I'm feeling a little weak. I'm in line to donate blood. I've never done this before. A woman here just passed out. I got woozy watching this. Honestly, it's a little hard to type. Mr. Mendez just turned and asked me if I was writing my Last Will and Testament. (And the nervous laughter begins.)

And that's all I could type while I was there. Here's what happened.
To every person there I had to talk to, I said, "I'm doing this for Team in Training. This is my first time donating blood. I'm squeamish. I once passed out during a blood test." I probably told more people than really needed to hear it.

As they were asking their routine questions about medications, someone passed in front of me carrying a bag of blood. Oh, geez. I started feeling a little light-headed.

Then the worker said, "Okay, let me just get your bags." THEY LABEL THE BAGS THAT'LL HOLD YOUR BLOOD IN FRONT OF YOU! What kind of sick joke is that? I had to look away.

I was trying to think positive. This is nothing but a blood donation. People go through a lot scarier things than this.

So I'm sitting down. The needle's in. The tech jokes he didn't feel a thing and reminds me to squeeze my fist every three seconds. Not all that reached me. I just kept squeezing my fist constantly and eventually I realized I wasn't waiting three seconds. A little while later, I was handed a stress ball.

I couldn't look at my right arm. I don't remember when, but at one point, they pointed a surprisingly powerful fan at my face.

Eventually, it was over. I was a little light-headed and my feet were falling asleep, but none worse for the wear. I got to choose the color of the bandage. I knew I wouldn't take that bandage off for a while. I just keep imagining blood gushing out if I remove it.

I got some water and a bag of chips and sat down. Someone suggested I drink some coke, since it was my first blood donation. I didn't have any change.

And that's it. A happily boring ending. Team in Training gives me $25 credit for donating blood. I was thinking I could avoid it, since I was so close to reaching my goal. But then I felt that was cheating. It's an easy way I can help and that's what I'm trying to do.

This is the part where I ask for your help. Please donate to LLS.

Awesome! I'm at 60% of my fundraising goal. Thanks to everyone who's supported me so far in this!

I got $100 as part of the Go-Getter Grant. It means I completed certain tasks, like attending the kickoff, mailing a certain number of letters, and attending team practice.

Last week, I didn't get to run as much as I should've due to my schedule. The good news is we've just been running two miles and I can run a 5K (3.1 miles), so it's nothing I can't handle.

That'll probably change in about a week.

During the kickoff, honored hero David Mendez spoke about getting treatment. He's an adult with a family of his own. He said he couldn't imagine children having to go through the process.

The past few days, I spent worrying and praying over a 6-year-old. It's a blur of monitoring a fever, a doctor's visit, different prescriptions, an emergency room visit and trying to match doctors' instructions with conflicting paperwork.

He'd been bravely putting up with it. Even when I explained about the need for an IV, he just nodded his head. But today, I saw him clutch his jaw in pain, and with tears in his eyes, he asked, "Why is this happening to me?"

I couldn't think of anything to say.

I know I'm fortunate in many ways. I'm able-bodied, so I can move around and help. We have a roof over our heads and beds to sleep in. There are nearby hospitals and pharmacies. We have a car to get to these places.

But, at that moment, none of that seemed to help. He was in pain and he felt like it wouldn't stop.

The good news is he's happily reading right now. He's on the mend and the bad reactions to his medication have stopped. Unfortunately, as you know, there's not a simple pill for everything. Yet.

Let's work on changing that. Please donate and help me raise funds for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.

I barely stood a few nights of worry and feelings of helplessness. I can't imagine what cancer patients and their families go through for weeks, months, and years.