"If it wasn’t for the time I spent with the kids of the RMH, I’m not sure I would have known what it meant to be brave. I think that makes me one of the lucky ones."

This week’s Marvelous Monday post features another exceptional volunteer, Jeff.  A common role for volunteers is “House warming.” House warmers help out in various ways, including preparing and serving lunch for students in our school, followed by then supervising during lunch and recess. Jeff began volunteering as a House warmer, helped with many special events and even became an ambassador in the community to tell others about our mission. Jeff was willing to help wherever and however he could. However, the job he enjoyed most was being with the kids at lunch and recess. After Jeff graduated from the University of Minnesota, he moved to New York City. As it turns out, we were never far from his thoughts.

Jeff writes:
"My Strange and Fortunate Life as the Jellyman...

2002; my first year as a student [living in Frontier Hall at the University of Minnesota] was an exciting time. Like most freshman, I was exploring a life far from home, meeting new friends and figuring out what I wanted to study. While this felt like the beginning of something great, I couldn’t help but be humbled each day as I walked the sidewalks around my dormitory and encountered the brave and adorable RMH children – many bald and most wearing medical masks on their way to and from the hospital. I soon learned these kids were living with their families at the Ronald McDonald House and undergoing treatment for life-threatening illnesses such as leukemia. Many were far from home and in the Twin Cities for a life-saving transplant or other complicated medical procedure. It was admittedly a dose of reality to see them on a routine walk to class.

Spring semester came and I decided to get involved. I couldn’t just walk past every day without feeling as if there was more to life than pursuing self-focused goals. It struck me how lucky I was that I was healthy and had enjoyed a full and happy childhood. It could easily have been me or someone I loved in their shoes. So, I started volunteering at the RMH between classes. Twice a week, I would do whatever I could to help out the staff: stocking food pantries, cleaning rooms or planning activities. It was rewarding, but I wondered what it would be like to work with the children. Then, I got my chance when I was asked if I would like to help with the school lunch hour.

I couldn’t have predicted how amazing it would be to interact with the siblings and often the patients themselves. Their energy, their optimism and their passion for life was inspiring. I would enter each volunteer shift worried about an exam or my ambiguous future and exit completely appreciative of the simplest things. One could say the perspective I gained working at the RMH truly set the foundation for me to be a better man…or at least a guy the kids would come to call “Jellyman.”

The story goes, one routine day, the students learned an important lesson from their talented teacher [Mrs. Britain] on alliteration – which is the literary term for repeating consonant sounds. Rowan – a young Egyptian girl was pointing at her classmates and providing them nicknames by applying the lesson. When she came to me, she declared proudly, “JELLY JEFF! JELLY JEFF!” Of course, there was a chorus of laughter among the group (which only finally faded when I brought out their lunch).

Shortly after, as I worked on cleaning the dishes, I heard a high-pitched endearing request echo toward me:

“Hey, Jellyman! Can you help me open my milk?” The boy responsible, seven-year-old Elijah, didn’t flinch in calling me Jellyman. In fact, he actually thought that was my name. And it stuck. From that day forward I was the Jellyman. (The moniker became such folklore that many RMH staff members to this day only know me by it). Years would pass and I would graduate and move to New York City to begin a new chapter…sadly parting ways with the RMH, but taking the Jellyman name with me.

Fast forward a few years into my life in Manhattan when I found myself confronting one strange symptom after another, which led me to the emergency room. Having experienced 27 years of a healthy life, I never could have predicted what would come of that trip to the hospital. To this day, the doctor’s words seem surreal. “Jeff, you have leukemia.”

I bet you didn’t see that coming. I know I didn’t. Life is rarely predictable and disease knows no bounds.

On my first day of radiation, I was parked in a wheelchair waiting for my turn in the treatment chamber. As I nervously anticipated being microwaved, a young boy (age 9) was parked next to me with his father. He had several days under his belt and was on-deck for another round. Yet somehow, he was still smiling ear to ear. His toothy grin immediately took me back to the kids of the RMH in Minneapolis. My mind drifted to the four years I spent volunteering. I realized in that moment, I had a built-in source of motivation for survival to tap into. I looked at the young boy and smiled back as they wheeled me in for my turn.

When I came out, despite feeling sick and struggling physically, I worked up a big smile for when he saw me. As he went passed I gave him a high five and declared, “You’re up buddy- you’ll do great." As I said the words, I knew I didn’t have to tell him. He was the tough one…just like each of the kids I had encountered at the RMH. Elijah, Rowan and so many others who had shown me what it meant to be brave. If they and their siblings could endure it, so could I.

In November, 2011 I underwent a successful stem cell transplant with my own hero. My older brother, Matt, was my donor. Today, at 29, I am proud to say I am a cancer survivor. If it wasn’t for the time I spent with the kids of the RMH, I’m not sure I would have known what it meant to be brave. I think that makes me one of the lucky ones." 



Volunteers are truly the heart of the House.