I'm walking for my brother Buz (lymphoma), my Aunt Edith (leukemia), my Uncle Larry (lymphoma survivor), and for me.

On September 30, 2003, my whole life changed when I was diagnosed with Stage II Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. All of a sudden, I found myself sitting for hours in doctors' offices getting chemotherapy and radiation for the same disease that killed my brother, Buz, in 1992. My wife, Betsy, went from working full time at a job she loved to working full time as my caretaker. Luckily the cancer was caught early, and after 7 months of treatment, I received the news that I was in remission and I was allowed to remain in the Air Force. I thought the worst was over.

A year went by and I woke up one morning to find that I had lost feeling in my right leg. Since we were paranoid about any new symptom, Betsy immediately got me in to see the doctor. After looking at my MRI, the doctor told me the lymphoma had spread to my central nervous system. This would have meant that my chances of survival were pretty slim. Betsy and I were stunned and tearfully started making phone calls to tell my family the bad news. But after seeing yet another doctor, we found out that the growing spot on my spinal cord and lower brain was actually just damage from the radiation therapy I received the year before. At first we were ecstatic that I was still cancer free, but then the doctor gave us the details of radiation-induced nerve damage.

Since the damage affected my spinal cord and usually takes a year or more to completely manifest itself, I would progressively get more and more paralyzed on my left side while losing feeling on my right side from the neck down. There was nothing we could do and no way of knowing whether I would eventually be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of my life (or worse). Months went by. Gradually I went from running 5 kilometers in 20 minutes to only managing 35 minutes to barely managing to run at all. Now I can't run anymore. I walk with a limp. I am unable to use my left arm and hand. Radiation also damaged my jaw and after my fifth jaw surgery I've been forced to eat and drink through a tube. I had a promising Air Force career, and my next assignment was to teach at the Air Force Academy. But in 2006, after a long fight with the medical board, the Air Force informed me that I was medically retired.

After all this hardship, Betsy and I are still thankful. We are lucky that my paralysis didn't get worse than it already is (radiation treatment was what killed my brother). I know we never had financial hardship, which affects a large percentage of cancer victims. We are unable to have children after chemotherapy, but after 6 years of fertility in-Vitro attempts and adoption heartbreak, we adopted a baby girl from China last year.

The military will pay for me to go back to school for my PhD, so maybe I can teach at the Academy after all, as a civilian. I've just started at UT this fall and even though I get winded walking to class, I have tube feedings 9 times a day, and I have to do all my typing one-handed, I don't plan on giving up.

I am trying to raise $5,000 for the Light the Night walk in Knoxville on October 29, 2009. This money will go toward new research so people like my brother and me won't be subjected to harsh radiation therapy. We had a problem with our DNA that made us more susceptible to radiation. Unfortunately, this is so rare that doctors never test for it. But with more research into the cause of blood cancers like lymphoma and leukemia and more localized treatment, future victims won't be as ravaged by chemo and radiation as we were.

Light The Night Walk is The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's evening walk and fundraising event. It is the nation's night to pay tribute and bring hope to thousands of people battling blood cancers and to commemorate loved ones lost. Please help me reach my fundraising goal. If you can't donate, please pass this on to your friends and family. We all know someone who is affected by cancer, and I'm positive we can beat it if we work together.

- Brian Liebenow