Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . .

    I can still hear the sound of the machines keeping track of my heart rate. It’s such a small sound. But it fills me with fear and echoes through my first memories. 

    When I was 18 months old, I was diagnosed with a kind of cancer called neuroblastoma. The doctors told my parents that I had a 30 percent chance of surviving. 

    Over the next two years, I spent hundreds of days in the hospital. I had multiple surgeries. I went through many grueling treatments. 

    And it was all worth it. Today I am a survivor. I am lucky to be here to tell you my story.

    Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . . 

    I can still hear the sound of the machines keeping track of my heart rate. It’s a small sound. But it fills me with fear and echoes through my first memories.

    At 18 months old, I was diagnosed with a kind of cancer called neuroblastoma. The doctors told my parents I had a 30 percent chance of surviving.

    Over the next two years, I spent hundreds of days in the hospital. I had multiple surgeries. I went through grueling treatments.

    And it was worth it. I’m a survivor. I’m lucky to be here to tell my story.

    Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . . 

    I can still hear the sound of the machines monitoring my heart rate. It’s such a small sound, but it fills me with fear and echoes through my earliest memories.

    When I was 18 months old, I was diagnosed with a kind of cancer called neuroblastoma. The doctors told my parents that I had a 30 percent chance of surviving.

    Over the next two years, I spent hundreds of days in the hospital. I had multiple surgeries and went through many grueling treatments.

    And it was all worth it. Today I am a survivor. I am fortunate to be here to tell you my story.

    Since I was so young, I don’t remember finding out I had cancer. But I do remember getting poked with lots of needles. I remember having to lie totally still inside big machines while they scanned my body. I remember watching Frozen in the hospital. 

    Aside from that, my family members have filled in the blanks between my fuzzy memories. My parents remember me screaming in pain and say that I fought hard. My older sister, Kaylee, remembers spending lots of nights at friends’ houses while my parents were with me in the hospital. 

    Since I was so young, I don’t remember finding out I had cancer. But I remember getting poked with needles. I remember having to lie still inside big machines while they scanned my body. I remember watching Frozen in the hospital.

    My family has filled in the blanks between my memories. My parents remember me screaming in pain. They say I fought hard. My big sister, Kaylee, remembers spending nights at friends’ houses while my parents were with me in the hospital.

    Since I was so young, I don’t remember finding out I had cancer—but I do remember experiences like getting poked with lots of needles, having to lie completely still inside big machines while they scanned my body, and watching Frozen in the hospital.

    Aside from that, my family members have filled in the blanks between my fuzzy memories. My parents remember me screaming in pain and say that I fought hard. My older sister, Kaylee, remembers spending lots of nights at friends’ houses while my parents were with me in the hospital.

    The scariest moment for everyone came a few months into my cancer fight. 

    After I had surgery, I got a life-threatening condition called sepsis. That’s when your body’s response to an infection damages your tissues and organs.

    At that point, nobody thought I was going to survive. My mom remembers sleeping in my hospital room and watching me get sicker for four days. She couldn’t do anything to help me, so she just prayed. 

    Then one morning, I started to get better. Nobody could explain it. A few days later, we finally went home. 

    There were more months of treatment after that. But then we got the news we were all waiting for. I was in remission!

After everything I had gone through, people called me a “walking miracle.” That made me feel special. But life wasn’t always easy, even after I left the hospital.    

    The scariest moment came a few months into my cancer fight.

    After I had surgery, I got a life-threatening condition called sepsis. That’s when your body’s response to an infection damages your tissues and organs.

    At that point, no one thought I would survive. My mom slept in my hospital room. For four days, she watched me get sicker. She couldn’t do anything to help me. She just prayed.

    Then one morning, I started to get better. No one could explain it. A few days later, we finally went home.

    There were more months of treatment after that. But then we got the news we were waiting for. I was in remission!

    After all I had gone through, people called me a “walking miracle.” That made me feel special. But life wasn’t always easy, even after I left the hospital.

    The scariest moment for everyone came a few months into my cancer fight. After I had surgery, I developed a life-threatening condition called sepsis. That’s when your body’s response to an infection damages your tissues and organs.

    At that point, nobody expected me to survive. My mom remembers sleeping in my hospital room and watching me get sicker for four days. She couldn’t do anything to help me, so she just prayed.

    Then one morning, I started to get better. Nobody could explain it. A few days later, we finally went home.

    There were more months of treatment after that, but then we got the news we had all been waiting for: I was in remission!

    After everything I had gone through, people called me a “walking miracle.” That made me feel special—but life wasn’t always easy, even after I left the hospital.

    Since I was so young when I got cancer, it was all I knew. A life full of doctors’ appointments, scans, and tests seemed normal to me. Once I started school, I realized that I was different from other kids. I had spent most of my life in the hospital. Some kids had never even set foot in one.

    There were visible differences too. The cancer treatment affected my hormones, which affected how I grew. So I’ve always been smaller than most kids. I also have a large scar down the middle of my stomach. I call it my lightning bolt. 

    Kids at school were always curious about the scar. Some even asked if it was a shark bite. Adults would scold them for being rude, but I didn’t mind the questions. I was happy to be able to tell my story.

    After all, I’m not ashamed of any of this. It all just reminds me that I survived. 

    Since I was so young when I got sick, it was all I knew. Seeing doctors and getting scans were normal to me. Once I started school, I realized I was different from other kids. I had spent most of my life in the hospital. Some kids had never set foot in one.

    There were other differences too. The cancer treatment affected my hormones, which affected how I grew. So I’ve always been smaller than most kids. I also have a scar down the middle of my stomach. I call it my lightning bolt.

    Kids at school asked about the scar. Some asked if it was a shark bite. Adults would scold them for being rude. But I didn’t mind the questions. I was glad I could tell my story.

    I’m not ashamed of any of this. It reminds me that I survived.

    Since I was so young when I got cancer, it was all I knew. A life full of doctors’ appointments, scans, and tests seemed normal to me. Once I started school, I understood that I was different from other kids. I had spent most of my life in the hospital, and some kids had never even set foot inside one.

    There were visible differences too. The cancer treatment affected my hormones, which affected how I grew, so I’ve always been smaller than most kids. I also have a large scar down the middle of my stomach. I call it my lightning bolt.

    Kids at school would express curiosity about the scar. Some even asked if it was a shark bite. Adults would scold them for being rude, but I didn’t mind the questions. I was happy to be able to tell my story.

    After all, I’m not ashamed of any of this. It all just reminds me that I survived.

    I want to share my story so that other people feel like they can share theirs—even if it’s scary. I’ve noticed that people don’t want to talk about hard things. But I think talking about them actually makes them less scary. We all have battles that we have to fight. It’s always easier to do it with support from others.

    When I grow up, I want to be a surgeon. I’m so grateful to the doctors who saved my life. I want to give back by doing the same for others.

    I will be able to tell my patients, “I know what you’re going through.” I hope my story will give them the courage to keep fighting. 

    I want to share my story so that other people feel like they can share theirs. I’ve noticed that people don’t want to talk about hard things. But I think talking about them makes them less scary. We all have battles to fight. It’s easier to do it with support from others.

    When I grow up, I want to be a surgeon. I’m grateful to the doctors who saved my life. I want to give back by doing the same for others.

    I’ll be able to tell my patients, “I know what you’re going through.” I hope my story will give them the courage to keep fighting. 

    I hope that by sharing my story, I can encourage other people to share theirs—even if it’s difficult. I’ve noticed that people are often reluctant to talk about hard things, but I think talking about them actually makes them less scary. We all have battles that we have to fight, and it’s always easier to do that with support from others.

    When I grow up, I want to be a surgeon. I’m incredibly grateful to the doctors who saved my life, and I want to give back by doing the same for others.

    I’ll be able to tell my patients, “I know what you’re going through.” I hope hearing about my experience will give them the courage to keep fighting.