Wow, what a difficult time writing this will be. It is amazingly challenging to put into words something that everyone knows, yet not many do. It's honestly something I'm not even comfortable talking about yet, but I feel compelled to share for the sake of raising awareness for this cause.
You may be familiar with the bullet points of the past several years, but no one can know the entirety of our experience unless they’ve lived it. My sister lived it. Not every day was good, in fact, most were not. The hardest truth to accept through it all, was that the world as a whole kept turning though my family’s world had stopped. My father survived his 2000 cancer diagnosis. I wish I could write the same about my little sister. As many of you know, her battle sadly ended in August of this year. Kayla was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma at the age of 17. With Thanksgiving around the corner, I’m sadly reminded of the fact a previous holiday season found our family celebrating one of Kayla’s temporary remissions. My grief since her passing has been difficult and entirely unpredictable in its outbursts, but the comfort from my loved ones – including my new Class of '22 family – has been central in helping me feel less alone in this.
As Kayla fought her battle, my family and many of you were with her through numerous emergency MD Anderson visits, countless extended stays, and more than enough nights during which we had no idea what lay ahead. My parents rented an apartment in Houston for those stays to be closer to Kayla’s doctors and to give better peace of mind. She saw nearly every specialty provider, was alerted of every puppy therapy day – her favorite days – and had her hospital room decorated to her liking. My little sister survived things no one should ever have to suffer. One of the scariest yet inspiring moments in Kayla’s treatment was her superior vena cava occlusion. I was studying for the MCAT at the time, beside her bed, and can remember being amazed by the fact her unconscious body was at that very moment creating new pathways for blood perfusion. I felt God in the room with us that weekend. Even in moments like that one, it never occurred to me that there was any other option but survival for my sister. Every episode up to then had shown us the miracle of her body’s strength and resilience.
Even with all of these close calls, I still never had a single inkling of a thought that her disease would end up being fatal. I always felt with my whole being that Kayla’s passing was not in the cards for our family and even remember strongly assuring my parents as much on multiple hospital visits. I just knew she was in store for a long and healthy life. I am sharing this because, even with my sister living through it in front of me, terminal childhood cancer was not something I wanted to believe in. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea that a child could actually die from this illness and that modern medicine couldn't fix it right away. It just wasn't possible. Makes me sound naive, doesn't it? I've worked, volunteered, been a patient family member, and spent countless hours near a patient bed. I've studied medicine. I've seen each of my family members fight their own health issues. I learned the stats on success rates and elective trials. Yet, I didn't think this particular instance was possible. I've had people approach me saying things such as, "I know it may not have been too surprising." I'm here to say it was exactly that surprising and much more. Cancer is a tricky disease. The side effects from treatment equally so. My thinking may have been naïve, but I’ve since come to realize that there is a huge difference between acceptance and what is acceptable.
As first years, we’re taught that cancer is generally a disease that afflicts people later in life, a result of a breakdown in cell machinery that causes the body to fail itself. In the medical community, we still don’t know exactly how this traditionally “old-person’s disease” takes such a viscous hold on children and we know even less about how to combat it effectively. I feel extremely blessed to be part of an institution that puts so much emphasis and effort into raising awareness for this underfunded affliction. When it comes to cancer research funding, the proportion of support that goes to childhood cancer research is less than ideal. Let’s change that. We have until March 8th to raise as much awareness and funds as we can towards this near and dear cause – until we do it all over again next year ;). Starting right now, I’m making it my goal to raise $100 for every year my sister lived as a celebration of her life in its entirety.
Call me childish, but my feelings still stand. We can’t ignore the intensity of childhood cancer and should be doing everything in our power to eliminate it. Children who have been affected by childhood cancer are heroes for their immeasurable strength and we should be treating them as such. I'm talking official hero certifications, personalized firework displays, billboard covers, and airplane congratulation messages. Heck, if I had a billboard, I'd put my sister on one. And you know what y'all? She'd freaking love it. I imagine she'd even critique everyone's makeup as they drove by too.
