How One Stranger’s Gesture Impacted the Lives of CHOC Families

They didn’t know each other. Their only connection was their teenaged children; one fighting a devastating cancer diagnosis.

Then came a letter. And food prepared with love. It was a kind, selfless gesture that inspired a special friendship and, in less than two years, more than 1,600 meals delivered to families at CHOC Children’s Hospital.

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Jody Masquefa became – in her own words – obsessed with thoughts of and concerns for 19-year-old Dillan Morris. A friend of her daughter, Dillan had been diagnosed with cancer. She had never met Dillan’s family, but found herself thinking of them often, especially his mom Pam. She wanted to help them in some way, but didn’t want to intrude.

Dillan on the beach before his cancer diagnosis.

Finally, she got the courage to send Pam a letter. “You don’t know who I am, but my daughter is your son’s friend,” she wrote. Jody included her phone number and encouraged Pam to call if the family needed anything. A week later, she received a text message. Brief text exchanges continued until the family accepted Jody’s offer to deliver a meal to them at CHOC.

“I still remember the moment I pulled into the hospital’s five-story parking structure. It hit me how full it was…how many other families had children who were ill or injured,” recalls Jody. That meal led to her first face-to-face encounter with Pam. Additional food deliveries followed. Even though she become more acquainted with the Morris family, Jody knew she was still very much a stranger in their personal journey.

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Sept. 21, 2015. The day the Morris family was forever changed. Their beloved son and brother Dillan, who they thought was suffering from a bad cold, was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia and acute lymphocytic leukemia. Just five percent of the population get both forms of the cancer. He was immediately admitted to the Hyundai Cancer Institute at CHOC for aggressive treatment.

Dillan’s mom Pam took a leave from work to stay by his side…each of the 105 days he remained in the hospital. She was there for the chemotherapy, the physical therapy sessions and procedures. There when they received news that his cancer wasn’t responding well to treatment. And there to watch her handsome and athletic son endure everything with strength and courage.

“He never complained. Never asked ‘why me.’ He had a great attitude through it all,” remembers Pam.

Naturally, her focus remained on Dillan. She couldn’t even turn her attention away to respond to a message from the mother of one of his friends. Her sister replied to the stranger on her behalf, sent updates and finally accepted an offer of dinner.

Pam met Jody for the first time in CHOC’s fifth floor family room, where Jody had dinner set up for the family. They talked for a long time. Texts and notes of encouragement followed, as did more meals.

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Dillan came home from the hospital on Jan. 5, 2016. Ten days later he died. Jody attended his memorial service and was touched to see a full church, including staff from CHOC. Clearly the young man left a lasting impact on so many.

Once again, Jody summoned her courage; this time to approach Kara Noskoff, one of the hospital’s child life specialists who spoke at the service. She had an idea, a way to pay tribute to Dillan and help other families. “Could I bring meals to families at CHOC?” she asked. Kara agreed to help coordinate the effort, knowing how many families could benefit from such a kind gesture. Jody had one more person to ask: Pam. She wanted to know just how involved Dillan’s mom would like to be.

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The first “Love Letters Food Box” was delivered to a family at CHOC on Feb. 2, 2016. The box, nondescript with exception of a small logo designed by Dillan’s friend, held a three-course meal, including beverages. It also contained a letter, unsigned. “This meal is a gift to you to let you know that some stranger out there knows you are here,” it starts. The letter continued with the story of the Morris’ encounter with a stranger, who was deeply impacted by their journey and by the realization that so many families at CHOC were on similar journeys. And that “a meal is often a way to show others that we care.”

love-letters-box-for-families-at-choc
Each Love Letters food box, nondescript with exception of this small logo designed by Dillan’s friend, holds a three-course meal, including beverages.

Since then, Jody and her volunteers, including Pam, have delivered more than 1,600 meals to CHOC. What began as a commitment to deliver one meal a week has grown to deliveries six days of the week. Pam’s delivery includes blankets, something her son treasured receiving from his friends.

“Jody and Pam are two amazing, caring and selfless women,” says Kara. “They are respectful of our families’ privacy, and wish to know only how many people to feed and any dietary restrictions. They are quiet heroes.”

love-letters-box-for-families-at-choc
Jody, Bob, Pam and Yves at CHOC Walk in the Park.

Jody and Pam’s support of CHOC includes participation in the 2016 and 2017 CHOC Walk in the Park. Their team, including their husbands Yves and Bob, most recently raised $14,000. During the walk, a mom recognized the Love Letters Food Box logo and raced to the group to express her appreciation for being a recipient of one of their deliveries. More families have approached Love Letters Food Box volunteers at the hospital, tearfully giving thanks for the generous and selfless gesture. One family was inspired to start delivering meals to a local hospital in their community.

Jody and Pam are humbled by the gratitude and by the opportunity to be there for others. Once strangers, the two are now close friends, making a big difference in the lives of families one letter and one meal at a time.

Jody and her husband own Yves’ Restaurant and Wine Bar in Anaheim Hills. Jody would like to grow the Love Letters Food Box program. Anyone interested in getting involved can email lovelettersfoodbox@gmail.com.

Discover other ways to support CHOC

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My Journey from CHOC Patient to CHOC Volunteer

Written by Daniel Boucher, cancer survivor and current CHOC volunteer

My name is Daniel, and ever since I can remember, I have always wanted to play football for the University of Notre Dame. I had many motivations: my dad went there, they put academics before football, and I consider it almost a holy place, where people
“surrender to excellence” in their personal life, academics and community. And I had an athletic build too. At 10 years old, I was already 5 feet 2 inches and well on my way to achieving, if not surpassing, my dad’s height of 6 feet 3 inches. I had a competitive, determined drive in any situation. I was only satisfied if I gave my all.

I was ten years old when everything changed. It was a November afternoon and I was doing what I loved most― playing football. Trying to tackle my little brother, I followed the advice so often quoted in sports: keep your eye on the ball. As a consequence, I ran into a tree face first. I came home and threw up once or twice, but otherwise seemed unharmed. I didn’t really lose consciousness, but my dad took me to the emergency room just to be safe. That visit changed my life. It was a slow day, and there was an available CAT scan machine. Figuring that it would be no harm, the doctor ordered a scan. That scan revealed a cancerous mass sitting on the edge of my spinal cord.

Within hours, I was diagnosed with medulloblastoma, a type of cancer that often spreads to other parts of the brain and spinal cord. I met my pediatric neurosurgeon, Dr. William Loudon, and was scheduled for brain surgery. I remember watching “Honey I Shrunk the Kids” before surgery and telling my younger brother (whether out of innocence or the sheer confidence and determination I applied to every situation) that I’d be home in a week. If my parents heard me say this, they never tried to tell me otherwise. My dad later confided in me that this was one time where he truly thought I wasn’t going to make it. I didn’t fulfill my promise to my brother- after surgery the doctors kept me unconscious for two days, giving my brain the best chance to recover from the surgery, and stayed in the hospital for two weeks before I got to go home. It felt so good to be in my own bed again that I slept for 21 hours straight.

My immune system was weak, and when I came down with a fever I had to go back to the hospital. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a symptom of pressure buildup in my spine. I remember that the hospital was getting in the Christmas spirit at that time. There was holiday music playing and I even got to attend a party while I was admitted, but I got to go home in time for Christmas. After the holidays, I started on my cancer’s treatment regimen under the careful eye of my oncologist, Dr. Lilibeth Torno.

daniel-choc-neurosurgery-patient-to-choc-volunteer

For the entire month of January, Monday through Friday, I would go to the CHOC Outpatient Infusion Center (OPI) cancer center from 8 a.m. – 12 p.m. There, I received chemotherapy treatments delivered intravenously through my portacath, which connected to an artery on my chest and made access to a blood vessel less painful and more practical than a needle in my arm. I usually slept for the first hour of my infusion. Later in the session, my mom would feed me ramen and read me “The BFG” by Ronal Dahl. Eventually my appetite increased so that I went back to eating my favorite food of corn dogs, and socializing to the point of befriending many of the nurses and asking if they had any ketchup. You can’t eat a corndog without ketchup. The nurses were so kind and hated to see me uncomfortable and they would bend over backward to help. A tall nurse named Ron took especially great care of me, and once I had asked for it, would bring me ketchup every day.

After chemotherapy, my mom and I would walk the CHOC hallways to the radiology department. My radiation treatment was twofold, one dose to the tumor site and one dose to the general brain. When I laid on the table to receive radiation, a special mask molded to my face and tattooed pinpoints on my back helped me line up in the exact right spot. Technicians would line me up and then I would lie for what seemed like hours (it was never that long) until they returned to help me up and send me home.

After I completed this first part of my strict but successful treatment plan, I came into the hospital for one weekend every three weeks. John was my favorite nurse and used to play practical jokes on me to cheer me up. I had a tricky vein but he could always get my IV inserted without hurting me. My dad came with me on these trips, and if I was feeling well enough, I got to visit the play room and receive visitors. My siblings would often come and we loved to play on the X-men arcade console. The machine had been modified to work without quarters, and we fully exploited this.

That June, I finished my last chemo treatment. It was a momentous occasion and my family hosted a party to celebrate. There was a bounce house, a slip and slide, and all my favorite foods. We even made a giant finish line banner across our driveway and t-shirts for the family. My favorite part, however, was visiting with my friends and family who had so generously helped with the behind-the-scenes work. Those who watched my younger siblings while mom was with me in the hospital, who made dinners, and especially who prayed unceasingly for my recovery and for my family.

Was I the same person who had hit that tree almost a year prior? No. Did I still have that physical strength to rush up and down a football field tackling other players? No. But the same attributes I’d always had within me in sports had been used to help me through my struggles. I had developed a different kind of toughness, one that is much more important. I may not have been able to run and throw a football down the field, but with my strong active spirit, I would look for new, less physical, adventures.

Recently I was invited to speak at a fundraiser to benefit neurosurgery at CHOC, so that Dr. Loudon and his colleagues can continue helping more kids the way they helped me when I was a patient. The event was a success, but the best part was getting to hang out with Dr. Loudon.

These days, I’m back at CHOC― this time as a volunteer. I get to entertain kids in the same waiting rooms I used to visit as a patient. I read books, play games, do puppet show, and just be their buddy when they need entertainment or a distraction. I also get to host Turtle Talk, an interactive show in the Disneyland Resort lobby of the Bill Holmes Tower, where patients and siblings can interact and have live conversations with Crush, the animated sea turtle from “Finding Nemo.” Sometimes I even run into Dr. Loudon and Dr. Torno. I really appreciated the efforts of CHOC to make me motivated and happy, (not to mention the medical care to recover from my disease), and am now proud to help make your stay as good as mine.

Learn more about neurosurgery at CHOC

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A Visitor’s Guide to the Hematology/Oncology Unit

Being hospitalized can be scary and stressful, no matter the age of the patient. A visitor can have the same emotions, especially if they are new to a hospital setting. What should I say? Is it ok if I cry? Should I bring them a gift? You will see all sorts of circumstances when you walk into a patient room in the hematology/oncology unit, whether you are visiting your own loved one, or meeting a friend that your loved one has made during treatment at CHOC. The child life specialists of The Cherese Mari Laulhere Child Life Department at CHOC Children’s offer the following advice to visitors coming to the hematology/oncology unit.

visiting a child with cancer

What to say:

Ask what shows they are watching, what’s their favorite movie, what they like to do when they’re at CHOC.

If the patient you are visiting is a classmate or friend and you usually see them regularly, it’s ok to tell them that you’ve missed them. Teen patients especially want to hear about what’s going on at school so they feel like they are still part of it. Sometimes it makes them feel sad that they are missing out on things, but ultimately it makes them feel like they haven’t been forgotten.

Ask the family what they need. You may be surprised by what they say, in some cases. Maybe the thing they need most right now is for you to babysit their other children so they can focus on their hospitalized child. Maybe they feel overwhelmed with gifts, but would appreciate if you went to their house and tidied up and did a load of laundry so they have one less thing to worry about.

Send an e-mail or a text message to let them know you are thinking about them. Patients and families often need space immediately following a diagnosis, but they don’t want to feel forgotten about. Offers to help often come mostly in the early days of treatment, and sometimes drop off after a few months. Let them know you haven’t forgotten about them. Families can feel bad saying no to visitors, so give them the option to say, “not right now.” Here are examples:

  • “I’m here for you and I’m ready to come at any moment. Please know I don’t want to overstep any boundaries, please tell me no if you do not feel up for a visit.”
  • “I’m open to talking about whatever you feel comfortable talking about. I’m here for you and am willing to just listen and be with you in this.”

It’s ok if you don’t know what to say. You may have never been the loved one of someone with cancer before. You can say something like:

  • “I don’t know what to say but I’m with you in this.”
  • “We’re going to do this together.”
  • “I can handle this with you. You shouldn’t have to carry this alone.”

It’s ok to say, “I’m sorry.” It’s ok to cry.

Cancer is often a long and difficult journey. On some days, your friend may feel positive and strong, and on other days they may feel overwhelmed. On these days, tell them, “It’s ok to not be ok.” Give them permission to feel whatever they are feeling. Validate their feelings by saying, for example, “You have every right to be sad and angry. This isn’t fair, but we’ll get through this together.”

visiting a child with cancer

What not to say:

Never assume age or gender, just because of a patient’s size or lack of hair. CHOC treats a variety of ages here, from babies all the way up to young adults.

Don’t ask how long they’ve been here or when they get to go home. They might not know the answer, which can be frustrating.

Avoid asking how school is going. This may only remind them they are missing out on time with friends, and isolated in the hospital.

Although some patients enjoy ordering food delivered straight to their rooms, avoid asking questions about food because some patients have restrictive diets. Others might be nauseous from chemotherapy treatment, and some may not be able to eat regular food that day if they are about to have a procedure.

Visitors can be great motivation for patients to get out of bed. However, don’t assume they can get up and walk around. Instead of asking, “Hey, do you want to go walk to the playroom or catch Turtle Talk?” you can say, “We can take a wheelchair, or if you feel like getting up we can try that,” and let the patient be the one to tell you that they can walk.

You care a lot about the person you are visiting in the hospital, so it’s natural to want to ask how they are doing when you walk into their room. Instead, say “Hey, it’s so good to see you!” to avoid sparking any feelings of sadness if they aren’t feeling their best that day.

Look to the patient for conversation cues. Don’t ask a lot of questions about their treatment plan unless they offer up that information. Patients spend a lot of time every day talking to their care team about their treatment plan and how they are feeling, so they may not want to talk about it again with you. It is, however, ok to ask them if they want to talk about how they’re feeling or their treatment plan, and give them the freedom to say no.

Never use the phrase “at least.” You may be trying to bring positivity to a sad and scary situation, but do not say “I know cancer is bad, but at least it’s not (insert any other condition or treatment setback here).”

Do not compare your own experience with cancer to theirs. Every cancer journey is unique, and patients aren’t receptive to hearing “I understand.”

Avoid using blanket statements such as “You’re my hero” or “You’re so strong.” Instead, tell them why they are strong, and what characteristics you see in them.

What to bring:

Bring an activity that you can do with your friend or loved one. Art projects, puzzles, crossword of the day, and board games are all great options.

Supplies to decorate their room is always a welcome surprise. This can also include cozy pajamas, slippers, twin sheets and cozy blankets.

Before bringing food, check with the patient’s parents or legal guardians. Some smells may bother them or they might not be eating typical food that day due to an upcoming procedure. They might not want food then but may want snacks to keep in their rooms.

All rooms have DVD players and Xbox consoles. Patients can checkout movies and video games from the Family Resource Center or the child life department, but bringing them a fresh stash of entertainment can be a thoughtful gesture. Mini speakers are another way that you can help patients relax by listening to their favorite music.

The CHOC Children’s gift shop, located on the second floor of the Bill Holmes Tower, offers a variety of games, books, arts and crafts, stuffed animals, toys, mylar balloons and more. Loved ones can call 714-509-8668 to place an order over the phone and arrange for it to be delivered straight to a patient’s room.

Don’t forget about the parents! Although care teams and social services at CHOC Children’s stress the importance of self-care for parents, having a hospitalized child often means that moms and dads forget about their own needs. Parents also appreciate things for their room to help them feel comfortable: cozy pillows and blankets, books and magazines, nice shampoo and conditioner all go a long way. Some families like aromatherapy as well.

visiting a child with cancer

Sometimes, our patients and families are just not up for visitors, but they would still appreciate your thoughtfulness. Be ok with dropping something off in the first-floor lobby and not feeling entitled to a visit. This shows that you are respectful of their space while they’re healing. Gift cards for gas, groceries, and local restaurants around the hospital are always appreciated. If you’re not local (and check with the family first), you can also order meal from a nearby restaurant to be delivered that they can pick it up in the first-floor lobby. CHOC’s Area Resource Guide provides information on nearby restaurants.

What not to bring:

Flowers are a beautiful and thoughtful gesture, but due to the bacteria that grows in soil, oncology patients are not permitted to receive flowers.

Download a copy of this guide

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Dr. Jamie Frediani joins Hyundai Cancer Institute at CHOC Children’s

Pediatric hematologist/oncologist Dr. Jamie Frediani has joined the growing team of innovative specialists at the Hyundai Cancer Institute at CHOC Children’s. Dr. Frediani looks forward to further advancing CHOC’s leukemia and lymphoma programs, as well as the adolescent and young adult cancer program.

“The Hyundai Cancer Institute is experiencing an exciting time of immense growth, including creating new ways of delivering exceptional patient care, developing new treatments, expanding patient outreach and education, and enriching existing treatment teams,” says Dr. Frediani. “I am thrilled to be a part of this growth, and honored to join such a supportive team of experts.”

Dr. Jamie Frediani
Pediatric hematologist/oncologist Dr. Jamie Frediani has joined the growing team of innovative specialists at the Hyundai Cancer Institute at CHOC Children’s.

After graduating with high honors from University of California, Davis with a bachelor’s degree in microbiology, Dr. Frediani completed medical school at University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center.  Her residency and fellowship training were done at Cincinnati Children’s Hospital and Children’s Hospital Los Angeles (CHLA), respectively. Throughout her education and training, she assumed numerous leadership roles.  Most recently, she was chief fellow of the department of hematology/oncology at CHLA.

Dr. Frediani has participated in numerous research studies, including working with clinicians at St. Jude Children’s Research Institute in Memphis, Tennessee. She has published in Molecular Cancer, Archives of disease in childhood and Pediatric blood and cancer.

Dedicated to patient-and-family-centered care, Dr. Frediani was inspired to become a pediatric hematologist/oncologist after volunteering in the child life department of a local hospital.  There, in the hospital’s oncology floor, she witnessed the amazing resilience of these patients and the unique relationship between the physicians and their patients and families.

“No matter how many other specialties I found alluring or interesting, my heart always lead me back to oncology.  In addition to how rapidly the science behind oncology treatment is changing, keeping the field constantly new and interesting, I find our patients a source of strength and inspiration.  I absolutely can’t imagine practicing any other specialty,” says Dr. Frediani.

Dr. Frediani’s philosophy of care is based on a multidisciplinary, collaborative and cooperative team approach. “A diagnosis of pediatric cancer affects the patient – physically, emotionally and mentally, as well as the entire family.  You can’t just address the medical treatment without accounting for the family’s spiritual beliefs, culture and family dynamics,” explains Dr. Frediani. “I want to empower our patients and families to make the best decisions for them, through the lenses they use to relate to the world. Most importantly, I want our patients to experience as much of a normal childhood as possible, in spite of the challenges of treatment.”

Learn more about the Hyundai Cancer Institute at CHOC Children's

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Not Fighting Cancer Alone: Sydney’s Story

By Sydney Sigafus, cancer warrior and CHOC Children’s patient

As a teenager and an athlete, my life revolves around sports. As a sophomore at Foothill High School, I’m one of the sports anchors for our school newscast. I’m also a member of the JV girls’ basketball team, which has always been like a second family to me.

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Before fighting cancer, Sydney was a member of her school’s JV girls’ basketball team.

During last year’s summer league season, I started to have pains on the right side of my back. I thought I had simply pulled a muscle, so I told my mom about it. Off we went to the pediatrician, who sent us to get an MRI. We were referred to Dr. Nader Nassif, an orthopedic surgeon who sees patients at CHOC. He saw a spot on my upper femur that was small at the time, but that he wanted to keep an eye on. He said it could be a number of things— one of those being cancer— but he didn’t initially think that that’s what it was because of where the spot was on my bone and what it looked like. He told us to come back in three months for more scans.

By our next appointment, the spot had grown by a few millimeters, so we did a biopsy, which is a test that’s performed to examine tissue or cells from a certain part of the body. That test showed that the spot on my femur was cancerous. Dr. Nassif was surprised, since most teens with Ewing’s sarcoma have it in the knees and it grows very quickly, but mine was near my hip and grew very slowly.

Meeting my care team at CHOC

Dr. Nassif told my family that we were going to be working with Dr. Elyssa Rubin, a pediatric oncologist and director of the bone and soft tissue sarcoma treatment program at CHOC. I learned quickly that Dr. Rubin is not only your doctor but also your friend. She would come into my room and not only ask me how I was feeling, but she wanted to know if I was able to see my friends that weekend, if I had made it to the basketball game at school, or if I had seen the latest movie that just came out. I always felt like she cared about me not just as a patient, but as a person. She laid out the game plan very clearly for me and my parents and answered all the questions we had (and some that we asked over and over again). My treatment plan called for six rounds of chemotherapy before surgery and eight rounds after.

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“I learned quickly that Dr. Rubin is not only your doctor but also your friend,” Sydney says. “I always felt like she cared about me not just as a patient, but as a person.”

I was lucky to have the very best nurses. They were amazing throughout my entire journey. It stinks to have nausea or not be able to do something with my friends because my counts were down, or even be able go to school — but my nurses, especially my nurse practitioners Liz Torok and Jody Pathare, have made something that seems so tough, a lot easier.

Physical therapy has played a big role in my life after surgery. My physical therapist Robin Beauregard is a two-time Olympic medalist, so as an athlete, she helps me connect with my treatment. She’s no-nonsense and very witty like me, and it makes me really look forward to physical therapy sessions.

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Thanks to having an Olympic medal winner on her care team, Sydney was able to look forward to physical therapy sessions.

Another group that has made my journey so great has been the child life team. I can’t say enough good things about them, especially Kara, the child life specialist who works with adolescent and young adult patients. She heard I loved sports, and on day one of treatment, she brought me a huge basket filled with swag from my favorite sports teams and even a basketball hoop for my room. I assumed it was a one-time thing, but she has come to visit me every single time I’ve been at CHOC for treatment. She even came into the operating room with me when I needed an epidural for my surgery because I was scared and my parents couldn’t come into the OR with me. It was hard for my parents to be in the waiting room while I was in the OR, but knowing that I had Kara by my side made them feel so much better. During surgery, my tumor was removed and a prosthesis was put in for my upper femur. After finishing eight more rounds of chemotherapy after surgery, my scans confirmed that I was cancer free!

childhood cancer
During her treatment, Sydney quickly bonded with Kara, the child life specialist who works with adolescent and young adult patients.

Every single person I’ve met at CHOC has been amazing — especially the woman who cleaned my room. She called me princess!

Making the hospital feel like home

Not only has child life supported me on my journey, but they’ve also helped make the hospital feel less like a hospital. This goes beyond bringing an Xbox to your room to take your mind off your treatment. It starts with the way CHOC looks  can you imagine receiving treatment in a place that just had white walls and a white floor? CHOC is the opposite. It’s colorful. It has gardens you can go outside and sit in. There are playrooms everywhere. There’s a lounge that’s just for teens. I’m not musical or artistic, but for the patients that are, they’ll bring you instruments and introduce you to a music therapist, or bring you drawing and painting supplies.

Finding support in unexpected places

When I started this journey, I felt so alone. What are the chances I would know another teenager that is going through this? I soon realized that I did have someone who understood what I was going through, someone that I looked up to even before I was diagnosed with cancer. When I was a freshman, there was a senior at my school who was fighting osteosarcoma (a type of bone cancer) in her knee. Claire was an athlete like me before she was diagnosed with cancer. Our school recognized her as Homecoming Queen during her treatment, and I remember watching her use crutches during the ceremony where she received her crown. At the time, I thought she was so amazing, and I was really moved by her story. Six months later I received my own diagnosis. Claire immediately reached out to me, met me at the hospital and has been offering me nonstop support ever since.

Another pleasant surprise was getting to meet the doctor who delivered me 15 years ago! Dr. Gigi Kroll is a member of the CHOC Children’s Foundation Board of Directors, and I got to meet her at a fundraising event for the Hyundai Cancer Institute at CHOC. My mom had a complicated delivery when I was born, and I’d heard a lot growing up about how wonderful her doctor had been. It was so cool to meet her in person, and nice to know that she’s part of making CHOC the amazing hospital it is today.

Choosing to be positive

I’ve always been a happy and positive person, but I’m also realistic. Of course there’s going to be times on this journey when you’re sad, because who doesn’t get upset about cancer? But I’ve learned that if you’re sad, it’s going to make a bad situation ten times worse.

Even with all the support around you, it’s important to realize that there is only so much other people can do for you. There comes a point where you have to do things for yourself and choose to be positive.

childhood cancer
Red Nose Docs were a welcome distraction and source of positivity during Sydney’s treatment.

I try to be positive all the time. I have a great support system, which includes my family, my friends, my doctors, my nurses and child life.

On the day of my surgery, I set a goal to be able to walk back into school for the start of my junior year. A few weeks ago, I accomplished that goal! I’m starting to think about colleges, and I’m looking to study kinesiology. I want to become a pediatric physical therapist and an athletic trainer.

I’ve learned a lot from this journey. My family and I have been incredibly blessed by my care team and other families who have taken us under their wing, and I want to repay them by doing whatever I can to help motivate other patients who may be struggling to stay positive.

Learn more about the Hyundai Cancer Institute at CHOC Children's

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