illness

Devon Toews scored the tiebreaking goal late in the third period, Martin Necas added an empty-netter to go with two assists, and the Colorado Avalanche defeated the Kings 4-2 on Monday night.

Toews got free in the slot and converted Nathan MacKinnon’s pass with 4:55 remaining to help the Avalanche (40-10-9) become the first NHL team with 40 wins this season.

MacKinnon and Gabriel Landeskog each had a goal and an assist. Mackenzie Blackwood made 19 saves for Colorado, which has won five of seven.

Brandt Clarke had a power-play goal, Angus Booth scored in his NHL debut, and Anton Forsberg made 35 saves for the Kings, who were playing their first game since firing coach Jim Hiller on Sunday and replacing him on an interim basis with D.J. Smith.

The Kings were also missing seven key players because of injury or illness, including medalists from the Olympic hockey tournament at the Milan-Cortina Games in defenseman Drew Doughty, forwards Joel Armia and Quinton Byfield and goalie Darcy Kuemper. Those absences led to the Kings giving three players their NHL debuts in Booth, center Kenny Connors and winger Jared Wright.

With Kuemper ill, the Kings also recalled Erik Portillo to back up Forsberg. Armia was placed on injured reserve before the game.

The Avalanche capitalized early, scoring twice in the opening 10:13 on one-timers from MacKinnon and Landeskog, before the Kings responded with a power-play goal from Clarke late in the first period.

An early whistle wiped out Necas putting in a rebound early in the second, and Booth got to the top of the crease to tip in Brian Dumoulin’s centering pass to tie it 2-all at 8:32.

When Jared Snow goes to the hospital, he’s usually in serious pain, which he hopes will be assuaged soon. But living with sickle cell disease as a Black man in America often tests this hope.

The Compton born stand-up comedian and actor has been living with sickle cell disease since he was a child. Hospital visits and pain have always been part of his life. But now he’s using his latest project, a documentary film called “You Look Fine,” to show the world how he copes as an entertainer with living with sickle cell disease in an industry steeped in image and perception.

Alongside actor-comedian Marlon Wayans, Snow wanted to make the film to raise awareness about the realities of sickle cell disease and how it impacts Black communities.

In the United States, sickle cell disease affects about 100,000 people, with more than 90% of cases being among Black people, according to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Sickle cell disease occurs in about one out of every 365 Black or African American births. People living with sickle cell disease have red blood cells that are crescent shaped due to a gene mutation. Because of this, the red blood cells can block blood flow to the rest of the body and can cause chronic pain, strokes, lung problems, infections and kidney disease.

The nearly 90-minute documentary has Snow filming himself inside small hospital rooms, nurses trying to find a vein in which to stick needles, and even him trying to work on material as he lies in hospital beds. The film also includes interviews with his friends.

Snow was adamant about showing the blood and needles in the film as well as footage of himself writhing in pain on hospital beds and the frustration of waiting hours for doctors to provide adequate dosages of pain medication that can help him. He cracks jokes during his hospital stays, but in between you get a front-row look at how tiring, tearful and emotionally devastating his illness can be. Interspersed within such footage are clips from his stand-up shows and him trying to live his best life by traveling, skydiving and even experiencing New York City snowfall.

The Times caught up with Snow and Wayans to talk about the film, vulnerability, Black men’s health, and finding levity through the pain.

J. Snow in the hospital in “You Look Fine”

(J. SnowPro)

I was struck by the handwritten notes with title ideas. Tell me where “You Look Fine” comes from?

J. Snow: It’s just something I hear a lot. It’s something I’ve heard a lot during my life. It’s cultural Black gaslighting is what it is. When you’re in pain, sometimes you look fine. When you are telling people, “I’m not fine,” they’re like, “Your hair is nice.” I can’t go to the hospital with gold. I had gold beads. Sometimes you go there looking too nice. Sometimes I got to dress down just to try to get the help. But if I dress too far down, I look homeless, and they really won’t be open to helping me. So you got to find the balance. But that’s kind of where it comes from. … I wanted to throw it back into people’s face. This is something that a lot of sickle cell warriors, and people with chronic illnesses in general hear, people with mental illness hear, and so I think it’s important to highlight how that literally is gaslighting.

What was your motivation to do this documentary now?

J.S.: I wanted to show that humor lives within this and that a lot of resilience and strength are also within this, and that was really the motivator. Also, just growing up with it, not having a lot of information, not seeing a lot of men talk about it. I wanted to be different, you know.

Marlon Wayans: For me it fits on brand for several reasons. One is because I love taking the dark things in life and finding some humor in it. And I think I try to do that with my comedy. I try to do it with my specials. I try to do it because I think we need to all find smiles no matter what your situation is; laughter is always healing and always necessary. Being African American, I grew up when sickle cell was like a prominent disease, and in our culture I know even when it came to dating, my mother would ask “Who you dating? You know, because if she got the trait, and you got the trait, you know, what could happen.” So I’ve always been aware of it, and I’ve lost now four friends to sickle cell. I just lost two in the last year. It’s a long fight, and so I’m here to support them and our culture and the awareness. And you know, Jay is a friend, and you know, I want him to see fame.

For Jared, in the film, you say, “I just want to see what my body can do.” I thought that was just so deeply profound. What is your relationship like with your body now, compared with the moment you were filming that?

J.S.: When somebody sees me eating a salad, and they’re like, “Oh, you eating salad?” I’m like, “This could save my life.” When I’m stretching and doing yoga, it’s not because I want to be a yogi. It’s because it literally gets oxygen into the joints that are suffering without oxygen. It stretches my hips and I want the longevity. I see what happens in sickle cell warriors and people without sickle cell who just age without moving frequently.

J. Snow walks through the halls of a hospital while dealing with issues from sickle cell.

(Courtesy of J. SnowPro)

Black people, especially for Black men, don’t have their pain taken seriously — be it their physical pain or their emotional pain. What has it been like for you to publicly show that pain?

J.S.: It’s been challenging. It took awhile for me to get to the point where I could even talk about this publicly, especially being in entertainment and trying to maintain a certain persona and image in entertainment where like your ego clashes against your vulnerability and you feeling like you’re weak. That’s the stigma that comes with people who admit that they have illnesses and stuff like that, especially in entertainment. It makes people not want to work with you. I’ve suffered through that. I’ve lost jobs while in the hospital because of this. And so it got to a place where it just was unavoidable. The pressure built so much and the frequency of the hospital visits became so crazy that it was like, you’re either going to be viewed as this very lazy, sometime-y person, or you’re going to come clean about what you’re actually dealing with and just face it.

M.W.: I live in the pain. I live in the vulnerability. I think that’s why I create my best work. You know, my parents died. I thought it was only appropriate to talk about that thing that hurts me so much. I think part of it takes courage, but at the same time, I know it’s necessary.

What was going through your mind when you first saw that footage of [Snow] in the hospital?

M.W.: “This [man] is crazy. Why you filming?” He made sure he had a GoPro on his foot and set cameras up — dude really wants to make it. Forget this disease. He may be faking it just to make it bigger. I was proud, right? That’s because I love the resilience, I love that you still have a passion, that you still have a thing that you want to do, and you have this art and this vessel and this expression, and I know that even though he’s hurting, that he’s healing at the same time, at least, you know, emotionally and spiritually. Because to put art out there at the time that it’s happening, that you’re in pain, that takes a lot of courage from the artist, and so I was proud. That’s why I stand behind it, because I think it’s something I’ve never seen, and I think it’s something that’s necessary for the culture.

How has this film changed your relationship to your understanding of masculinity and strength?

M.W.: For me, it’s just on theme. It hasn’t changed, it just enforced how I feel. You know, I’ve never been one to hide my feelings. I go to therapy. I have two therapists, I go on my walks. I talk to God. I’m reading my Bible. I understand that life is a long journey of suffering, and you need these outlets, and this movie and art are part of that. I have the stage. I always have this thing that I’m expressing because it helps me reconcile all that’s going on with me, especially when I take this pain and make other people laugh or are entertained by it, then I go, all right, I did something good with that thing that was bad. And so this enforces what I want people to feel. I want people to watch this. That’s why I stand behind this, because it’s on theme spiritually for me.

J.S.: I think when you stand outside of that vulnerability and you’re afraid to really go into it, I don’t know, I feel like that’s orbiting your true power. The most masculine thing you can do is face your highs and lows head on and own them. And that’s where you find out who you really are. This is where you find out what you can really bring to the table for yourself, for others, and where you become fearless. And that’s exactly what this showed me, was that I can do anything, I can conquer a lot of things. I walk around with a new energy because I’ve done this. I literally had a film on hard drives, and I sat for 11 months and edited it relentlessly, and now I have my first feature film because I was fearless enough to at least try to do it and not feel, what are people going to think, or what are people going to say? That didn’t matter to me. Also with this clock over my head, you don’t got time to think about stuff like that. It’s like, what do you want to do while you’re here? And what I wanted to do was make movies, make people laugh and inspire others to do things that they want to do too. And that took letting go of whatever this masculine image was that was blocking me.

J. Snow on stage at the Hollywood Laugh Factory

(Brianna Joseph)

The whole film is endearing, but I found those moments of levity so well- timed and so thoughtful and funny. How do Black people find those moments of levity, oftentimes, during these moments of pain?

M.W.: Because Black people have been through so much trauma before we get into family trauma, just as a people. We have suffered the most trauma from being separated from our family, slavery — we’ve been through it — and yet, and still, we find that funny. And that has been, I think, our saving grace is our sense of humor. It’s been a lifesaver. It’s been a raft in a really rough ocean for us. And I think it’s beautiful that we can. I will always promote laughing when you’re in your most pain to find the funny, because that takes a little pressure off. You’re laughing and crying at the same time. It’s like the best feeling.

J.S.: It’s like oxygen, like when the air is being sucked out of the room by your circumstances, your trauma, your pain or whatever. That little laugh is like a little breath of oxygen. It gives you something to keep going forward, to continue to think, “OK, like, where’s another solution from here? What else can I do here?” It gives you that breath that you need.

CORTINA D’AMPEZZO, Italy — World-class athletes, thrilling events, stirring medal ceremonies, I will remember all of those from the Winter Olympics. But what I experienced Sunday on my 45-minute bus ride from my hotel to Cortina will stay with me longer.

There was a young woman sitting across the aisle. She looked to be in her mid-20s, about the age of my daughter, and was wearing a knit cap with a Switzerland logo. Her dark hair was in long, thin braids and framed her friendly face.

“How’s it going?” I asked, setting down my backpack.

“Nervous,” she said with a faint smile.

That started the conversation, one that would have me repeatedly wiping my eyes with my sleeve.

Her name was Michelle Gloor. She’s 25 and from a small town outside of Zurich. Her boyfriend, Cedric Follador, is pilot of the Swiss bobsled team and has races throughout the week. She was heading to watch him practice.

Michelle knows all about the sport. In fact, she had been the brake woman on the Swiss national team and had hoped to be competing in these Olympics herself. She grew up as a track-and-field athlete, a sprinter, and only took up bobsled in 2022.

Women’s bobsled — or bobsleigh, as Europeans call it — is a two-person operation with a pilot in front and brake woman in back.

“The first responsibility is pushing the sled as fast as I can, together with my pilot,” she said in a German accent and near-flawless English. “I have to sit still and count the curves until we reach the finish line, when I have to pull the brakes. I’m responsible that the sled won’t crash into something.”

Her best friend had made the transition from track to bobsled, was looking for a brake woman, and convinced Michelle to give it a try.

“My first bobsleigh ride was in St. Moritz and I was so nervous,” said Gloor, a third-year law student at the University of Zurich. “I think I was crying in the back of the sled because I’d never felt anything like that, all the G-forces and you don’t have any cushion in the sled. It all hurts.

“But after the second run, I felt the adrenaline and it was great. It caught me from then. It took me two runs.”

She was 22 and the future was bright. They entered the Swiss championships and won. Michelle got serious about her new sport, training every day, eating right, building muscle.

Immersed in that world, she met Cedric but for the first 1½ years they were just casual friends. Their conversations were all bobsled-related.

“Then in spring 2024 he texted me and asked, ‘How are you?’” she said. “More personal stuff.”

They had been dating for about six months when a discovery would dramatically change their lives.

In November 2024, during a routine check-up, a gynecologist found evidence of cancer in Michelle’s ovaries. If there were signs she was ill, Michelle hadn’t noticed them. She had been tired the prior summer, yes, but she attributed that to her training.

“It was pretty advanced,” she said of the cancer. “I went to the women’s doctor every year and they couldn’t explain why they couldn’t see it earlier. I don’t know. I’m not questioning that anymore. It’s just … yeah.”

There was no time to wait. By December, she was in surgery. Doctors opened her abdomen from her breast bone down, looking for more growths. They deemed the operation a success, and six months of chemotherapy began in February.

“I lost my hair,” she said. “I had long, black hair. Losing that wasn’t bad. But I lost the hair on my face — my eyebrows, my eyelashes — that was hard. But I always knew it just had to be.”

Her doctor told her her cancer was Stage 3.

“That means it’s on the other organs too,” she said. “But the difference between Stage 3 and Stage 4 is it’s not in my lungs. It’s in my tummy area but not more upwards.”

Cedric was by her side.

“I asked him after the diagnosis if he wants to join me in this journey or not,” she said. “I can understand if he won’t because we were together not even half a year, and I can understand if he said, ‘Hey, it’s too much for me. I can’t do that.’

“Then he took time for himself, and he came back and said he wants to stay with me. He wants to support me in every imaginable way.

“He drove me to therapy when he was in town because he had a bobsleigh season going on from November until March, in my toughest time. Every time he was home, he was there for me. When he wasn’t there, we were phoning every day. He was there all the time, even when he wasn’t there physically.”

Her parents and younger brother were there for her too, of course, but she wanted to give them some time to themselves. Cedric was her rock.

There are elements in his job as a driver that both help him in his sport, and her in her disease.

“As a driver, you really need to focus on what’s going on straight ahead of you,” she explained. “You can’t really switch away your thoughts. You have one minute of full concentration. I think you can compare it to Formula One because you only see the next curve in front of you.

“He’s very calm and I think that helps him in a sporting way to not overreact emotionally and stuff like that. But also for me as a partner, I’m very emotional. When I’m too excited or too sad or too angry, he can calm me down to a normal level. On a stress-less level, and to be stress-free is very important for someone who has cancer.”

Switzerland’s Cedric Follador, right, and Luca Rolli compete in two-man bobsled at the Milan-Cortina Olympics on Monday.

(Richard Heathcote / Getty Images)

Michelle, petite and pale, has lost about 40 pounds over the past year. Mostly muscle.

“I was avoiding sugar in the beginning of the illness,” she said. “You read so much stuff. But after losing so much weight, doctors told me just eat what you want to eat. Because having energy is more important than eating too much sugar.”

In August, doctors discovered more cancer in her. Another surgery to open her abdomen.

“They said it’s still there,” she said. “Those microcells which they couldn’t remove because they couldn’t see them, they grew. But once all those microcells have grown up and been removed, or have been killed by therapy and medication, there won’t be any new cells because the ovaries have been removed, so they don’t produce any more.”

She tries not to Google her illness anymore. It doesn’t help her frame of mind. She’s changed in other ways, too.

“I was a very direct person before my illness,” she said. “Now I’m even more direct and straight-forward. I say no, and I don’t explain myself. If I don’t want to do something, I don’t have to. I just say no.

“Before that, I had a bad feeling about myself and explained myself just because I say no. I don’t do that anymore.”

In December, she began radiation. She has another scan after the Olympics.

There are times she just can’t believe this is happening.

“Women or even men my age, you live in your world, you are following your dreams,” she said. “And you don’t think about something happening in your life. I only know young people in Switzerland, so I can only speak for them. But they don’t talk about that.

“They are not sensible about what can happen, and that’s why it’s important for me to speak out about it. For example, with a women’s doctor, you have to go. It can happen to anyone.

“I’m a young woman. I do sports since I’m 10 years old. I don’t drink alcohol. I don’t smoke. But it still can happen.”

Her illness has shined a spotlight on her friendships. Lots of her old friends showed concern at first, then went on with their lives. A handful checked in on her frequently. Some are new.

“I got in touch with a woman during chemotherapy, she was there too,” Michelle said. “She has breast cancer. She saw my cross necklace, and we were talking about faith and how it helped in those hard times.

“We are still in contact now. We are writing letters to each other. We’re not texting or phoning, just writing letters and sending postcards. She’s as old as my mom, but it’s very cool to have someone with almost the same story.”

How will that story end? Michelle has her hopes, this fearless young woman who took to bobsledding on her second time down the track.

“My goal is to be in the Olympics in four years,” she said. “I’ll be 29 by then. The age is still good — even better than now for a bobsleigh athlete. And I have a great team. My bobsleigh pilot is very supportive and she said she always has a place for me in the sled.”

This week, Michelle is supporting Cedric — just a sliver, she said, of the way he has supported her. They got engaged in December. It happened at sunset in his little hometown in the Swiss Alps.

“He was talking about himself and us, and then he proposed to me,” she said. “I said yes. Of course.”

BUD Cort, best known for his role in the 1971 cult classic Harold and Maude, has died aged 77.

Writer and producer Dorian Hannaway, a close friend, said he died after “a long illness”.

A veteran of stage and screen, Cort appeared in more than 80 films and TV series across a career spanning five decades.

He became indelibly linked with his performance in Harold and Maude, Hal Ashby’s offbeat romance about a young man obsessed with death who falls in love with a free-spirited 79-year-old Holocaust survivor, played by Ruth Gordon.

Released in 1971, the film was initially a commercial and critical flop.

It later found a devoted following in repertory cinemas during the 1970s, cementing its status as a cult classic thanks to its dark humour and unlikely love story.

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“A young man obsessed with death falls in love with an old woman obsessed with life. She dies and teaches the kid how to live,” Cameron Crowe described it for AFI in 2011.

“And it’s done with music [by Cat Stevens] that scratches at your soul… that movie holds up – to this minute.”

Director Edgar Wright paid tribute to Cort’s work, calling him a “welcome and magnetic presence in every film lucky enough to have him”.

On his performance in Harold and Maude, Wright said: “Not only is this beloved film a pitch perfect black comedy-cum-love story for the ages, but Bud Cort delivers one of the greatest looks to camera in film.”

The role earned Cort nominations for a Golden Globe and a Bafta.

Born Walter Edward Cox in Rye, New York, in 1948, he later changed his name to avoid confusion with character actor Wally Cox.

He went to school in New Rochelle and developed an early passion for performance, appearing in school productions and frequently travelling into Manhattan to see Broadway shows.

Hannaway remembered him as a “passionate theatregoer” who would sneak off to Manhattan to see Broadway shows and wait at the backstage door hoping to catch a glimpse of Barbara Streisand after watching Funny Girl.

Roslyn Kind recalled meeting him as a teenager. “I was only fourteen when I met Bud at the backstage door at my sister’s play,” she said in a statement.

“He was majoring in art at the time in high school. We became close friends who shared our interest in entertainment.

“When I got married, Bud and our songwriter friend, Bruce Roberts, wrote a special song that was performed at the ceremony. His unique spirit will always be with me.”

Cort moved to Los Angeles in the 1960s to pursue film work.

He had a small role in MASH before being cast by Robert Altman in the title role of Brewster McCloud.

His co-star Sally Kellerman later recalled: “We were in the line for lunch when I spotted him.

“Although I didn’t know who he was, I said ‘Oh, boy. We’re going to be best friends.’”

He continued to work steadily, with supporting roles in films including Heat, Dogma, Coyote Ugly and Pollock, as well as The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou.

On television, he appeared in series such as Arrested Development, Ugly Betty and Criminal Minds.

He also voiced Toyman in animated series including Superman: The Animated Series.

In 1979, Cort narrowly survived a devastating car accident that required multiple surgeries and affected his career.

He is survived by his brother Joseph Cox and sister-in-law Vickie, along with their daughters Meave, Brytnn, and Jesse.

He also leaves behind his sisters Kerry Cox, Tracy Cox Berkman, and Shelly Cox Dufour, and his many nieces and nephews.

A memorial will be held at a future date in Los Angeles.

THE guitarist and songwriter who founded the American rock band Cake has died aged 56.

Greg Brown passed away after a short illness, according to a statement on the band’s official Instagram account.

“Greg was an integral part of Cake’s early sound and development,” it read.

“His creative contributions were immense, and his presence—both musical and personal—will be deeply missed. Godspeed, Greg.”

Established in Sacramento in 1991, Greg founded the alt-funk band alongside vocalist John McCrea, trumpeter/keyboardist Vince DiFiore and Frank French – Gabe Nelson joined in 1992.

Current members of the band include guitarist Xan McCurdy, bassist Daniel McCallum and drummer Todd Roper.

He played his distinctive guitar on the band’s first two albums – Motorcade of Generosity in 1994 and the 1996 follow-up, Fashion Nugget.

Greg received a solo credit for writing the 1996 single The Distance, which reached number four on Billboard’s Alternative Airplay chart, as reported by Billboard.

The Distance crafted an incessant, ever-present throbbing of sound and compulsion. The instrumentation chugs ever forward, growing and receding, but never ending, VICE reported.

He also co-wrote several songs with McCrea including Jolene, Is This Love?, Mr. Mastodon Farm and Open Book.

He left the band before the third album was released but contributed on a song on the 2011 album Showroom of Compassion.

“I might have told you one thing back when I was 27 years old, and I left hot headed and mad about what I considered to be irreconcilable personality problems or whatever,” he said in 2021. 

“As 51-year-old me, I see a much larger context of what was going on in my life. Rather than get into all of it, I would just say there was a lot of turmoil at the time, and I felt like leaving Cake would be a decision that would be good for my health.”

In the years following his departure, Greg formed the band Deathray in 2000 and released a solo EP in 2023.

More to follow… For the latest news on this story keep checking back at The Sun Online.

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