It's not alright. We lost another one today.

When a friend sent a text to me over the weekend about Bryce Olson's passing, I felt my chest tighten and was heartsick. As I wiped tears from my face, I thought, "DAMN IT. We failed him!" We failed this smart, funny, humble, passionate guy who was driven to change the way cancer care is delivered for those who come after him. Upon reflection, however, I don't think Bryce would feel that we failed him. He was able to live for 9 years with metastatic prostate cancer, thanks to genomics, unprescedented collaboration, and his own Herculean effort. If you're not familiar with his incredible story, Wired published this article about him in 2020.

Bryce was committed to making sure that every advanced stage cancer patient understood the importance of advocating for genomic sequencing in order to make informed treatment decisions. He traveled the world sporting his familiar, black "Sequence Me" t-shirt, while touting the benefits of biomarker testing, genomic profiling, and precision medicine -- Tricky topics to explain to very sick people who are struggling to find hope when all seems lost. When I was at CURE, we talked about how unfair was to ask cancer patients to make life or death treatment decisions while being spoken to in a language they didn't understand. 

Bryce had a knack for breaking complicated topics down in ways that were accessible. In his 9 years of working alongside doctors, researchers, health tech, and biotech companies to find treatment pathways that would beat back his cancer, he learned a lot of science. His talks were credible, hopeful, and disruptive -- in a great way. Watch this video, created in 2022, to see what I mean. He understood the science so well, people used to ask him if he had a PhD. He would say, "No, I'm just a regular guy who's back was against the wall. I had to figure this out." I told you he was humble.

Many of Bryce's colleagues have been sharing stories about how they met and became great friends. I've enjoyed reading them and now understand that while our friendship was amazing, it wasn't unique. He had a way of cutting through the BS to create real, meaningful connections.

I'll end by sharing my own, "The Day I met Bryce" story. We met in 2017 at SWSW in Austin. My editorial director heard him speak at the conference and said that we needed to include his story in an upcoming issue of Genome. During that meeting, I shared why I was so passionate about helping people understand how our lives are changing, thanks to our increased understanding of our own DNA. We talked about our cancer experiences. We shared our fears about leaving our children behind. We ranted about how upsetting it was that this great scientific revolution was afoot, but most people had no idea about it, and it wasn't being discussed -- at all. I had a new comrade in arms. 

At the end of our meeting, Bryce handed me a newly released CD containing songs about everything we had talked about. The cover read: FACTS: Fighting Advanced Cancer Through Songs. I thanked him for the CD and began my 3-hour drive back to Dallas. I thought to myself, "I'm not sure how successful this CD will be in driving change, but it's innovative." I also thought that, just like Austin, my cancer experience was in the rearview mirror. I had healed and moved on down the road. 

I popped the CD in and the first song, entitled Oh Mama, began to play. Within minutes, tears began rolling down my cheeks. Ok, I might have sobbed. My healing journey was obviously still a work in progress. The song's lyrics, "It's not alright, we lost another one today" came flooding back this weekend as I learned of Bryce's passing. So, as the song goes and we consider ways to honor his legacy, "Let's get it right. Together we can change our fate." 

Rock on Bryce. I'll try to make you proud, but changing the world will be a little harder without you.