SEATTLE — Mark Tose endured five rounds of chemotherapy in seven months. “They try to get you as close to dying as they can and still be safe,” said Tose, who lives in Everett.

The grueling treatments were needed in a battle against an aggressive leukemia which had overtaken more than half of his bone marrow cells.

His cancer was beaten into remission by the end of the chemotherapy treatments in 2013. But a genetic condition related to the cancer meant that it almost certainly “would come roaring back and possibly very soon,” Tose said.

His best chance of surviving was finding a donor for a bone marrow transplant. “My family was tested,” Tose said. “There were no matches. I was so scared.”

His life would likely depend on finding someone with a tissue type match who also was willing to donate — roughly equivalent to rolling double sixes with a pair of dice.

On Saturday, Tose, 60, was finally able to meet his donor — Reed Salmons who at the time was a 22-year-old pre-med student living more 2,700 miles away.

“A year ago, you have no idea who this person is, and then here we are in Seattle,” Salmon said. “I’m ecstatic with how healthy he is.”

The face-to-face meeting with Salmons, now 23, occurred at Bloodworks Northwest in Seattle, a nonprofit formerly known as the Puget Sound Blood Center.

Donation organizations keep the identities of donors and their recipients anonymous for a year. Then, if both parties agree, they can contact each other.

Prior to their meeting, Salmons said he and Tose talked about 10 times and emailed frequently. He also read Tose’s journal of his long battle with leukemia. “It’s incredible to see how someone could be faced with so much adversity mentally and physically,” Salmons said.

“I can tell you the emotion meter shoots through the roof. You’re saving someone’s life. I’m so happy I did it.”

No hesitation

In April 2013, a month before Tose was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia, Salmons was a senior at Dickinson College in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. He walked up to a registration table, swabbed his cheek and joined the national registry of potential bone marrow donors. It took about 10 minutes.

“It was all so incidental,” Salmons said. “I went to register during lunch break. Most people don’t get matched.”

He thought little about it. But four months later, he was notified that he was a potential match for a man battling leukemia. “There’s no hesitation,” Salmons said.

Tose said he thinks Salmons downplays the impact of his decision. Salmons was a member of the college’s lacrosse team. He gave up part of his senior season “without even knowing who he was helping.”

Salmons had to undergo rounds of blood testing and then had injections to “put your cell production into sky-rocket mode.

“You get achy,” he said. “It means more cells are seeping from the bones to the bloodstream. The more achy, the higher the (stem) cell count will be.”

The procedure left him weakened, but he was able to rejoin his team by the end of the season.

“Yeah, it affected lacrosse,” Salmons said. “I wouldn’t have changed anything. Division 3 sports versus someone’s life. It’s like, ‘Wow, I actually helped someone. It’s so awesome that a college-age person could do that.”

Sick, nervous, worried

The bone marrow transplant was scheduled to arrive on Jan. 22, 2014. At the time, Tose, hospitalized at the University of Washington Medical Center in Seattle, was “very sick and very nervous.”

He had been told that he had a 20-30 percent chance of dying in the first 100 days after the transplant. But that wasn’t his only worry. A blizzard in the Northeast, where Salmons’ transplant was being shipped from, was affecting airline traffic.

Tose, who had worked as a senior manager in Boeing’s commercial airplanes division, could only think of all the things that possibly could go wrong with the flight. “I was worried the plane might crash or might not be able to land,” he said.

But the plane did land. A photo was taken in his hospital room to celebrate the arrival of the peripheral blood stem cells.

Even after the procedure, Tose’s condition was fragile. In early February, a breathing tube was inserted into his throat. He said he didn’t regain consciousness until Feb. 10.

“I could barely raise my head,” he said. The first thing he asked the nearby doctors and nurses was: Did the transplant work?

“Yes,” he was told.

Next, he asked who had won the Super Bowl game, played Feb. 2 while he was sedated. When told of the Seahawks win, Tose said his response was to revel in the two events, both big victories. “Is that a good day, or what?” he said.

Slow recovery

Tose was discharged on Feb. 14. He said he was so weak that he was home for six weeks before he had the strength to walk upstairs. Last summer, he tried to return to work but soon learned he was pushing his body too hard. He hasn’t been able to return since.

“I have to handle things a little bit differently,” he said. “I can’t just push my way through the fatigue.”

It’s taken a little more than a year to begin to regain his health and strength. “My immune system, just in the last few months, has hit the normal range,” he said.

On most mornings, he gets up around 4:30. “I probably watch the sun rise at least three days a week,” he said. He often fixes breakfast for his wife, Patty. The couple will celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary in July.

Before his diagnosis, Tose was a private pilot who often flew a biplane after work. Chemo brain, the after affects of chemotherapy that can cause momentary mental lapses, will likely prevent him from ever piloting again.

“I can’t fly for real, but I’ve got the nicest flight simulator in Everett,” he said. Sometimes he practises bad weather landings.

He’s taken up new hobbies, like learning to play the violin. “I’m terrible, I’m one step above the squeak stage, but I’ll get there. I’ll figure it out,” he said, chuckling.

Tose said he often reflects on the days he spent in a hospital when he didn’t have the energy to read or listen to music. “It was just one more breath. Please, one more breath,” he said.

“It’s huge to be free and to have your health,” Tose said. “It’s a wonderful kindness that I’ve been given.

“I’m so grateful to have a chance to thank my donor personally. I understand for all of us, there’s only so much time and I just got a second chance. It’s a miracle.”

Sharon Salyer: 425-339-3486; salyer@heraldnet.com

For more information on bone marrow donation, go to bethematch.org or call 800 Marrow-2.