant I received the best care possible? Was it when our friends came over to help two tired new parents pack up "necessities" for a few months so we could drive to NJ for a second opinion? Perhaps when we heard "you have cancer" for the second time, Bren realized his career in Florida was done, just as I knew my career in Florida was done. Flying and nursing alike would be placed on the back burner for the time being. There would be no returning from maternity leave for me. And there would be no returning to NAS Whiting Field for Brendan.
In the months that followed, the military qualified me as an exceptional family member (obviously) and (sarcasm aside) enrolled us in their Exceptional Family Member Program. This allowed Brendan to be transferred to McGuire Air Force Base, where he was previously a C17 pilot, so that we could be near a major cancer center. Right before we PCSed back in 2017 (military lingo for moving to a different station) Bren was promoted to Aircraft Commander of the C17. I remember his fini flight because I was able to taxi him down the runway (waving cones this way and that). By the time Brendan officially received orders to McGuire, it had been over two and a half years since he last flew the C17, which meant he would need to requalify. Easy peasy. You pack up, go to Oklahoma for a month, do some simulations, study a bit, hop into a plane, fly a bit and boom: requalified. Okay, so, obviously it's not that easy. A good bit of studying is required to requalify layered with a tremendous amount of focus. Oklahoma was just not feasible with a newborn son at home, a wife in and out of the hospital, and, by golly, a pandemic. Fortunately, Brendan's commanders have been nothing short of amazing with their understanding and support. Bren was assigned a desk job (which is standard once you are requalified to fly) which he pours his heart and soul into. He'll deny it, but I see him. His dedication is unparalleled. Working a desk job, however, meant that flying would be placed on the back burner once again while we trudged through our new reality. My career was stripped away because of my new identity as a patient; his as a caregiver. This commonality allowed for an understanding between us. We knew that eventually we would return to our careers, it was just a matter of when. So, yes, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, it was just rather dim. Bren should have been flying missions supporting the COVID outbreak and I should have been utilizing my skills as a nurse during "the year of the nurse." As if cancer wasn't already a slap in face. Sit back and watch your colleagues do the work you should be helping with. You can see why our tunnel was rather dim and our view rather bleak.
After I reached the 100 days post transplant milestone, it appeared that Bren would be able to turn his focus to flying. I was fairly healthy, my numbers were great, and I could start living independently. Cillian turned one and then I got sick. I was hospitalized twice more. Oklahoma was a joke at this point, so in house training (meaning requalification at McGuire) was going to be the path of least resistance. This, however, meant that Brendan would continue his desk job while requalifying. Fortunately, I seemed to be on the mend so Brendan was finally able to establish a focus on simulations and studying, while remaining dedicated to his desk job. Natural progression of requalification led to his first time back in the seat of the C17 in November 2020; 15 months after his last time in the air as a T6 instructor. He should have been complete and mission ready by the beginning of the new year.
How many times can one type unfortunately before it becomes painfully redundant? I ask this often and seldom receive a satisfying answer.
Nevertheless and very unfortunately, COVID and a sequence of bad weather strung Brendan along for an additional three months. Life also presented us with the emotional challenge of the declining health of Brendan's grandpa. Our dimly lit tunnel barely held a flame.
Until last week.
Life, luck, fate, and good fortune graced us with their presence. But, above all else, perseverance paid off. Brendan completed his check ride. He officially became mission ready to fly the C17 as an Aircraft Commander.
Brendan didn't have the choice of taking the easy road toward requalification. Not that there is an easy road, technically speaking. But he didn't ask for the hard road either. He didn't ask for or deserve the obstacles and hurdles that were thrown at him. And yet he rose to the occasion each time. I'd be lying if I said we handled everything with grace, free of tension and tears. Because we didn't. But we never lost focus. He never lost focus. At the end of the day, Brendan was always going to fly again. So next time you look to the skies, maybe it will be my husband you see. And maybe you will understand the sheer gratitude, admiration, and amazement I have for Brendan.
AND THAT'S NOT IT.
HE WAS ALSO SELECTED TO BE PROMOTED TO MAJOR.
How's that for a feather in your cap.
With over 15 years in the Air Force, 7 as an enlisted airmen and 8 as an officer, Brendan will become Major Crawford this year. I am so freaking proud.
Life has handed us so many lemons. I'm not talking about Costco sized bags. And I'm certainly not talking about sweet lemons. I'm talking about sour lemons by the case. And, we, together, have turned them into oh so sweet lemonade. My story would not be complete without Brendan's story. And while this is just a chapter in it, it's an incredibly important one. It's one that I want Cillian to know and learn from in years to come. That family is everything. That resiliency is power. That his dad is extraordinary.
