Save One Life

“Human pieces of geometry”: Brian of Zimbabwe

With Dr. Timothy Stamps, personal health advisor to the president

I’m in Zambia, Zimbabwe’s huge neighbor to the north, having a hot tea on the deck of my lodge room on the
banks of the Zambezi. The sun is a scorcher today, the air humid as if someone
dropped a huge, wet blanket over the atmosphere. While I see Africa’s beauty
before me, I’m haunted by the image of an African boy in Zimbabwe. Though I
left Zimbabwe on Wednesday, my mind still drifts back, wondering what to do.

I visited Zimbabwe from December 1-5, and Zambia from the 5th-10th, tomorrow. I’ll write about
Zambia next Sunday and finish Zim here.
ZHA members with Mr. David Mvere, director of National Blood Transfusion Services

The Health Minister was unavailable to meet, but we did get to meet with the personal health advisor to the president, the charming Dr. Timothy Stamps, who I have met twice before. We chatted about
hemophilia, and it’s good to have someone like him in government who knows about it. But even more important, we have the National Blood Transfusion Service, which is really the backbone of hemophilia care in Zimbabwe. David Mvere, the director, is an advocate for those with hemophilia—and always ready to help us when we have product to donate. I’ve met him several times over the past 12
years. We will work together to see if we cannot move hemophilia care forward in 2013. What’s needed is a national “tender,” in which the government advertises that is has so many dollars to spend on hemophilia products. The drug companies then bid for the sale, keeping their proposed price tags secret from one another so the government can take advantage of the lowest price/highest quality drug. Zim hasn’t had a tender in almost 20 years, I think.

ZHA, Laurie and Dr. Dyana (center) at Parirenyatwa Hospital
The rest of my time in Zim is spent advising the Zimbabwe Haemophilia Association on
best practices and providing an assessment of what they need to function more effectively and produce
results.
And then, there are the hospital, home and family visits. Last week I told you about Brian, an orphan who lives in a mud walled, maize-thatched circular room outside of Harare. We also stopped by the Parirenyatwa Hospital, the main public hospital in Harare, where some
patients go for treatment. Little Brian had been admitted. Simbarashe Maziveyi,
the ZHA president, chatted with him in Shona, the native language to learn more
about his case.  Simba would have made a great professional counselor; his calm demeanor, listening skills and reassurance touch everyone.

Simba, ZHA president, counseling Brian

We meet with Dr. Dyana, the Cuban
hematologist who chose to stay in Zimbabwe to help cancer and hemophilia
patients. Thankfully she did because Zim suffered for many long years without a
single hematologist in a country of approximately 500 patients.

Then we drove out into the bustling Harare traffic (that’s a good thing here! Shows progress) We visited Vincent, a 33-year-old with hemophilia, who
also happens to be a Save One Life beneficiary. He lives with his wife and small daughter in a 12×12 room—just a room—with all his worldly possessions: a small TV, some clothes, a few books. He has not worked since January, and you can see the anguish in his face. How do they eat? Where do they get money from? Save One Life gives him some cash. His sister lives nearby and helps out. But they are desperately poor. Vincent does own a bicycle, which he proudly shows me. He can bike to the treatment center when he has a bleed.
This must sound absurd to the average American with hemophilia! But it is a survival tactic in Zimbabwe. And when Vincent gets to the treatment center at the Parirenyatwa Hospital, there usually is no factor, of course.

Simba interviewing Nhamo
We drive to see Nhamo, a 41-year-old man who has come from very far away by bus. He’s had an ulceration and bleed on his left hip for months. The tissue has died and needed to be cut away. The wound can’t seem to heal and there’s no more factor. He’s now staying with his sister in a small room on someone else’s property. His crutch is homemade–a stick. He can’t work, can’t heal… this story is repeated many times in Africa. Luckily, we do have factor for him. Then he shows us his hospital bill: $2,500+ dollars.

Talk about out of pocket costs: how is
a destitute guy from a rural area ever going to pay this off? Might the hospital
refuse him treatment if he doesn’t pay? Maybe. Simba pledges to go talk to
officials on his behalf. This is really the value of going to visit patients.
The founders of the Flying Doctors of Africa (now AMFAR) once said that if you
want for patients in Africa to come to you, they’ll die; you need to go visit
them. I take that to heart.

Last stop of the day is Tanaka, from a family I have known for 11 years! Tanaka is adorable, charming, bright. And a hugger. Hugs are not a real tradition here, but Tanaka sure loves it. The whole family and I embrace one another at our reunion. They present me with a beautiful blanket with an elephant on it. Tammy from Texas sponsor Tanaka, and the money really helps him. Tanaka flashes me his trademark megawatt smile when it’s time to leave.

Tanaka gives his sponsor a gift!

On Tuesday we have a patient meeting,
with as many families as possible in attendance. Some have come from hours away
by bus. Many are in pain, seeking relief. Some of the moms are single, and
confide their fear about how to get financial relief, and how to treat bleeds.
Someone asks about a cure; another about gum bleeds.

One enormous obstacle in any developing country is infrastructure, particularly transportation. Even if factor were available, many cannot get to it as they can’t come to Harare each time their child has a bleed. I’m convinced the only solution long term is home therapy, which doesn’t exist in most developing countries. As many of the moms nod their
heads, we ask for a volunteer among them to organize a home-infusion training day. It’s a go, and the moms pledge to get together; the wife of one man with hemophilia is a nurse and she offers to be trainer. It’s a positive thing to at least start with.

On Wednesday, as I prepare to leave for the airport, Simba begs just one more visit. Often it’s when I am feeling tired, burned out just want to get on with the next leg of the journey or even go home, that the most important child is met. This happened Wednesday.

Vincent and family: out of work but not out of hope
We drive back to the Parenireyatwa Hospital, to the front of the shed where the ZHA offices are. There sits a little boy that immediately brought to mind the words of Frank Schnabel,
founder of the World Federation of Hemophilia: that patients with hemophilia were “human pieces of geometry” stuck in a wheelchair. Only this little triangle boy didn’t even have a wheelchair.
Brian is 13, but only weighs 25 kilos, about 50 pounds. Malnourished, in horrible chronic pain, he sat in the brilliant sunlight with swollen feet, four grotesquely swollen fingers, withered biceps—I could touch my forefinger and thumb around them easily—huge elbow joints (or was that an optical illusion due to the wasted musculature?). His face registered such pain; and he was wearing a Jim Morrison t-shirt, as if he knew I was a huge Doors fan and was desperate to get my attention.

My heart broke for this child, an orphan, being raised by his grandmother in a rural village, where he will no doubt be blamed for this disorder because of witchcraft. When I asked Brian to lift his arm, to see if he could at all extend it, he had to lift it at the shoulder, but lacked the muscles to lift his arm, and was prevented from
searing pain.

Brian steals our heart: he’s an orphan,  can’t walk, or lift his arms and is in constant pain
I have never seen a child tortured before, but this was as close as I could imagine to seeing it. Simba, voice calm and soothing, elicited the necessary information, and we arranged for Brian to be admitted at once, and provided the factor. In the States, Brian would face months and months of treatment, nutrition and rehab. A Facebook posting that night led to three families wanting to adopt him, and more who want to sponsor him.  We even asked Simba that night, but no. “His family could not possibly part with him,” he texted.

It’s comforting to know that Brian is loved, but it eats at us that our children in developed countries enjoy every benefit of medicine and can lead normal lives. Brian is stuck in a time-warp: care will come to Zimbabwe, of that I am sure, but not perhaps in time for this
one precious child.

Laurie, Simba speaking with Brian’s sister, “Beauty”
A great goodbye from the Youth Committee of the ZHA

Adrenaline Junkies, Take a Hike

At Thanksgiving last week, my family gathered for dinner and in swapping motorcycle and adventure sport stories with four of my six brothers, someone remarked about the “adrenaline junkies” in the Morrow family (my maiden name). True, but I reflected our hemophilia community has a few of those as well. This summer we watched Barry Haarde bicycle 3.677 miles across  America to raise funds for Save One Life, my nonprofit that supports kids with hemophilia in developing countries. And we saw Eric Hill and Jeff Salantai of BioRx scale Pico Duarte, the highest peak in the Caribbean, to raise money for the Dominican Hemophilia Camp, which Save One Life supports.

And last year I summited Mt. Kilimanjaro with eight others, including Eric and Jeff, to raise over $66,000 for Save One Life. Now, Barry and I just jumped our of a plane last week at 18,000 feet, but we didn’ raise any money–it’s an idea, though!
But you don’t have to be an adrenaline junkie to help support a good cause. Try walking!
Bayer has just announced the winners of its virtual walk, a successful fundraising efforts to help hemophilia chapters and–I am grateful and proud to say– also Save One Life. (www.saveonelife.net)  See below, register for next time and then… take a hike!
The 2nd Annual Virtual Walk for Hemophilia is  proud to announce the top 5 participating local National Hemophilia Foundation (NHF) chapters who rallied the most virtual walkers!
First Place with $15,000 in sponsorship funds:
Arizona Hemophilia Association
Second Place with $10,000 in sponsorship funds:
Bleeding Disorders Alliance Illinois
Third Place with $5,000 in sponsorship funds:
Texas Central Hemophilia Association
Fourth Place with $2,500 in sponsorship funds:
Nevada Chapter, National Hemophilia Foundation
Fifth Place with $1,000 in sponsorship funds:
Nebraska Chapter, National Hemophilia Foundation
We, at Bayer, are delighted to provide these chapters with sponsorship funds to continue their hard work in supporting the bleeding disorder community.
Furthermore, we are privileged to present the National Office of the NHF in New York with $30,000 in sponsorship funds to assist them in continuing to improve and enhance the lives of those who live with bleeding disorders. And we were able to provide $7,000 in sponsorship funds to Save One Life, a non profit organization that offers the opportunity to sponsor a child or adult with a bleeding disorder in a developing country.
Thank you again for making this Virtual Walk possible!
©2012 Bayer HealthCare Pharmaceuticals, Inc. All rights reserved.
BAYER and the Bayer Cross are registered trademarks of Bayer.
4/12 KN09001812

Uniting Globally

Untreated bleed, Dominican Republic

I attended the annual National Hemophilia Foundation meeting from November 7-11,
as I have done since 1992 faithfully. As usual it was filled with interesting
sessions on treatment of hemophilia, attractive displays of company booths and
wonderful reunions with many friends and colleagues. But something new: in his
opening speech, NHF CEO Val Bias, a man with hemophilia and one of the foremost
advocates in helping to get the Ricky Ray Law passed, spoke about uniting our
communities globally. This is the first time I believe that NHF has shown a
targeted interest in helping the world’s 75% with hemophilia who have little or
no access to care.

Laurie with Nancy S., who has a child with VWD

This was exciting to me as I have been working to help the underprivileged with hemophilia since 1996. First with a leadership training program called
L.I.G.H.T., then a factor donation program called Project SHARE, still ongoing,
and my nonprofit Save One Life, which sponsors children overseas. I was
thrilled that NHF would bring its resources and brainpower to help those in
need.

Why not before now? Timing, focus. We have been through many phases: the contamination of the blood supply and subsequent infection of thousands occupied our time and focus for years. Then came product shortages. The inhibitors. Even NHF had its own problems internally and struggled to assess leadership (CEOs came and went) and structure. That seems behind us now. And with Val’s leadership and vision, NHF turned its powerful eye overseas, especially to Africa.
Val Bias and Neil Frick visited Nigeria in September, marking the first time that someone from NHF has been to Africa! I’ve been traveling there since 1999, when I first visited Zimbabwe and Kenya, and am returning on November 30. Finally, finally America is showing its leadership and true giving nature in joining the international community and participating in partnerships that will help
hemophilia nonprofits and its members in developing countries.

Meeting FB friends: With Liz Purvis and Tater!

Val has bigger plans: the 2016 NHF meeting will be held in Miami, and Miami was
also selected for the 2016 World Federation of Hemophilia biennial meeting.
This means that attendees to either meeting can also extend their visit and
join the other meeting. WFH gets about 4,000 visitors and NHF gets about 2,500.
This would potentially be the biggest meeting on hemophilia in history, and on
American soil.

I really applaud NHF becoming involved globally. The world needs it and it’s good
for us. I’ve always felt that we have more than enough to share, if we can just
find ways to do it. With NHF’s power, hemophilia care globally can progress at
a faster pace to reach more in need, an estimated 300,000 who suffer from this thoroughly
treatable disorder.

With Gary Cross (L) and Dana Kuhn, of PSI

And looking at all the photos from NHF here, I realize that almost evey person pictured either sponsors a child with hemophilia or VWD in a developing country through Save One Life or has contributed in some way to Save One Life or Project SHARE. From summiting Kilimanjaro to raise funds, to making handicrafts that support a child, to sponsoring one directly, Americans have already been uniting globally—and now can take pride that their national organization will as well.With Reid Coleman of NC

Confessions of a Novice Cyclist

Emily Haarde surprises son Barry
At some point during our 50 mile ride last Monday, which would complete Barry Haarde’s epic ride across America, I had to confess to him that while I was pleased that I was keeping up with him, a world class athlete, at his pace, I had only learned how to clip in my bike shoes two days prior. Really.
I would not have done this ride at all if it were not for Barry’s insistence that 1) I could do it, and 2) I had to do it as president of Save One Life, the nonprofit I founded and the cause for which he just spent 49 days in a hard saddle, cycling from the Pacific Ocean in Oregon to the Atlantic Ocean by noon on August 6, raising about $35,000. Barry’s ride truly was epic: no one with hemophilia, much less hemophilia/HIV, had even attempted this. Barry attempted and was victorious. And I was so privileged to ride alongside him for the last day.
Privileged but not worthy. I am such a cycling novice. Somehow, Barry seemed to think that because I had summited Mt. Kilimanjaro last August (if you read my blog from a year ago you know that I was pretty much dragged unwillingly up that summit in the final 7 hours; the rest of the hike I did just fine), I was naturally going to be good at cycling. But my bike, an Orbea Diva, a very expensive 50th birthday present to myself four years ago, scared me.
Yes, my bike scared me.
Its ultra light carbon frame, clip pedals and wacky gear shifting made it a totally different ride from the heavy, clunky but sturdy hybrid I had been riding for years. When I first took the Orbea out for its maiden voyage, I turned to look behind me at traffic, in order to execute a quick U turn. I promptly fell in the middle of Route 1 northbound in Rowley, Massachusetts—not a good place to be! I was mortified. I couldn’t get my darn feet out of the clips (you know something is bad when I say the word “darn”). I couldn’t get the feel of the bike; like a highly sensitive horse, the bike responded immediately to any slight shift in my body weight.
I couldn’t get the hang of the gearshift: what did the instruction manual mean by two clicks?  I shifted gears like crazy, not knowing whether I was in high or low or what. I rode the bike only twice that year, not enjoying either ride. I didn’t ride it at all the second year. My beauty hung on the garage wall, ignored, like a forlorn trophy gathering dust. Last year I took it out a few times, scared, unsure and still not able to shift any gears. I marveled at the cyclists I saw, how they had mastered their steeds. I had little time to crawl back humbly to the bike shop and ask how to shift the gears. Soon, I told myself, soon. .
Laurie and Barry about to set out
Then came Barry Haarde, with a wonderful idea to raise money for Save One Life. Barry was so taken with our cause, that he proposed something no one had ever done. Save One Life would raise the money with him, and support his trip. He joined America by Bicycle and 49 other cyclists, and embarked on a well defined route that would lead him to my backdoor, practically: Portsmouth, New Hampshire, just 20 minutes up 95 north from my house.
And he wanted me to join him that final day, to cycle 50 miles to dip our wheels in the Atlantic Ocean in victory.
But I was not worthy to wipe his clip-in bicycle shoes!
So I started rehearsing, mounting that feather light frame, wobbling on razor thin tires, jamming my feet helter-skelter into the foot contraptions, eventually snagging the pedals, and off I went. The most I ever cycled at one time was 12 miles. My first venture of the day left me saddle-sore, bow-legged and bruised badly. This is fun?
Undaunted, on Sunday, August 5, I waited for the cyclists to roll in, in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. And in they came: most of them were in their 50s and 60s, silver haired speed demons on a gorgeous collection of elite machinery: hip clothes, excellent physiques, and not the least bit tired looking, despite having cycled 76 miles that day. Gulp.
Finally Barry coasted up to the Comfort Inn, where we waited with hugs for his achievement thus far. He had a wonderful, fantastical faith in my ability to do the 50 miles the next day. Should I tell him now about the clip in shoe confession? Maybe I should tell him that I still couldn’t shift the front gears at all. That might have an impact on my ability to climb hills. Nope. There were other things to do. Barry’s family had secretly flown all the way up from Orlando to welcome him and surprise him and we were keeping this a state secret. They had all checked in about 30 minutes before.
While Barry was upstairs getting settled in for the evening, his mom Emily, age 84, snuck down stairs and waited in the lobby armchair, just as cool as a cucumber, but giggling with anticipation. When Barry reappeared, he walked right by her, sat in an adjacent armchair and began speaking to me about the day’s road trip. The surprise was getting anticlimactic when the son didn’t recognize his own mother (who in all fairness was turned away from him watching the Olympics on TV). I eventually had to suggest that the nice lady in front of him might come to dinner… and then, what a sweet reunion! Barry had hoped his family would join him and so they did: brother, sister, nieces and cousins.
Dinner that night was a celebration and ceremony of the achievements of a diverse group. Barry was riding not only to highlight the plight of the poor with hemophilia in developing countries and to raise funds, but also had been devoting each day in memory of someone who had died of hemophilia/HIV. This included his own brother and brother-in-law, whose photos he would wear on his back the next day, the final day. I would spent a lot of time on Monday staring at that back, staring at those wonderful men who passed away so young.
As we left the dining room, Emily, bringing up the rear, leaning on her cane for
Bagel Stop!
support, joked, “I’m the cow’s tail,” which made me turn and smile at her—this was a phrase I had not heard since my grandmother passed away in 1996. It was one of her favorite phrases. That phrase would dog me the next day.
Adrenaline was surging Monday morning! I hopped out of bed at 6 am, donned the very stylish cycling clothes.  By 6:30 am we had gulped down many carbs at breakfast (oh my, could these guys eat) and straddled our bikes, ready to go. “Barry,” I timidly said, first confession about to seep out. “Could you check the air in my tires? The Orbea hasn’t been in the bike shop in… about four years.”
Oh yeah. It was at 20 pounds of pressure when it should have been 120 pounds.
Off we went! The day was cool, with thunderstorms predicted but which never emerged, thankfully. I was thrilled when we zipped away, over a bridge, down the road. This was pretty easy.
Twenty minutes into the ride and I noticed I was really losing ground as Barry pulled away from me. Try as I might, I couldn’t recover. Wait—my bike was making an odd, rhythmic sound. Barry slowed down and I asked him about the sound. The front gear? I reached behind and squeezed my tire, which was completely flat. A flat tire. Me. The interloper. Barry remarked he hadn’t had a flat tire in oh-about 2,000 miles, not since Wyoming. Me, 20 minutes into an historic ride.
We called the support van, which showed up immediately and changed the tire. This put us about 15 minutes behind everyone. What a difference when we began riding again! We zoomed along. Despite not being able to shift the front gear, it was permanently stuck in low gear, so I couldn’t manage any hills well.
By about 9 am we had our first pit stop (SAG, as they call them). Everyone gathered together, chowed down granola bars, peanuts, chips, fig newtons, oranges, replenished water bottles and joked about. Jeff and Al decided to switch bikes, not something recommended but after 3,600 miles, they must know what they are doing.
Off we went again; the miles passed easily and Barry and I enjoyed coasting by picturesque New England towns and back roads. Old Congregational churches sporting white steeples, horses grazing in the fields, men fishing off bridges, rolling green hills and rich green trees. Barry couldn’t stop remarking about the lushness of New England compared to Texas, where he now lives. New Hampshire is a pretty state and typically New Englandish; it’s a state I turn to for adventure and fun. It’s here I go rock climbing and skydiving—and now cycling.
I confessed to him when I was feeling more cocky about my ability to master the clip in shoes just on Friday. Barry diplomatically didn’t comment.
The next pit stop seemed to come up quick: a bakery in downtown Exeter. Again? Really, guys? Bagels, donuts, coffee… I could have kept going but it seems the team was eating its way across New Hampshire! Off we went again and this time no more stops…. So we thought.
The ride was going unbelievably well. Barry, having a rear view mirror attached to his helmet, knew the best times to pull alongside me and chat. Cycling is so much better when someone is along to chat with or pace you. I learned more about this remarkable man, the brother he lost, how he got involved only since 2009 in the hemophilia community, how it took his brother’s death to push him to become a participant, then activist, and now, first person ever with hemophilia to cross the US by bicycle. With over 1,400 friends on Facebook, almost all related to hemophilia, Barry has become an icon in our community.
Barry announced my milestones: “Twenty-four miles, twice as long as your longest ride!” “Thirty-five miles…” and then “Just two miles to the high school…” where we could congregate, do a group photo and then be escorted by New Hampshire’s Finest to the Atlantic Ocean at Wallis-Sands Beach for the wheel dipping ceremony.
And then disaster struck: Barry’s bike made a terrible noise and he pulled over to the shoulder, on a residential street with magnificent homes. Only two miles from the “finish.” His chain had snapped. With characteristic Zen calm, he said, “That’s it. I’m done.” And then added ruefully, even smiling, “Figures. I’m always the underdog.”
I happen to like rooting for underdogs. He called the support vehicle, but wasn’t sure just where on the route we were. I thought it was North Street; Barry thought it was West street. The driver got the wrong street number and waited for us down the road somewhere. Precious minutes were ticking by. At 11:45 am, with or without Barry, the team would cycle to the beach and dip their wheels. Barry just had to be there!
“Take my bike,” I begged. “It’s important that you finish!” But Barry patiently explained 1) it’s a girl’s bike (but it’s only 2 miles!) 2) the seat is too low (well, bend your knees!) 3) I can’t bend my knees due to arthritis (Oh. I felt stupid; all this time I never noticed that Barry couldn’t bend his right knee beyond 45 degrees. And he did this all across America on that knee?) 4) The seat is too low. (But…but….)
The support vehicle finally showed, and Mike, the driver, was none too pleased. Tension was mounting. He thought they couldn’t fix the chain in time. Take my bike, please. Mike then took my bike, muttering “Where’s your personal support vehicle?” and jacked up the seat, as high as it would go, “without it snapping in two,” he warned. Barry sat on it; his feet couldn’t even clip in to the pedals. But off he went. It was amazing how fast he zipped off; before we even got into the van—with Mike frowning at an unregistered rider in the support van (me)—Barry was just gone.
We drove in to the high school, begged everyone to stop the photo shoot to wait for Barry and what seemed like agonizing minutes was really only about 5. Barry wheeled in, looking like a teenager riding a little kids’ bike. He got cheers and whoops from his own teammates, and a few jokes. Amazing victory; seriously, the Olympics held no greater charm for me than this sweet moment.
After the shoot, the police positioned their cars and everyone slowly cycled to the beach, an armada of wheels, helmets and great big smiles. Al, the joker (every team has one) kept declaring, “I want to be last!”
But Al, someone shouted, Laurie is! “Aw, she doesn’t count!” he quipped. And I agreed; me, the cow’s tail, didn’t count. I only did 50 miles, and these cyclists did over 3,677! 50 days to my one day!
A huge crowd was waiting at the beach, as they knew to expect the riders. People of all ages, applauding at their achievement! Present too were Save One Life staff and Janie Davis of Baxter Healthcare (Baxter sponsored the ride) and even a few local families who so kindly came to give their support.
We dipped our wheels in the chilly Atlantic, amazed at how this day turned out. It seemed no obstacle, no matter how close to the finish, could stop the incredible Barry Haarde. His mom, standing by his side in the brilliant sunshine, beamed. So proud of her son, as she should be. So was I; so were we all.
Congratulations to Barry Haarde and to all the cyclists that day; I do believe you don’t know who you are until you know what you can do, and pushing yourself to near-extremes is one way that adrenaline junkies like Barry and me find out. I didn’t know I could do 50 miles on a bike I was afraid of.  Barry didn’t know he could do over 3,677 having hemophilia, HIV, a half-useful knee. I think when you attempt feats with a purpose, a cause greater than yourself, a cause that helps others less fortunate, you find strength within, and resources within, you never knew could be possible.
And just to prove it, Barry pushed me some more. You’d think he’d want to rest after traversing the US? No way: 12 more miles the next day in Massachusetts; up to 6 am Wednesday to drive to Maine and do another 12 miles all along the gorgeous coast of York. I couldn’t think of a better way to share his victory. And I can’t wait to do the next ride with him.
Special thanks to Baxter Healthcare for sponsoring Barry’s ride! Thanks to all who donated! 
Book I Just Read
The Road Less Traveled: A New Psychology of Love, Traditional Values and Spiritual Growth by M. Scott Peck
An appropriate title to read after this road trip, but not nearly as exciting. Written in 1978, the book explores the meaning of love through the eyes of a psychoanalyst. Love, as he defines it, is a journey that helps another grow spiritually. Peck delves into meanings of love and discipline, expressions of love, and shares vignettes of how people overcame emotional difficulties. He describes the difference between love and being “in love”—which was well written. I read this in the 1980s and thought it was brilliant; rereading it again, I now see it as dated, fairly academic and dry, and limited. Who can really say what love is, when there are so many types of love? The first half of the book is more about love and mental health and taking personal responsibility for navigating life—good stuff; the second part gets into spirituality, God, science and Christian values. Some of his take on religion vs. science is a bit head-scratching. I found the first half of the book more readable and useful than the second half, which was muddled and lost focus. Two out of five stars.

History in the Making!

Just two more weeks!
On Monday, August 6, 46-year-old Barry Haarde will be the first person living with HIV and hemophilia to have ridden across the United States by bicycle!
He’ll dip his bicycle wheel into the Atlantic Ocean in Portsmouth, New Hampshire after 50 days and 3,667 miles.
I rode 12 miles on Saturday. I cannot even imagine. Barry is the hemophilia community’s new national hero!
Barry’s “Wheels for the World” ride is about more than setting a record: he is riding to help raise money for Save One Life, the nonprofit I founded in 2001. Many of you are aware that this program provides personal sponsorships of individual children with hemophilia who live in poverty in developing countries. We’re hoping to raise $50,000!
Barry is on Day 35 today, in Fond du Lac to Manitowoc, Wisconsin; 57 miles in one day, elevation gain: 1,350 feet. The Wisconsin hemophilia group took Barry out to dinner to welcome him! Nice going, Wisconsin!
Barry has heart, physique and courage. Each day he dedicates his ride to someone with hemophilia who lost their life to AIDS. For example, today, day 35 of the ride, Barry devotes today to Brandon Hendrickson. I know Brandon’s mom, Angie. How wonderful that someone still remembers Brandon, and urges us all to remember him and the hundreds, thousands more who died!
But let’s not forget those still living, who suffer with no treatment and extreme poverty. Barry is also riding for them.
So to honor Barry’s most certain achievement, I am doing something I’ve never done before. I’m hosting a party for the hemophilia community locally! On August 6, Save One Life will celebrate Barry’s ride. It’s at my house… so contact me if you want to come! laurie@kelleycom.com (An attendance of 75-100 guests is expected. Tickets to the celebration are $25 per guest; $50 per family.)
And please, readers, can you also help? Make a donation today in any amount to our Wheels for the World fundraiser. Go to http://www.saveonelife.net and click on Wheels for the World. You’ll go directly to a page where you can use PayPal or other means. And if you do, I will double your donation by matching it! Please help today and show Barry you are cheering for him!
See Barry’s Interview with the KDLT Evening News, a South Dakota news agency!
http://www.kdlt.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=18985&Itemid=57#video
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