Christiansen Family Support
Donation protected
I’m not sure I have the words write this story. I’m not even certain that the pain and unyielding sadness that comes with losing a loved one can ever really be translated from heart to paper; these complexities aren’t something our language has mastered.
But it’s easy to say nice things about someone who has cancer, so I’ll start there. In Chris’s case, it’s even easier because we don’t have to elaborate or grasp for kind things to say. Chris has the kind of charisma and confidence that seems effortless. He’s always been the kind of person who doesn’t care what anyone thinks, which means that his goodness and kindness comes from a different place. He is generous and loving and intensely moral because that’s what he wants to be, not because anyone is watching. His brother Alex jokes that Chris has always pushed others to figure things out for themselves so that they can be as strong and independent as he is. When they were young, if Alex was struggling with a difficult level in a video game, Chris would tell him, “what would you do if I wasn’t here?” And now we are all faced with that question in a way we never considered before.
Chris has always been the kind of person to make leaps of faith with sureness. For instance, when he moved across an ocean to the US from Denmark six years ago to be with a girl he had met mere months before. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he made it happen, knowing everything would fall into place. And it did.
After his leap, Carrie and Chris built a life together here. He finished school, got a job with a phenomenal company, made tons of friends, and was in the best shape of his life-- which made his sudden illness all the more surprising.
Chris had never been really sick, so we had no reason to worry when he started having stomach pains in late June of 2019. His doctor agreed, prescribed some meds, and sent him home.
Less than a week later, we were in the ER. Chris had a mass in his abdomen, but we were told he was too young and too healthy for it to be anything serious. So, he had surgery on July 2nd to relieve the pain, and a 7cm mass was removed from the mesentery of his intestine.
Three days later on July 5th, our lives changed forever. The mass had been sent off for testing, and we learned that Chris had Stage IV melanoma. At that time, none of us knew exactly what that meant, but we learned fast. Too fast.
On July 12th, we met with the oncologist in Hattiesburg and learned that only a small percentage of people survive stage IV melanoma for more than six months. Melanoma is cruel, but we decided to ignore the data. It was too heartbreaking, and we needed our hearts whole to fight alongside Chris.
We decided as a family that Chris deserved the best care available, so we reached out to MD Anderson, the leaders in melanoma research and treatment. They were realistic but hopeful when we met with them on August 6th. Chris started immunotherapy right away. It was his best chance at beating this.
On October 29th, we learned that immunotherapy was not working. Chris was losing weight, the cancer was spreading quickly, and we needed to try something different. His team of doctors at MD Anderson started him on chemotherapy.
Chris is incredibly strong, but chemo sapped his strength and took his hair. It was a difficult time, but we remained hopeful.
On December 10th, we learned that the cancer had spread less than they expected since the last visit, so they wanted to try a more aggressive chemotherapy to try and slow it even more.
Just this week, we had our fourth and final visit to MD Anderson. On January 28th, just over 6 months after his first symptoms, in a room filled with his loved ones, Chris learned that the chemo is not working. His team of doctors recommended ceasing treatment of the cancer to instead focus on his comfort.
This seems impossible. The reality that we’re all grappling with now, after months of fighting, is that we are losing Chris.
We are lucky that Chris has a job with an amazing company who has supported him every step of his journey. Yak Access and Jones Companies have been so welcoming ever since they met the gangly guy with the weird accent just over a year ago, making him immediately feel like a part of their family. Chris Bullock, the CIO at Yak Access, has been a tremendous emotional support--from visiting him in the hospital after his first procedure to lending a shoulder to cry on whenever it's needed. Bullock has been and continues to be one of the first people Chris calls with updates, and he's never short of support and kindness. And John Karnes, the President of Yak Mat, has repeatedly gone above and beyond to make sure Chris is comfortable and that his whole family is cared for. He has loaned his car, his home, and his company whenever it was needed, and he's arranged travel to ensure Chris could get safely and comfortably to Houston whenever he needed. And we are so incredibly grateful for Jonathan Jones and Jonathan Duhon and the entire Jones and Yak family for loving Chris and welcoming and supporting his entire family through this process--we honestly couldn't imagine a more supportive group of people.
We are lucky that Chris has an amazing family who could put things on pause to come and be with him during this battle. His parents and brother have flown from Denmark to the US multiple times to be by his side.
We are lucky that Chris has an incredible girlfriend who could take a leave of absence from work to be with him every step of the way. And he’s lucky to have an American family who loves him to the moon and back.
But even with so much support, all of this has taken a huge financial toll on Chris and his family. Medical bills, travelling for treatment, regular expenses and bills, and his family’s travels to and from the US to be with him have snowballed to an overwhelmingly high number.
And in the coming weeks, Chris and his family will have to make a decision about whether they will stay in the US or return to Denmark for the time that Chris has left. Either option will be extremely costly, and this long battle has everyone tapped out financially.
We are asking for support during this unbearably difficult time. Please help us make it possible for Chris’s family to stay close. Help us make it possible for Chris to be comfortable and unworried about finances during his last months. Help us make sure Chris’s family isn’t left with a tremendous amount of debt during their time of grief. Help us make sure that money isn’t a factor in Chris’s final wishes. Help us make this time a celebration of Chris’s life--a life that's being cut far, far too short.
But it’s easy to say nice things about someone who has cancer, so I’ll start there. In Chris’s case, it’s even easier because we don’t have to elaborate or grasp for kind things to say. Chris has the kind of charisma and confidence that seems effortless. He’s always been the kind of person who doesn’t care what anyone thinks, which means that his goodness and kindness comes from a different place. He is generous and loving and intensely moral because that’s what he wants to be, not because anyone is watching. His brother Alex jokes that Chris has always pushed others to figure things out for themselves so that they can be as strong and independent as he is. When they were young, if Alex was struggling with a difficult level in a video game, Chris would tell him, “what would you do if I wasn’t here?” And now we are all faced with that question in a way we never considered before.
Chris has always been the kind of person to make leaps of faith with sureness. For instance, when he moved across an ocean to the US from Denmark six years ago to be with a girl he had met mere months before. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he made it happen, knowing everything would fall into place. And it did.
After his leap, Carrie and Chris built a life together here. He finished school, got a job with a phenomenal company, made tons of friends, and was in the best shape of his life-- which made his sudden illness all the more surprising.
Chris had never been really sick, so we had no reason to worry when he started having stomach pains in late June of 2019. His doctor agreed, prescribed some meds, and sent him home.
Less than a week later, we were in the ER. Chris had a mass in his abdomen, but we were told he was too young and too healthy for it to be anything serious. So, he had surgery on July 2nd to relieve the pain, and a 7cm mass was removed from the mesentery of his intestine.
Three days later on July 5th, our lives changed forever. The mass had been sent off for testing, and we learned that Chris had Stage IV melanoma. At that time, none of us knew exactly what that meant, but we learned fast. Too fast.
On July 12th, we met with the oncologist in Hattiesburg and learned that only a small percentage of people survive stage IV melanoma for more than six months. Melanoma is cruel, but we decided to ignore the data. It was too heartbreaking, and we needed our hearts whole to fight alongside Chris.
We decided as a family that Chris deserved the best care available, so we reached out to MD Anderson, the leaders in melanoma research and treatment. They were realistic but hopeful when we met with them on August 6th. Chris started immunotherapy right away. It was his best chance at beating this.
On October 29th, we learned that immunotherapy was not working. Chris was losing weight, the cancer was spreading quickly, and we needed to try something different. His team of doctors at MD Anderson started him on chemotherapy.
Chris is incredibly strong, but chemo sapped his strength and took his hair. It was a difficult time, but we remained hopeful.
On December 10th, we learned that the cancer had spread less than they expected since the last visit, so they wanted to try a more aggressive chemotherapy to try and slow it even more.
Just this week, we had our fourth and final visit to MD Anderson. On January 28th, just over 6 months after his first symptoms, in a room filled with his loved ones, Chris learned that the chemo is not working. His team of doctors recommended ceasing treatment of the cancer to instead focus on his comfort.
This seems impossible. The reality that we’re all grappling with now, after months of fighting, is that we are losing Chris.
We are lucky that Chris has a job with an amazing company who has supported him every step of his journey. Yak Access and Jones Companies have been so welcoming ever since they met the gangly guy with the weird accent just over a year ago, making him immediately feel like a part of their family. Chris Bullock, the CIO at Yak Access, has been a tremendous emotional support--from visiting him in the hospital after his first procedure to lending a shoulder to cry on whenever it's needed. Bullock has been and continues to be one of the first people Chris calls with updates, and he's never short of support and kindness. And John Karnes, the President of Yak Mat, has repeatedly gone above and beyond to make sure Chris is comfortable and that his whole family is cared for. He has loaned his car, his home, and his company whenever it was needed, and he's arranged travel to ensure Chris could get safely and comfortably to Houston whenever he needed. And we are so incredibly grateful for Jonathan Jones and Jonathan Duhon and the entire Jones and Yak family for loving Chris and welcoming and supporting his entire family through this process--we honestly couldn't imagine a more supportive group of people.
We are lucky that Chris has an amazing family who could put things on pause to come and be with him during this battle. His parents and brother have flown from Denmark to the US multiple times to be by his side.
We are lucky that Chris has an incredible girlfriend who could take a leave of absence from work to be with him every step of the way. And he’s lucky to have an American family who loves him to the moon and back.
But even with so much support, all of this has taken a huge financial toll on Chris and his family. Medical bills, travelling for treatment, regular expenses and bills, and his family’s travels to and from the US to be with him have snowballed to an overwhelmingly high number.
And in the coming weeks, Chris and his family will have to make a decision about whether they will stay in the US or return to Denmark for the time that Chris has left. Either option will be extremely costly, and this long battle has everyone tapped out financially.
We are asking for support during this unbearably difficult time. Please help us make it possible for Chris’s family to stay close. Help us make it possible for Chris to be comfortable and unworried about finances during his last months. Help us make sure Chris’s family isn’t left with a tremendous amount of debt during their time of grief. Help us make sure that money isn’t a factor in Chris’s final wishes. Help us make this time a celebration of Chris’s life--a life that's being cut far, far too short.
Co-organizers (3)
Amanda Paris
Organizer
Hattiesburg, MS
Carrie Paris
Beneficiary
Michael Kavitz
Co-organizer