WASHINGTON TERRACE — As Brandon Fisher made his way up the Matterhorn last month, he was thinking about his patients.
In his backpack, he had a prayer flag signed by Laurie Taillefer, a patient of his who had just been declared cancer-free.
For the past five years, Fisher — a radiation oncologist with Gamma West Cancer Services at Ogden Regional Medial Center — has been taking Tibetan prayer flags to some of the world's highest peaks in honor of his patients.
"My patients take me into their life and share their cancer experiences with me, which is pretty intimate," he said. "So I thought, 'How can I incorporate them into something personal to me?'"
The flags, usually strung up high on desolate mountain peaks, are made delicately so they disintegrate slowly in the wind, each flyaway thread representing blessings of strength, hope and well-being.
The gesture became a launching point for something much bigger when Fisher and fellow radiation oncologist Larry Daugherty, a friend from residency, realized there were no missions in medical oncology in developing countries.
People in places such as Latin America and Africa often die from cancers that would be considered treatable in the U.S., according to Fisher, because they lack basic radiotherapy equipment.
For example, in Africa, where the five-year cancer survival rate is a dismal 20 percent, 29 countries have no radiotherapy facilities.
In contrast, Utah has one radiotherapy machine for every 70,000 people, Fisher said. And the five-year survival rate is 70 percent.
It bothered Fisher, a young father of three, who has gone on many international medical missions. Hospitals in the U.S. buy new radiotherapy machines every 10 years and junk their used machines in order to stay competitive.
He and Daugherty came up with a vision for a nonprofit organization that saved those used machines and sent them to countries most in need of therapy.
“They said, 'It's impossible. Those machines cost $2 million. There's no way you're going to get a machine like that into Africa,'" Fisher said.
But Fisher had patients like Taillefer on his mind.
“There’s people who face death and take on that fear, and they drive through it. Not everybody gets to see somebody do that in life. So as a radiation doctor, it's something that gives me a lot of strength," he said.
It would be the least he could do to try.
* * *
Fisher and Daugherty co-founded Radiating Hope in 2010.
People can pay $20 to sponsor a prayer flag for themselves or a loved one to be brought to the top of one of these mountains and, ultimately, to Mr. Everest.
Ogden Regional Medical Center also donates $10 to the organization for every patient who signs a flag — enough to cover one radiation treatment for a patient in Africa.
The group also organizes climbing trips to some of the tallest mountains in the U.S. and the world, including an annual one to Mt. Kilimanjaro. Those who want to join a climb in honor of their patients or a loved one are asked to fundraise for the trip, with the proceeds going toward purchasing radiation equipment for hospitals in developing countries.
Colby Thackeray, the son of one of Fisher's patients, found himself on an emotional journey up Mt. Kilimanjaro last year after his mom died from endometrial cancer.
Kathleen Thackeray was a beloved wife and mom — kind and funny and innocent — who had survived several bouts of cancer already. She and her son were close and spoke multiple times a day. Colby Thackeray was by her side for much of her final battle with cancer.
She never complained, even when the cancer began to spread to her brain and she began to get tremors and have difficulty walking, he said.
"It blows my mind," Colby Thackeray said. "She was the toughest person I ever met.”
Kathleen Thackeray was also amazed by Fisher, and talked about the work he did with Radiating Hope often. At one point, Colby told her he wanted to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro in her honor, but became distracted by taking care of his mother and his pregnant wife.
On her last day of radiation treatment, Kathleen Thackeray signed a prayer flag and gave it to Fisher.
Not long afterward, she died.
A devastated Colby Thackeray started fundraising for Mt. Kilimanjaro that day.
As word of his mission spread, friends, family and strangers pitched in and eventually raised $12,000 for Radiating Hope. Many shared stories of their own, loved ones they had lost to cancer and asked Thackeray to carry flags for them too.
By the time Thackeray set out for Mt. Kilimanjaro, he had 100 other flags and mementos in his backpack.
* * *
There's something very therapeutic about climbing a mountain, according to David Snow, the mountaineering coordinator for Radiating Hope.
“It’s brought tears to a lot of these patients who really can just feel the spirit of them with us as we’re climbing these peaks," Snow said. "It's surreal and it's tough to really explain, but it's an experience that keeps us going because it's so palpable."
Mountain climbing at such high altitudes simulates many of the same symptoms that a chemotherapy or radiation patient is also likely to have, Snow explained. Altitude sickness induces nausea, headaches, loss of appetite, pain and fatigue. Almost everyone throws up. Almost everyone wants to turn back.
"For many of those doctors, it was the first time that they had to use some of the same medicines that they prescribe to their patients," said Daugherty, who also climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro last year. "Many of these guys are popping Zofran, nausea medicine that’s very commonly used in patients undergoing chemotherapy or radiation. You get nauseated at altitude. You don’t feel ike eating. Your energy drops way off."
The altitude sickness hit Thackeray like a pile of bricks on day three. He had a fever, nausea and stomach issues, and sat with the other climbers in the mess hall at the camp, saying nothing, simply holding their heads. Thackeray couldn’t stop thinking about his mom and how much she had gone through.
On day five, somewhere between 18,000 and 19,000 feet, Thackeray began feeling seriously ill. His mouth went dry and his hands got numb as he began to lose control of his breathing.
At this point, Thackeray could see the sign that marked the summit, but he was so physically spent that he wanted to quit. The trail wasn’t steep, but it was everything he could do to put one foot in front of the other. Up ahead, he watched one of his friends struggling, too.
“I was thinking, ‘I could totally talk him into going back down the mountain,’” Thackeray said. “And then I said, ‘Nope. Nope. Not quitting. My mom never quit.'
"I thought, 'No, my mom never complained, and she was way sicker than I could ever imagine,'" he added.
Thackeray put one foot in front of the other.
The last half-mile was the hardest steps he had ever taken in his life.
When he finally summited on day five, Thackeray was so delirious he barely remembered to take a small rock from the top.
Two weeks later, on the first anniversary of his mom's death, Thackeray visited her grave. There, he broke the rock in half and buried one piece next to her.
He wanted her to have a piece of Mt. Kilimanjaro, too.
* * *
Kathleen Thackeray defeated cancer three times before the illness could beat her.
But for many people in countries such as Tanzania, which has no working radiotherapy machines, a cancer diagnosis is akin to a death sentence.
Radiating Hope has now donated eight radiation machines and numerous kinds of radiation equipment to countries including Panama, Ukraine and Guatemala.
In 2012, Fisher led a trip to install a radiation machine in Senegal — the first of its kind in the country of 14 million people.
There’s a reason few other nonprofits, if any, are doing what Fisher and his team do: It isn't easy.
They learned from early mistakes. When Radiating Hope gets a call about a machine that is about to be junked, they first must have an appropriate facility to place it. Often, it's hard to find hospitals or clinics in developing countries that can install, store and maintain the expensive and complex machines.
At a minimum, Radiating Hope has to train the doctors and nurses to use the machine, verify that the facility has a bunker in which to store the machine safely, and ensure that the facility has enough basic infrastructure — including electricity — to power the machine.
The whole process — from purchasing a machine to dismantling it, to shipping it and installing it — is about $120,000, Fisher said. Still an order of magnitude cheaper than the $2 million to $5 million sticker price — but not cheap.
But the effort, while Herculean, has undoubtedly saved lives.
The two cancer doctors in Senegal are seeing 1,000 cancer patients a year, according to Fisher. Before, most would have been turned away. Now Fisher estimates about half of those patients are being treated with the brachytherapy machine.
In addition, Radiating Hope hosts events and symposiums every year in Tanzania, where doctors and caregivers from around the world can share expertise on cancer care and train on the machines. Young doctors or nurses who might have to take an internship or fellowship in Europe or America to see a radiotherapy machine can now train on them in their home countries.
"That's just one example of really changing the landscape," Daugherty said.
Right now, there's a 40-foot shipping container on its way to Tanzania.
Inside is a linear accelerator — a souped-up version of the machine that Radiating Hope sent to Senegal in 2012. Once the linear accelerator is set up, it will be the only such machine in the country of 49 million people and probably the entire Horn of Africa.
Radiating Hope continues to place other radiation equipment in countries around the world.
So far, the nonprofit has had to turn down 10 machines due to lack of funds, Fisher said. And when that happens, hospitals often just junk the machines — for scrap or parts.
“It’s sad, because I’m like, ‘Ugh, I want those machines,’” Fisher said.
In addition to the challenges of finding and securing the equipment for these developing countries, Radiating Hope will also have to turn its attention back to Senegal soon. There, the radioactive source material that powers the machine is running out. Replacing that will cost $50,000 every four or five years.
But Snow said it's a testament to Fisher's leadership and quiet strength to see how far Radiating Hope and how far they plan to go.
“He’s one of the strongest climbers that I have ever had the privilege of climbing with, and he says very little when he’s out climbing — he’s very humble — but he’s a great leader,” Snow said.
In climbing and in life, Snow said, Fisher has always told his friends and his patients one thing: "We keep going."
Radiating Hope's next trip to Mt. Kilimanjaro in summer 2016 will be its biggest yet, and they're still taking signups.
Eventually, in 2017, the group will pack up all the prayer flags they have accumulated over the years — more than 1,000 as of now — and ascend Mt. Everest.
They'll hang the prayer flags there, each inscribed with the name of a loved one, some scribbled with messages, some with photographs glued to the back. The flags will eventually disintegrate entirely as the threads fly away in the wind, in honor of those who died, those they loved and those they continue to live for.
“People always say, cancer patients, that must be a really depressing field,” Fisher said. “And I think, 'You know what? It’s the most uplifting thing I’ve ever done in my life.'"
Email: dchen@deseretnews.com; Twitter: DaphneChen_