How St. Jude and the Ronald McDonald House are Changing Lives in Memphis

By Cathy Armstrong

Ask Pat and Nancy Quinlan about their family’s stay at the Ronald McDonald House while their four-year old son was being treated for cancer and it becomes apparent that while the ultimate goal of St. Jude is a cure for catastrophic childhood diseases, the hospital is equally determined to make the treatment process a positive experience as well.

“St. Jude and all of its facilities do such a good job of taking care of the little things - making sure you have a place to sleep, clean towels, food to eat, something to do - so that you have every opportunity to do your best for your children as a parent,” says Nancy.

The road that led the Quinlan’s to St. Jude began on Labor Day weekend in 2004. With Hurricane Frances bearing down on the east coast, it was hardly business as usual at the Joe DiMaggio Children’s Hospital in Hollywood, Florida. The threatening weather brought power outages, loss of treatment facilities and extra staff staying overnight in case of emergencies. But to the Quinlans, the Category 3 hurricane was little more than a nuisance. Brian, their chubby faced, rosy-cheeked, always active son had been tentatively diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia (ALL). What could be more threatening than that? With all of the area labs closed due to the weather and the holiday weekend, it would likely be Tuesday before the bone marrow biopsy would be read that would determine a definitive diagnosis.

“There was little we could do but wait. We’re both attorneys and we’ve learned from work that often in the medical field there’s one person that rises above the rest in their field. I wanted to find that person, the one who had the most experience for the longest amount of time treating children with Brian’s type of leukemia. But the hospital staff was sleeping in the family life center so even when the electricity came on, we couldn’t get in there to use the computer.”

Finally the hurricane passed and Pat was able to access the computer. Working all night, he finally walked into Brian’s room in the wee hours of morning and announced to Nancy, “The doctor is Pui and the hospital is St. Jude.” He then began to share all that he had learned about Dr. Ching-Hon Pui (pronounced Poo-ee), a St. Jude physician who was devoting his life to the treatment and cure of Brian’s form of cancer.

The Quinlan’s also learned that in the midst of the horrific news there were a few reasons to be hopeful. When St. Jude opened its doors in 1962, ALL was a devastating death sentence for all but 4 percent of the children diagnosed with the disease. Today, St. Jude doctors and scientists are realizing a cure rate of 85 to 90 percent. Also, Brian’s young age would be in his favor. The best ages for successful treatment of ALL are between one and ten.

Realizing that Brian would need a referral to be treated by Dr. Pui, Nancy pleaded with one of the chemo nurses to contact a fellow nurse at St. Jude. Before long she returned to the room with the unbelievable news that Dr. Pui himself was on the phone. “I had just finished reading all the titles of the books and articles and research papers Dr. Pui had written on ALL and he was on the phone? I just started to shake. I knew this was my chance to save Brian’s life,” Nancy says. “I told him, ‘I know who you are. I know you’re the best. Please treat my little boy’.”

“The next phone call to Brian’s room was from a lady in Memphis. Her words were ‘the plane leaves West Palm Beach at 6:50. Dr. Pui says you need to be on it.’ It was 2:00 in the afternoon and we were in a hospital an hour and a half away from West Palm. Brian was still hooked up to IV’s, the hurricane had wreaked havoc on the roadways and I barely had more than the clothes on my back. But if Dr. Pui said we should be on that plane I determined that we would be on it even if I had to carry Brian down I-95 to the airport,” Nancy recalls.

With electricity still out from the hurricane, neighbors brought flashlights and empty suitcases and were waiting on the front lawn when the Quinlans arrived at their West Palm Beach home. Thirty minutes later they were waving goodbye and boarding a plane to Memphis.

Landing at around midnight, the lack of sleep from the last several days, took its toll. “We were in a drowsy state watching this luggage circling around and around when it finally occurred to us that we were looking for our luggage, when in fact we had packed our neighbors’ luggage. We didn’t have a clue what it looked like,” laughs Nancy.

Waiting at the airport was a St. Jude shuttle to take the Quinlans to the hospital. “I remember when we arrived the first thing we saw was the statue of St. Jude. Then we walked into the lobby and I saw the colorful walls. But the really happy part about it was that we saw these tricycles sitting everywhere. Brian ran to a tricycle, hopped on and started riding around the lobby of St. Jude Hospital after midnight. I said to myself, it’s going to be okay,” Nancy says.

Soon after their arrival the Quinlan’s settled into a routine of hospital visits, chemo treatments and check-up appointments with Dr. Pui. Taking up residence in the Ronald McDonald House allowed the family to enjoy a small sense of normalcy amidst the stress of caring for a sick child. Since 1991, over 3,000 families have stayed in the spacious, cheery red brick facility where warm beds, private baths and a large, well stocked kitchen offer a shelter for families during their time at St. Jude.

Another of the Quinlan’s challenges was helping their older son, Brendan, deal with the sudden upheaval of his life. “We were always committed to handling this as a family,” says Patrick explaining their decision to bring eight-year old Brendan along. “We felt it was a life lesson for him. It would certainly have been easier if we had sought treatment closer to home where he could have continued his school and his routine, but we felt it was important for him to realize that the sacrifice we all made for Brian was the same that we would do for him.”

At the Ronald McDonald House, siblings enjoy the same special benefits as the patient. Arts and crafts activities, Bingo, movie nights and visits from local sports teams keep the kids focused on fun. Small, intimate living rooms scattered about the house allow families the opportunity to watch a movie together and share a bowl of popcorn, just as they would do at home. Pool tables and computer games allow lively conversations and new friendships. “The Ronald McDonald House is very secure,” says Nancy, “so the children can come and go throughout the house in complete safety.”

Pat believes that the outdoor recreational facilities at the Ronald McDonald House are more than just an outlet for fun for the children. “I will always believe that Brian responded so well to the treatment because he remained physically active. There is an incredible, modern playground and bicycle paths that encourage the children to get out and exercise. I looked at the exercise as actually being an integral part of his therapy and the Ronald McDonald House facilitated that,” says Pat.

The stocked pantry, movie cabinet, and video library might also have a therapeutic effect. “You have children who have no control over so much of their lives. There is no control over the medicine they have to take, no control over when they have to be sedated or be stuck with needles or have MRI’s or other procedures. But at the Ronald McDonald House they can go to the pantry and fix themselves a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or other snack. They can choose what movie they want to watch or which video game to play. They’re free to choose at least the fun part of their lives.”

Perhaps one of the most significant contributions the Ronald McDonald House makes to help guide families through what is likely to be the biggest challenge of their lives is one that happens naturally and without planning. Pat explains, “We met families at the Ronald McDonald house that have become friends for life. Perhaps they’re the only ones who can truly understand what we’re going through.”

Update on Brian: Brian is now 6 years old and is back home in West Palm Beach, Florida. He continues frequent visits to St. Jude for follow-up treatment and tests, which have shown his cancer to be in remission. He will complete his chemotherapy treatment in October of 2007.

Ronald McDonald House is operated by Ronald McDonald House Charities of Memphis, Inc., a non-profit corporation. Donations may be sent to:

Ronald McDonald House
535 Alabama Avenue
Memphis, Tennessee 38105

By Jonathan Lindberg

Nowadays, a moment can define an election. Take for instance the famous Reagan line during his 1984 Presidential debate, “I will not make age an issue of this campaign. I am not going to exploit, for political purposes, my opponent’s youth and inexperience.” Any race that was left to be had was finished from that point on.

Or Michael Dukakis. Remember him riding that tank in Michigan, the words Mike Dukakis taped to his helmet. The image seemed to capture the utter ineptitude of the campaign he was running.

And then in 2004, two moments seemed to define an entire election. There was the Howard Dean scream-fest after his primary loss in Iowa, a verbal declaration of a once-promising campaign falling apart. And then we had John Kerry explaining his utterly perplexing vote to veto eighty-seven billion dollars for our soldiers overseas, “I actually did vote for the 87 billion before I voted against it.” Both moments defined a frustrating year for Democrats at the polls.

Over the past forty-five years, something has happened to American politics. Somewhere between Nixon-Kennedy and Moveon.org, campaigns have become less about what is said and more about how what is said is spun. The candidate has been replaced by the consultant, and the result is anything but positive. “Rather than make the game more interesting, they have drained a good deal from our democracy. They have become specialists in caution, literal reactionaries – they react to the results of their polling and focus groups, they fear anything they haven’t tested.” That, according to Time columnist Joe Klein, who’s new book, Politics Lost: How American Democracy was Trivialized by People Who Think You’re Stupid (Doubleday, 241 pages) documents the conquering American politics by pollsters and consultants.

Beginning with eccentric pollsters like Pat Caddell, who helped define the ways to effectively gauge the voter, thereby helping Jimmy Cater ascend to the White House and along-the-way becoming a political celebrity in his own right, Klein charts the rise of the consultant, from Joe Trippi to Karl Rove, to Bob Shrum. “Some of my best friends are consultants,” Klein begins, and then systematically deconstructs their art, laying the burden of passionless politics at their feet.

But what has really changed over the past fifty years? What has made campaigns like Dwight D. Eisenhower different than those of George W. Bush? One word, television. “Television has ruined every single thing it has touched.” Not the words of Joe Klein, but rather Adam Walinsky, who worked on the ill-fated Presidential campaign of Robert Kennedy. However, the words might as well be Klein’s. Politics Lost offers one reoccurring theme, the always-present political consultant constantly throwing television advertising dollars at sagging polls. Who thinks we’re stupid? According to Klein, the answer is apparent – the political handler equates the thirty-second-spot as the modern day version of political dialogue, the one sure-fire shot-in-the-arm for a voter unsure of a candidate.

Politics Lost is about the consultant; however, it does not ignore the candidate, or rather, the diminishing role of the candidate. From Jimmy Cater to Howard Dean, George H.W. Bush to John Kerry, Klein does what few reporters are experienced enough to do, that is, tell us where we have been and tell us where we are going. Where we are going and where we are now. In two candid chapters, Klein looks inside the Gore and Kerry campaigns respectively, painting a disheartening picture of two candidates completely overrun by political handlers, unable to decide the fate of their own race. “The consultants were insistent on running the campaign they wanted to run. If the candidate disagree with them, or wanted to do something else, they sandbagged it.” This unfortunately, is where are.

Where we are going remains to be seen. The impression one gets from Politics Lost is that politics has been sterilized and there is no turning back. Nowadays, unscripted moments like the Al and Tipper kiss at the 2000 Democratic National Convention have little to do with policy and much more to do with poll numbers. Presidents are entrenched in the permanent-campaign, decisions affecting either their reelection numbers or their legacy.

Still, Klein is hopeful that an alternative will one day emerge. Like Robert Redford in the movie The Candidate, the image might be hard to place. Klein offers some help. “A politician who refuses to be a performer. Who never holds a press conference in front of an aircraft carrier or a flag factory. Who believes in one idea that has less than forty-percent support in the polls. Who can tell a joke – at his or her own expense, if possible. Who abides by the sign that graced Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s Oval Office: Let Unconquerable Gladness Dwell.” No matter what your politics may be, that is something to which we can all agree.