I never expected to see Alice* again. Our family had met her over five years ago when our daughter Isa was first diagnosed with leukemia at the age of two and a half.
Shortly after Isa’s diagnosis we were invited to attend the American Cancer Society’s Camp Reach for the Stars—a weekend long outdoor camp for families who have a child with cancer or a child who has survived cancer. It’s an opportunity to relax and have fun with other families who have walked in your shoes; who know exactly what you’re going through and because of their experiences, can offer you hope that your child will make it through treatment and be well enough to come back the following year. Camp Reach for the Stars is where we first met Alice over six years ago.
The weekend camp experience is full of fun activities—swimming, hiking, zip-lining, arts and crafts, movie night and a talent show. Every child is assigned their own personal counselor so the parents can relax by themselves, have a massage, or just lounge by the pool. Three times a day when the bell rings, we all hike up the hill to the dining hall and enjoy delicious home-cooked food and great company. Over the years, we’ve all become one big family. Since we began attending camp six years ago, Alice has always been a vital presence at camp—her goofy sense of humor and loving spirit always managed put a smile on our faces no matter how discouraged we felt.
But last year, at the end of camp when everyone gathered around the fire pit for the closing ceremonies, Alice’s mother, choked up from the tears she could no longer hold back, told us that this would most likely be the last time they would be bringing their daughter to camp. A few days earlier they had found out that Alice’s cancer had relapsed for the fourth time since she was first diagnosed at the age of nine. There was little hope that any kind of treatment would get rid of the insidious tumor that had wrapped itself around her heart. Our entire family was devastated by this news. All I could think was that I couldn’t bear the thought of coming back to camp without Alice being there.
The thing is, once your kid gets diagnosed with cancer, whether you want it or not, cancer becomes a huge part of your life. It’s like receiving a lifetime membership to the cancer club. You end up meeting and becoming friends with many families who have had to deal with a child battling cancer. This can be excruciating at times because sometimes these children whom you meet and end up loving die from their cancer. You realize you have to do everything in your power to help find a cure so that more of these children don’t die.
So here I go again. It’s September, which means it is PEDIATRIC CANCER AWARENESS month and it’s time for me to talk about pediatric cancer again. Oh no—not again, you say. Isn’t she tired of writing about cancer yet?
Well to be honest, the answer is YES. Yes, I am tired of writing about cancer. In fact, I’d prefer to not write about it at all. I’d prefer not to hear about children who are newly diagnosed. I’d prefer not to see photographs posted on Facebook memorializing children who are no longer alive because cancer has taken their lives. I’d prefer not to see the agonizing fear in the face of another parent who is terrified about what’s going to happen to their child.
I’d prefer that pediatric cancer be wiped off the face of the earth.
But since that’s not about to happen anytime soon, I figure it’s best to keep talking about it and writing about it as much as possible with the idea in mind that perhaps someone reading this will begin to realize that more and more children are diagnosed with pediatric cancer every day, and that one day it might just be them or someone close to them who is directly affected by this disease. And maybe—just maybe, this awareness will prompt them to act in some small way to make a change—whether it be raising money for research, helping out a family in need, or simply just having a conversation about pediatric cancer from time to time. I truly believe that simply talking about something important can incite change, even in a very small way.
Last weekend, our family attended our sixth Camp Reach for the Stars. Our two oldest daughters, Nora and Leah volunteered as counselors for the camp. We had a marvelous time hanging out with everyone, laughing; eating, joking—especially with Alice. Yes—Alice was there. She was back at camp in all her glory, with no sign of cancer in her body whatsoever. The radiation zapped that tumor into smithereens and now it’s nothing more than a hazy image on an MRI filed away in some doctor’s office.
So let’s keep the conversation going. Let’s work to find a cure. It’s true that children do die from cancer, but this time, whether you believe it a miracle occurred or not, one child did not die.
There is always hope.
See you next year, Alice!
*I’ve changed her name to protect her privacy