8 Million Stem Cells

A deep horn resonates for your attention as the song launches into motion. The musical track beats with tribal percussion as wave after wave of guitar strings strum into a melodic movement. The anthem sings lifting you up, giving you a horizon to set your sails. “I am sailing stormy waters, to be near you, to be free.” The Sutherland Brothers, “Sailing” (1973).

I couldn’t believe my eyes last month when a dear friend and music buff texted me the seventies Scottish folk band that mirrored my name with musical fraternity. It struck me down, but at the same time it launched me once more into the breach. My life felt like a maelstrom traveling across the country for my brother’s medical procedure, while juggling work and supporting my wife with our three month old daughter. It’s these moments of clarity that empower you, sometimes unknown and terrifying, but there is a purpose in it. Because some things just make sense when the universe forces your attention. Like last Fall 2025 when a medical coordinator from University of California Los Angeles called me asking to verify my identity, and to gauge my interest and availability in being a bone marrow donor for my brother and his battle with acute myeloid leukemia. It just made sense to confirm the question, no matter the circumstance, why would I not save my brother’s life? There was even a possibility I may have to miss the birth of my first born child, but I just knew nature, community, God, whatever you want to call it…the universe wanted to make it interesting. It’s a familiar feeling, child-like even. Like something you’ve experienced since birth, an intuition. You could even practice recognizing it as some kind of discipline, and it is through discipline that we choose to live a life of meaning.

My brother has inspired me to realize this discipline, not because I was a perfect match to donate my stem cells to him recently, but because he is my brother, and I am a witness once again to his resolve as a big brother, a caring friend, and a kind person. Stephen is recovering as best as possible according to the doctor’s expectations of his new immune system. And Stephen’s courtesy toward his medical team and hospital staff, his conviction to follow procedure and participate as a patient over this past year, disciplined in his careful handling of medications and living through months with a PICC line (peripherally inserted central catheter) attending clinic and navigating healthcare, his patience with the whole process has astounded me and my family. And I guess it’s because his life depended on it. So much of this speaks volumes after his battle with the deadly infection last Summer following his severe chemotherapy. And because of his character of kindness, it has put things in perspective of how I can learn from him. Stephen’s ability to go ‘within’ during this trial is nothing short of extraordinary, and some of you may not know what that means, to go ‘within, and that’s okay. But I pray one day that you get to experience that, and when you do, you’ll know what it’s like to have Stephen as a big brother.

“If kindness could be drawn from your blood, how much do you think you would produce?” Saying that stem cells are a parallel to acts of kindness is a stretch, because one is a molecular formation during fetal development and the other is an expression of generous considerate nature. But if the stem cells are unique in their origin because they supply the human body with its immediate blood needs (protection and repair) and they duplicate themselves to distribute as needed, are the stem cells not the kindest kind of cells? And if kindness is really just a behavior of considerate nature, Stephen’s illness has not only concentrated this choice to donate kindness to others despite his sickly circumstance, but it has inspired me to participate and put into practice what I have witnessed from him. The realization is that we spend so much of our time diluted, from our daily lives of work, entertainment, and ego. Illness filters that away, and Stephen’s experience has revealed some deep personal truths about myself and relationships with others, but the deepest truth is that I am lucky to be his little brother and want to be like him in this way.

My big brother is one of the most disciplined people I know. We can all be disciplined in different ways, but Stephen’s concentration on something, for example as a music producer and multi-instrumentalist, when he sets his mind to something, is an impressive exercise of behavior learning, playing, recording, and mixing music tracks. But something else I am reminded by during this period of Stephen’s battle with cancer is his decision to set his mind to kindness. And this may not have been an intentional choice per se, but it may also have been a result of his battered condition from the cancer. This is not too unfamiliar from his character, as Stephen has always been a good hearted person, but through his intense trials with drugs and chemotherapy last Summer, and the fungal infection followed by prolonged hospitalization, and the delay after delay of medical treatment and complicated communication, I’m in awe of his disposition of acceptance to the events that have taken place. Stephen’s subscription to kindness, his affection for his medical team, his responsibility to participate in this expensive medical treatment, it all reminds me of the tolerance we are all capable of in our daily lives.

One form of expression Stephen is very tolerant to give out is a hug. In fact, he’s been known to give some of the best hugs to people because of his gentle embrace and decision to actually hold you and make you feel secure. I was reminded by this gentle nature when Stephen asked me to take him to his work at the Trader Joe’s in the Palms/Mar Vista neighborhood from the hospital last month. I was running late and had to meet him at the Trader Joe’s where I witnessed Stephen’s thoughtful interaction with each team member, sharing a hug if they accepted, and expressing his appreciation for their role as if this may be their last time to see him. I have a tendency to get philosophical in my conversations, if you haven’t figured that out by now, but I never felt curious to ask Stephen about his existential battle. I simply had to observe. His slow moving pace was probably mostly because of the weak condition of his body, but it was also heavier than that, it was a pace of living that I feel so distant and detached from in our hustling communities, career cultures, and young family lifestyle I find myself in. I honestly have only seen elderly people or maybe monks move in that way, almost serene in their step. It is this rare high tolerance of being present in time. The first time I witnessed this was October of last year that was easily one of the most sentimental moments of my life standing in that same Trader Joe’s store, wearing one of Stephen’s Trader Joe’s shirts, witnessing my brother receive this team of affection from his coworkers he hadn’t seen since his diagnosis. That was when I felt the rush of that childlike reverence for your older sibling. It is difficult to accept the truth that Stephen’s cancer is like some twisted gift from the universe, but a gift nonetheless that has helped with self-acceptance, insight, and the ultimate grocery store discount when he shops at Trader Joe’s.

Fast forward to this past March, when my travels really began and haven’t stopped due to the busy work season, and the thought that I have missed almost seven weeks out of the eighteen weeks of my baby girl’s life may sound sad, but I knew I could tolerate it, much to my wife’s chagrin. But once again, this trial with my brother’s illness empowered our family dynamic to experience life one can’t otherwise. My wife, Emily, and I joked about what better way for our baby, Lottie Dean, to start her daycare in South Philadelphia than by bragging to all the kids that she got to visit Los Angeles to see her Uncle Stephen. Although Emily and Lottie Dean had to fly back to Philadelphia after that first week, Stephen’s illness impacted their experience. I am so inspired by the tenacity of my wife to show her strength and fortitude as she traveled across the country on a plane, dealing with ignorant men who would make comments like, “wow, women can really do everything.” Come the third week, when it was time for me to begin my injection medications to boost my stem cell count while Stephen was simultaneously supposed to be admitted to the hospital to begin his last stretch of chemotherapy, the procedure got delayed because of some concerning levels in Stephen’s kidneys. Our timeline was pushed another week. So we rallied the support from family, friends, and managed it for one more week. Discipline was the key, not to mention I had to abstain from alcohol as a donor during this time, and the city of Los Angeles did not help that stipulation either. But another week goes by, and Stephen’s kidney levels worsen. The timeline gets pushed again, but this time it’s two weeks. So I jump on the next plane back home to Philadelphia.

“Can you hear me, through the dark night, far away, I am dying, forever trying, will I see you, who can say?” Sutherland Brothers, “Sailing”

Waiting and suffering can be the greatest teachers if you let them. This past year was no exception. My wife had to wait three days to deliver our baby after treatment from the obstetricians produced no cervical dilation and cesarean section was the most practical step. I learned so much during those three days, most of all that I am practically useless as a man in the delivery process. But I sure was kind to the medical team at Penn University who shepherded my baby girl into our lives and educated us those few nights before we went home. Kindness played a role, but it was also kind how the universe gave us the gift of life. It was the ultimate human kind experience, especially when the baby was born on the same day as Emily’s birthday. Here I was experiencing the life of my baby girl, and I was somewhat primed by the severely sick experience of my big brother. And it’s this kind-ness that sets it apart. Is it possible that at a molecular level, we are capable of adapting to any situation through kindness? I think healthcare has that effect, at least it has certainly played that role with my family over this past year. And this was only supported further when I complimented my transplant nurse on her colorful finger nails.

Claudia was the hemapheresis nurse assigned to me for my donation procedure, and the kind attention from this fifteen year plus veteran in suite 670 at Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center inspired me once again by the power of human connection. My initial visit and intake with Claudia on my first trip to LA was just in time for her last week before her vacation to El Salvador. I complimented Claudia’s nails when she shared with me about her upcoming travels. It was a real treat to learn about El Salvador and Claudia’s native culture, which she ended up bringing me a souvenir keychain back with her, because it actually worked out in our favor that Stephen’s kidney levels delayed the procedure so upon my second visit to LA Claudia was back from vacation to nurse me through the donation procedure. And as I laid there on the hospital bed with this catheter in my leg cycling out about 200 milliliters of bone marrow through this incredible intravenous procedure. The blood enters a machine that looks like it belongs in Star Trek, obviously the medical bay of the U.S.S. Enterprise, because it then enters a centrifuge to separate the bone marrow (stem cells) then returns the blood back into my body. I’m looking at this hanging IV bag collecting the milliliters of stem cells fascinated by modern medicine, wondering about the impact of this essential cell. This cell has the kindest characteristic. Is it safe to say that kind people are essential in this same way? People who express kindness, enrich personal connection, and are simply donating to supply and support the human experience. The master stem cell clearly works in the same vein [pun intended] to enrich the human body. Kind people are like stem cells. I found it significant to witness Claudia at work, she was an angel to me during this time of distress. And this realization was magnified on Thursday April 29th when I decided to practice my discipline of journaling while laying there on the hospital bed.

I flip through the pages of Leo Tolstoy’s book Calendar of Wisdom, a daily devotional, I like to read before my journal session to the day’s date of April 29th to find this passage in particular staring at me, “Illnesses release the power of one’s soul. Illnesses do not diminish his goodness, but on the contrary, they increase it.” It is powerful to consider the idea that Stephen’s illness has only released his deepest values and character to expose his family members to that behavior, that discipline, so we can all follow suit and extend that kindness to our own circles. It is universally agreeable that life is hard, and only gets harder as you get older. I feel my life has been ratcheted up to an uncomfortable pace that only now through the release of writing this do I feel like it’s getting back to a healthier sustainable enjoyable pace. However, it is because of Stephen’s illness that I am more willing to do the work, and it is because of my brother’s kind character that I am that much more able to embrace the meaning. Because we get through this together. We are all on the same metaphorical boat at sea.

“We are sailing, home again, across the sea, We are sailing, stormy waters, to be near you, to be free.” Lyrics from “Sailing” by The Sutherland Brothers (1973)

The reassuring truth is that it is already inside of you to donate the act that will improve the lives of others and yourself, just be kind. Stephen reminded me of this simple truth, this kind truth. Stephen is that kind of person. And I write to you aiming to be that kind of person, and I urge you to be that kind of person, too.