FEATURED COVER STORY
L
The Fight of Her Life
ast April, our lives and Olivia’s life was normal. We had just celebrated her fifth birthday a few weeks before. She was simply enjoying telling everyone how old she was with a whole hand, five fingers. She was busy with soccer, dance classes, and getting to learn the game of softball. Church choir was also new favorite. But the highlight for this kid, and her favorite role thus far, was being an older sister to her brother and sister, Eli and Ella. Life for this beautiful little girl was about as perfect as it could be. Then, on April 1, 2019, my wife, Sarah, and I began a journey that no parent would ever imagine they would set foot upon. A trip to the emergency room at Children’s Hospital at Erlanger for what we thought was appendicitis, turned out to be so much more. In a very small, cold, and eerie room we were taken, without Olivia. “There’s a mass in your daughter’s stomach.” We sat there. Silent. We listened in shock at what we were being told. “It’s pediatric cancer.” I don’t think we were really accepting to this right away, it’s still surreal. Pediatric cancer was the last thing on the list of things we expected could happen in our child’s life. More importantly, as a father, it’s something that I couldn’t fix. I couldn’t make better as I always promised I would
26 // August 2020
for each of my children. We were cornered, with our hands tied. Decisions needed to be made quickly. The cancer was consuming her body to the point that it looked like ivy was climbing up her aorta and down her abdomen into her pelvis. The size was beyond anything we were expecting. It wasn’t until a couple days later, through a biopsy, we found out exactly what we were up against: Stage IV High-Risk Neuroblastoma. Roughly 500– 600 kids annually in the U.S. are diagnosed with this specific type of cancer. “Rare.” “Aggressive.” “Intense.” Many words were shared with us, each painting a more vibrant and specific picture of what was trying to take down my first-born. Sarah and I received a couple of second opinions. St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital called and said they would have an ambulance ready to pick us up in 12 hours. That Saturday morning, we loaded up with the clothes on our back and began a trip that still continues today. Sarah sat in the back of a cramped ambulance with Olivia, who was smiling and cheery, and me driving our car behind them the six hours to Memphis, TN. All I remember from that car ride was staring at brake lights and being on the phone with anyone and everyone, trying to make more decisions and how to
care for Ella and Eli. Any free time I had not on the phone was filled with blank stares, confused faces, and numbness. That car ride felt it went on for hours. We arrive in Memphis, meet our team, and get filled in on what to expect. “This treatment plan will last 13-15 months.” So, we had to adjust our life some and continue to make the best decisions possible for our children. After five rounds of chemotherapy, one resection surgery, one transplant, six rounds of immunotherapy, biopsies, four ICU visits, sprinkle in shots, countless sedations and scans, holidays, birthdays, celebrations, ups and downs, we are still at it. Fast-forward sixteen months. We had hoped to begin “normal” life back at home, making new memories with all of our family. Unfortunately, during Olivia’s end of treatment full-body evaluation in July 2020, two new spots appeared. However, all of the original disease is gone. Her journey thus far has been consisted much of this; “good and bad news”. We have learned to take all the good we can with the bad. This trend still continues today. Currently, COVID-19 has consumed our lives, much like it has most of the world. However, St. Jude, much like every hospital in the world, has taken numerous precautions to protect their
