Jacob's Presentation at Perkins Coie

This was written by Jacob's younger brother James:

The following are my notes from a talk Jacob gave to his colleagues as Perkins Coie and the events surrounding it.

Jacob is typically a private person and one who does not generally draw attention to himself. He does seek excellence in all he does. His career, his family and his marriage are all evidence of his talent and dedication. Being diagnosed with brain cancer as a 34 year old with a wife and four young children naturally brings attention from all corners. Though not his natural inclination, he has tried to be open with others about his thoughts and the lessons that he has learned through this excruciating trial. He has shared his thoughts with members of church during Sacrament meeting, in talks or testimonies. He has posted on his wife’s blog from time to time. In countless conversations, in a humble way, he has offered some of his hard earned wisdom.

Recently he has felt more compelled to reach out to share his story and insights more broadly and with people he cares about. He asked a partner of the the law firm where he works if he could share his experiences with colleagues as part of a continuing education series that they do at the law firm.

The date was scheduled and he began to organize his thoughts and experiences into a presentation he could give. Two weeks before he was to give the presentation he had one of his bi-monthly brain scans. They discovered a new tumor, the largest growth yet. Fortunately, they were able to do the craniotomy the next day to remove the tumor. This was the fifth invasive procedure in just over a year. Jacob has recovered remarkably from each of the procedures, particularly the craniotomy from the second tumor last August, but over time the trauma was taken a toll. When any type of procedure is done on the brain there is always concern about the impact on cognitive function. Fortunately he is still insightful, thoughtful and humorous as always, but his conversations are more labored and fatigue sets in faster.

After the surgery the meeting organizer asked him if he wanted to postpone the presentation, but he told them he wanted keep the date.

I arrive the Monday prior to his Thursday presentation. Jordan and I spend some time helping him work through his outline. Because of the fatigue he experiences it requires great effort to organize his thoughts for his presentation. As always the case with Jacob, he wants to be precise in his thoughts and doubly so given the gravity of the subject. Each night while I am there, he works alone, with Jordan or me to refine his thoughts. Eventually, he decides to not just write an outline, but write out his whole presentation. He finds a few pictures and quotes to share to complement his presentation.

The morning of the presentation, he gives Jordan and me a final reading. It is wonderful and though Jacob is not the type to pound the pulpit when he talks, his words underscore the importance and urgency of what he is trying to articulate.

Jacob wears a new charcoal suit—tailored to better fit his new physique, now 35 pounds leaner a result of changing his diet and chemotherapy—a crisp white shirt and subtle but elegant tie. Jordan wears a white skirt, a navy top and nice jewelry to compliment her outfit. They make a striking couple.

I drive with Jacob and arrive at the law firm about 45 minutes before the presentation. He is feeling nervous, he wants to come across well, but feels prepared with the remarks he has written. He tells me that they have had to make arrangements to telecast his presentation into three different rooms, something they’ve never done before because nearly every person in the firm is attending.

The IT guy and Jacob run through the technology logistics. Jacob walks around the room collecting his thoughts. The room is an oversized boardroom with a long rectangular table with 25 high-backed chairs surrounding it. The sides of the room are lined with additional chairs to accommodate the group that is coming. Jacob’s speaking position is behind the lectern at the front of the room.

Jordan arrives 15 minutes after us and this helps Jacob relax some. They go to his office to do one final run through. They come back and get sandwiches the firm provides. Jacob scrapes his chicken salad sandwich off the bread and eats some of it as people start to arrive.

His friends greet him and comment on his suit. It is a contrast to their dockers and polos. He says with a smile that he is wearing it to deflect attention from the scars on his buzzed head. His hair has started to grow back now that he hasn’t used the Optune electrodes on his scalp since the operation - but his scars are visible, the most prominent being his wound with scabs from the latest operation. Besides pictures on social media, this is the first time his colleagues see Jacob without hair covering his scars. The scars are an inescapable symbol of the terrible disease.

Five minutes before he is to start, he surveys the room; it is at capacity. More people greet him and comment on his suit. They ask how the operation went and how he is feeling.

My thoughts turn to his audience. They are his peers, but a different set of peers than most work settings. They are specialists. Their craft is to find exploitable gaps in argumentation and conversely organize their arguments in a way to make them unassailable. It easy to understand how the task would be daunting—talking to attorneys about a subject that no one likes to talk or even think about. Not that his audience is unsympathetic—quite the opposite. They care deeply for him, but he didn’t volunteer to give his talk to garner sympathy. His purpose is to educate about cancer, outline steps they can take to prepare for a similar crisis and impel them to action, thus the great amount of time dedicated to preparation. He is ready.

One of the partners goes to the lectern to introduce Jacob and the small talk dies down. I can tell that he doesn’t quite know how to introduce the topic, so he finally turns to Jacob and says, “Why don’t you just tell them what you have to share?”

Jacob moves to the lectern and starts talking. I sense some nervousness initially, but it quickly fades as he moves through his introduction. His voice is both calm and impassioned. His presentation is absent theatrics but his person exudes an honesty that is undeniable and arresting. Jordan and I are positioned close to Jacob.

After 5 minutes I look around the room. All attention is fixed on Jacob; nobody is looking at their phone or around at others. There are no sounds—no one shifting in the chairs, whispering to their neighbor, rustling papers—the only audible sounds are the air conditioner, the hum of the projector and Jacob’s voice.

His words are unflinchingly frank. I sense there is some tension in the room because none of us knows how to talk about terminal disease and death. It makes us uncomfortable. He carefully lays out one of his main points, that we can’t deal effectively with anything until we reconcile ourselves to the reality of the situation.

Jacob’s eyes work between his talk, the audience and Jordan. Every time their eyes meet, she gives him a slight nod which gives him strength. Before, during and after the presentation they exchange a countless number of these micro-interactions. A glance, a shift to an affirming position, small head movements, changes in facial expressions are ways to communicate their deeply held feelings. They have their own language. It’s evidence of a marriage that is mature beyond its 11 years, undoubtedly accelerated by having to pass through this terrible ordeal together.

He is now halfway through his talk and I look at the clock and not even 15 minutes have elapsed. I smile. We had all worried that the talk would go way over his allotted hour. Again I look around the room and no one is moving–all eyes are focused on Jacob.

There is a steadiness and a momentum to his delivery, but he does become emotional at two points: once during the introduction when talking about his kids and near the end when talking about his first night in the hospital when they had discovered the growth. I can tell what he is sharing resonates with the audience.

He finishes and is surprised that he has only spoken for 26 minutes. He decides to open it up for questions.

The first question is from someone that asks for Jacob to explain the Optune device. I later learn that his colleague is asking because he has a cousin who has been diagnosed with glioblastoma. He wants to know if it could help in his cousin’s treatment. I get the sense that he understands some of the desperation that this disease brings.

Another one asks exactly how they have talked to their kids about his disease. Jacob shares some thoughts and then Jordan stands up and talks about how critical it was to learn from others who have gone through this and how that has influenced their approach to sharing with their kids. She speaks of honesty, saying they are doing everything they can to help them cope with this challenge. People are interested to hear from her.

Jacob answers some more questions about the disease, sharing his thoughts on nutrition until there are no more questions from the group.

People file out of the room, most stopping and thanking Jacob for his presentation. His friends linger and use the opportunity to catch up with him. I visit with some of them and tell them how special it is for me to be there to hear him talk in front of his colleagues. I can tell that there are many at the firm who really care for him.

As he is visiting with some friends, I turn to Jordan and say, “He did great. Really great job, I am so proud of him.” Jordan looks at me earnestly and says, “He is so brave, James, he is so brave.” There is so much emotion in her voice.

About a half an hour after the presentation’s conclusion his last friend leaves. Jacob, Jordan and I are alone in the room. I congratulate him and Jordan gives him a long hug.

They have to leave now to have an MRI at the hospital. This MRI will be used to map his radiation treatments. He is now used to having MRIs done. When he had his first one 16 months ago, he was very scared. He was claustrophobic and the thought of being in a narrow tube, strapped down, his head screwed to a frame for 30 to 40 minutes was terrifying. He did the first one through sheer will and a calm that came over him through the Holy Ghost because of those that were praying for him.

I take the van keys so I can go pick up the kids and pass the Corolla keys to Jordan. I give Jacob a hug, holding him close and tell him that I am proud to be his brother. They head off to have the MRI done and to talk to the radiologist.

It’s Friday night and about 30 hours since he finished his presentation. Jacob is lying in his bed, his head throbbing with pain, totally weakened by fatigue. The next day he almost spends entirely in bed with the same symptoms.

Sunday, he is up early taking care of Tommy. He is making final preparations for his Sunday School class of 14 and 15 year olds. I am glad to see him up on his feet, but he did not sleep well. He suggests that he might not be feeling well enough to teach and that I might have to stand in, but he will try. He leaves to take a shower. He finishes the shower takes a few steps and collapses. He is dizzy and his head is throbbing again.

Jordan, ever attentive to him, is by his side, encouraging him, asking what he is feeling, what he needs. We help him into bed and I give him a blessing. He thanks me and takes some steroids and is able to fall asleep for an extended nap.

This is the part of the presentation that his colleagues won’t see, where his words are no longer spoken, but lived. The realities of cancer are ever-present, just as he described in his talk. Jacob tells me, “Now you’ve seen how things go around here James, the good and the bad.”

It’s in these circumstances that I can observe Jacob’s grace in suffering first hand. This is an attribute that is rarely extolled in public life or literature, but is of inestimable value to Jordan and his kids. He doesn’t seek pity, nor is he in denial, and yet he seems to have an inexhaustible spring of optimism.

He tells me about his decision to begin long-term disability. He effectively walked away from his career so he can devote more of his depleting energy to his family. He tells me about prayer and receiving an answer that it was “time” even though it wasn’t totally clear why he should leave his work at the time. What he doesn’t explain is how much of his time and life he had invested in his career and how agonizing it was to walk away. Similarly, he doesn't describe his pain unless specifically asked, his sorrows unless pressed. He works through challenges and struggles quietly, not wanting to bring what he deems unnecessary attention.

This is meekness. This is long-suffering. These two characteristics are recorded in the scriptures numerous times, but perhaps aren’t the subjects of sacrament talks as they should be. These are characteristics frequently used to describe Jesus Christ.

I replay the last scenes recorded prior to Jesus’ crucifixion in my mind and can see some parallels. Despite the weight of the physical, emotional and spiritual act he was about to carry out that must have weighed on His heart, as nothing ever has, Jesus, in an act of ultimate of humility took his apostles one by one and washed their feet. He broke bread and gave them wine to drink, symbolic of His own body being broken and His own blood being spilt. His only request was for a few of His apostles to watch with Him while in the Garden of Gethsemane working out the infinite atonement with the requisite suffering. His apostles fall asleep. In another act of selflessness he gives them a only a mild rebuke when the temptation to excoriate must have been strong. He is meek and long-suffering. Following the interaction He perseveres and completes the work His Father has sent Him to do.

Jacob is, in his own way is a man acquainted with grief.

When Jacob was closing his talk with his colleagues, he described his first night in the hospital when the growth was just discovered. He spent a sleepless night considering God, his standing with Him, his relationship with Jordan and his children. His conclusion, which he shared boldly to his colleagues, was that God does exist and that his relationships with his wife and children were the most precious things he has. He shared his determination to live his beliefs fully—and suggested that his colleagues do likewise.

I will long carry with me the memories of the meeting room and Jacob poised at the lectern sharing wisdom and counsel with his colleagues. His concluding words will always be inseparable from how he lives his life. He is one who submits to God, showing meekness and long-suffering. He is one who loves his wife and children and gives of himself freely. Jacob continues to deliver his talk and I continue to listen and learn.