Maryland’s Brenda Frese stays positive as 4-year-old son battles leukemia

“There are times your mind wants to go back to that place before the diagnosis, where everything is happy and everything is safe,” Mark said. “But reality just brings it right back.”

‘I can absolutely lock in’

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Maryland’s Brenda Frese splits her time between coaching a top 10 women’s basketball team and caring for her son, who has leukemia.

One afternoon this month, the Terrapins, ranked No. 6 in the most recent Associated Press poll, practiced for the first time since a frustrating, mistake-prone home loss two days earlier to then-No. 6 Miami. The loss was largely self-inflicted, full of missed free throws and blown layups, and two days later, the faces of the players showed the frustration.

In the silence of an empty gym, Frese, in her 10th year as Maryland’s coach, gathered her players at mid-court. Over her right shoulder, up in the rafters, was the white banner recognizing the program’s 2006 NCAA championship.

“I’m excited,” she told the players, her eyes locking in one face after another. “I didn’t know this defense could be as good as it is.” Then, she pointed at the banner: “Your defense is better than that team right there.”

“Before,” senior guard Kim Rodgers said later, “after a loss like [the one to Miami] she might’ve been a little tougher on us. But she’s incredibly positive. She’s one of those coaches who moves on [from a loss]. She knows there’s no reason to kill us over it.”

The positive-reinforcement approach worked. Over the next five days, the Terrapins (23-4, 10-4) would score a decisive win at Virginia – Frese’s 300th career victory, which she acknowledged by giving $300 bonuses to every member of her staff – then, in front of a raucous crowd of 15,150 at Comcast Center, overcame a horrible start to hand Duke its first ACC loss of the year.

“There’s nothing better,” Frese said that evening, “than beating Duke.”

Even Tyler was swayed enough by the performance to go back to disavowing the Devils.

For Frese, there is solace to be found in the sounds of bouncing basketballs and squeaking sneakers, in the rhythm of practices and games, road trips and recruiting visits. Having already developed the ability to leave the sport behind once she walked in the door of her house, she eventually got to where she could push Tyler’s cancer into a dark corner of her mind when she got on the court.

“I can absolutely lock in,” she said. “When it’s game time and we’re in a two-hour battle, it’s about competing and winning, and my focus is completely on the game.”

“Part of what I try to do,” Mark said, “is to never make her feel as if she has to choose between family and her job. I never want her to feel guilty. Even when she’s working, it’s ultimately for them.”

Tyler and Markus haven’t been around the team as much as usual this winter. With his immune system weakened by the chemotherapy drugs, Tyler caught viruses that necessitated an 11-day stay in the hospital in January and another three-day stay this month. The night before the Duke game, Tyler had an ear infection, and Frese was up half the night with him. The day after the game, Tyler was admitted yet again to Johns Hopkins.

“He’s good, though,” Mark said in a text message from the hospital. “Tough like mom.”

Tyler still faces another two years of treatment, which includes a five-day cycle of steroids each month and a monthly visit to Johns Hopkins for a spinal injection of methotrexate. That’s in addition to the daily regimen of up to seven pills, which Mark administers with spoonfuls of applesauce. Everything is pointing toward the fall of 2015, when, hopefully, Tyler’s remission reaches the five-year mark, at which point he will be considered cured.

But on this particular night, as Frese’s players return one-by-one to Comcast Center for dinner at the training table, they can hear Markus and Tyler a mile away. Have two boys ever had it so good? Rooms filled with basketballs and giant medicine balls and jump ropes. Lots of space to run around. Tons of excellent hiding places. And 12 young ladies willing to chase them around until it’s time to go home.

As the players walk in, bookbags slung over their shoulders, Tyler and Markus rush over to dispense a chocolate heart and a hug – Tyler’s hugs being longer and more intense.

“He’s a very lovable kid,” Frese says of Tyler. “Every time he comes and gives me a hug, which is about 25 times a day, I mean, it stops me in my tracks.”

It’s Valentine’s Day. Mommy watches from her seat at the table, and other than the occasional yawn, the smile never leaves her face.