I ?? American Brain Tumor Association...

In January of 1997, my father (Mayor Lou) accompanied me to NYU on 34th Street in Manhattan for my one-year follow-up with my pediatric neuro-oncologist, Dr. Jeffrey Allen. We were going to discuss my MRI results, and I was terrified to my core. I was still fresh meat, having only recently escaped the flames and riddled with crippling acute side effects and living a miserably depressing life.

The good news is that I was fine "for now," but relapse was still a daunting reality, and, at 22 years old, I had no "what's next."

As we exited the hospital, we passed an unusually bustling area where a conference was going on. Turns out it was the annual meeting of the American Brain Tumor Association .

We peeked inside the auditorium and stumbled upon a few hundred people listening to a panel on stage. We briefly met, as if by fate, the late Naomi Berkowitz, CEO of ABTA.

A brief conversation struck up, and we were introduced to our first nonprofit patient advocacy, research, and support organization.

But I wasn't ready. More so, since the room was filled with predominantly senior citizens, I didn't get the sense that this was for me. Little did I realize this forboded my later discovery of the nascent young adult cancer community fomenting at LIVESTRONG.

We went on our way, knowing ABTA existed.

In the Spring of 1998, after I published my two solo piano albums, I sent Naomi an email asking if I could send her a few copies.

And so I did.

Several weeks later, I received a letter in the mail thanking me for the CDs, alongside a stellar endorsement and an invitation to play piano at their upcoming annual conference in November.

And so I did.

Mind you, it was 1998. There were no cell phones. No cameras. No social media. So, while there is no proof that the conference ever happened, my Dad remembers landing at ORD, renting a car, and driving through a blizzard on US Route 88 to Iowa for the event. I even gave a piano concert to several hundred people. True story.

But I did receive the following letter a while later from the ABTA thanking me for joining their community and donating a batch of my albums to their cause.

Fast forward to this Spring, when I was contacted by the ABTA team, who asked me if we could get the band back together.

How could I say no?

Twenty-six years later, I returned to the stage at their annual conference in Chicago, and as excited as I was to come full circle, I was ill-prepared for the emotional impact attending the event would have.

In addition to the incredible human beings I had the privilege to interact with, one particular moment left me flabbergasted.

An elderly couple walked over to introduce themselves, and, as it turns out, it was Susan and Manny Kramer, the founders of the—American Brain Tumor Association. They lost their daughter Micki Rae to a brain tumor on January 8, 1973, and life would never be the same. But out of the wake of tragedy and grief, a new hope was born.

I cried as we embraced and thanked them for their leadership and stewardship over the past 50 years.

I will say the corporate culture of the ABTA is unlike any I've ever seen, outside of Stupid Cancer ancer, of course. (Cough cough) Their Board, staff, affiliates, and volunteers are some of the most authentic, passionate, and committed advocates and professionals I've ever seen.

Not only was it an esteemed pleasure to work with them, but this was a personal homecoming more than two decades in the making.

Brain tumors are the red-headed stepchild of oncology, and our voices have gone under the radar for far too long. The stigma is horrible. The outcomes suck. Brain tumors are not better or worse; they are incomprehensibly different.

This December marks 29 years since I was told I had mere months to live while at the ripe old age of 21.

Too bad that Robitussin didn't work.

Here's to the advocates who take no shit and go through hell. If we didn't do it, it wouldn't get done.

And another toast to the American Brain Tumor Association

MZ Out.