My Side Of The Story 4b4r3p

Copyright © 2015 Jessica D. Stafford.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only. Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-1542-1 (sc) ISBN: 978-1-4808-1541-4 (hc) ISBN: 978-1-4808-1543-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015902891

Archway Publishing rev. date: 03/04/15

Contents

Chapter 1 My Story

Chapter 2 The Call

Chapter 3 Life Before

Chapter 4 A Year of Misfortune

Chapter 5 Why Am I Having Headaches?

Chapter 6 Meeting the Neurosurgeon

Chapter 7 Treatments

Chapter 8 Growth Hormones

Chapter 9 Make a Wish

Chapter 10 You Gotta Eat!

Chapter 11 No More Chemo

Chapter 12 More Cancer in the Family

Chapter 13 Back to School

Chapter 14 The Move

Chapter 15 Please God, Not Again

Chapter 16 Going Home

Chapter 17 The Biopsy

Chapter 18 What Do We Do Now?

Chapter 19 Face the Facts

Chapter 20 Graduation

Chapter 21 Starting College

Chapter 22 A Summer to

Chapter 23 A Happy Ending

CANCER

Before I had it, I never knew. I can’t get that, can this be true? You have cancer, that’s what they said. Without surgery soon, you could be dead.

They removed the tumor from my brainstem, Just as you would a leaf from a limb. All sorts of treatments that made me sick. I didn’t choose this; I didn’t pick.

It’s like the flu, two years straight through. The side effects were more than a few. I lost every hair upon my head. They all just lay there on my bed.

Struggling through, I saw the light. You better bet, I fought my fight. It’s over now; I’m as good as new.

As for the world, I have a different view.

Cancer took two years of my life And caused me lots of trouble and strife. Life goes by, in the blink of an eye. Just be happy, no time to cry.

You’d never think your life could go Just as quickly as the winter’s snow. And now with each breath I take, A difference in the world I’ll make.

So like a bluebird flying high, I’ll spread my wings and off I’ll fly, Forevermore into the sky. —Jessica Stafford

DEDICATION AND SPECIAL THANKS

I WOULD LIKE TO dedicate this book in loving memory to all those who have lost their battles to cancer. This includes my grandfather who ed away on December 4 th 2014 after battling multiple myeloma; he never got the opportunity to read my book.

I would like to give a special thanks to Leonard Wolfenbarger and all those in LWC for proofreading, and giving helpful advice along the way.

Thanks Mom and Dad for having faith in me and encouraging me to finish what I started.

All poems not identified are written by Jessica Stafford.

CHAPTER 1

My Story

E VERYONE HAS A STORY to tell. Every story has different sides, depending on for whom it is being told. Stories get told from one person to the next, and many times the stories’ details change along the way. Many people have heard the story I’m about to tell. It’s been told by people I’ve never met, but it’s never been told by me. As you read, keep in mind that although I am telling the narrative of my life, I’m telling this story for God because I want to share with the world what he has done for me, and maybe somewhere along the way, a lost soul might find its way home. Cancer is a horrible, heinous disease. Throughout my life I have not only watched many friends and loved ones suffer through the harsh battle of cancer, but I have also battled it myself. I consider myself lucky—or maybe that’s not the right word to use. You see, it’s not by luck that my life was spared, but by the will of God. My name is Jessica Stafford, and my battle isn’t over yet. According to the American Cancer Society, in 2014 in the United States, there will be an estimated 1,665,540 new cancer cases diagnosed and 585,720 cancer deaths. Cancer remains the second most common cause of death in the United States, ing for nearly one of every four deaths. Sometimes we don’t realize how fortunate we are until the things we cherish most are taken away from us. In the blink of an eye, your life could be changed forever. Mine was.

Jessica age 1 year Happy and healthy riding a tricycle September 1995

No matter if you are young or old, Always be sure that your story is told. No one can tell your story but you. It wouldn’t be from your point of view.

CHAPTER 2

The Call

T HE CALL CAME AT eight o’clock on a Monday morning in May of 2002— the call from Dr. B that Mom had been waiting for. She probably expected to hear that my headaches were caused by sinus problems. She had hoped that her worries would finally cease, and she could go on in her life as a mother, finding a more worthy cause to be troubled about. No matter how hard she had prayed and no matter how much she had hoped, nothing could have prepared her for what she was about to hear. I can imagine this is what she must’ve heard: “Mrs. Stafford, I am calling with the results of the CT scan Jessica did. I am so sorry to tell you this, but it appears your daughter has a mass the size of a walnut at the base of her skull. I am truly sorry.” Just like that, the phone was placed back on the receiver. Her eyes filled with tears, and she thought to herself, I’ve always heard about things like this, but I never in a million years could have imagined that it would happen to one of my children. Following that morning, I spent many days in doctors’ offices and hospitals, receiving chemo and radiation. Added to that are all the surgeries I’ve had. Believe me, I have lots to tell, but for now let me tell you how my life was before I was diagnosed with a brain tumor. My life began on September 8th. I was born a beautiful, blue-eyed baby girl, weighing seven pounds and eight ounces. I was as healthy as could be with a head full of dark brown hair just like my father. I was the first child of Debbie and Jesse, the most loving parents a child could ask for. They took me home and showered me with their love and affection. Later in life, I found out that Mom had intended to name me Charity Faith, but when the time came and the nurse asked what my name was to be, Dad jumped in and named me Jessica—after

himself, of course. As it turned out, Mom liked the name also. Eventually, like all parents do, they had to return to their jobs—Mom as a medical biller in a doctor’s office and Dad as a truck driver. Meanwhile, I stayed with my grandmother (Mom’s mother). At the time, she ran a day care, so as I began to grow up, I had lots of other children to play with. Life was wonderful, and as a baby I couldn’t have been more pleased with my life. At six months I said my first word—well, if you consider “Da Da” a word—and by nine months, I was saying “Mommy” and “Daddy” clearly. When I was ten and a half months old, I was walking, almost without the need to have someone or something to hold on to. At one year old, I celebrated my first birthday party, and I even got my very own miniature birthday cake—white cake with vanilla icing that was dyed blue around the edges. I made a big mess, but boy, was it yummy. It was at that very birthday party that I received my first ride-on toy, not to mention I also got my very own popcorn popper. You may not know what I mean by that, so let me explain. It definitely wasn’t edible, if that’s what you’re thinking. A popcorn popper is a toy that little kids who are learning to walk can use to walk behind, and the popcorn part comes in because when you walk behind it, little balls pop up and down and make lots and lots of noise. It is very annoying to parents, I later learned. By the time I was one, I was finally old enough to realize that Christmas meant presents and lots of very breakable figurines for me to play with. Santa Claus, on the other hand, was a completely different story; he was a pretty scary guy. For my first Halloween, I had a blast. Mom dressed me as a pumpkin. Being the first grandchild on Mom’s side of the family made it a really big deal for me. I was only the second grandchild on Dad’s side of the family, so his parents made it a pretty big deal too. I got so much candy that year. Mom had to take most of it away so I wouldn’t make myself sick eating it all, but I think Dad helped get rid of some of it. At the early age of fifteen months, I was potty trained. Mom said I just didn’t want to wear a diaper anymore, and I wanted to be a big girl. For my second birthday, I got a swing set, but that was no big deal at all after I learned that Mommy would be having a baby. I was thrilled, but also I began to wonder how God had put that baby in Mommy’s tummy. With Daddy being a truck driver, he wasn’t home as often as Mom, and some nights it was just Mom and me at home because he had to travel and stay in a hotel overnight. Mommy

and I played with my dolls all the time, and when Daddy came home, he would always help me build houses with my Lincoln Logs so we could play together. Thinking back now, I’m pretty sure Dad was the one who did most, if not all, of the building. In 1997 I turned three, and I got my first tricycle, but later that year in December, I got something much better than that. In fact, I got what I had been waiting for, for nearly a year. On December 7 (Pearl Harbor Day), I got a baby brother. Again Mom had a name picked out—Brandon Chase—but once again, Dad jumped in and named him Calvin Lee Ray after both grandfathers and after himself. Lee was born eight weeks early and had many problems breathing. In fact, he had so much trouble that he began to turn blue the night after he was born. He had to spend ten days in intensive care, so it wasn’t until he was eleven days old that I got to meet him. When we finally got to bring Lee home from the hospital, I was so excited. I was prepared to take charge of being a big sister. I wanted to teach him everything I knew, and most of all I wanted to be someone he could look up to. I felt so special helping out my parents with Lee. I got to help change his diapers and hold him and feed him. I also got to play with him all the time. He was the greatest brother anyone could ever have—but of course, that was before he got old enough to argue with me.

Oh God, thou hast taught me from my youth: and hitherto have I declared thy wondrous works. (Psalm 71:17)

CHAPTER 3

Life Before

I N AUGUST OF 1998, at only four years old, I started kindergarten. Four years old is slightly younger than the age of most children when they start school, and Mom and Dad worried that I would struggle. I showed them right off that I could do just as well as the other children, if not better. I loved my teacher; she was a short, little lady with dark brown hair and glasses. Her name was Mrs. Sarah, but the best part was that her first name was Candy. I thought that was so cool. Kindergarten was amazing; it was so much fun making new friends and learning to read. Mom would take me and Lee to our grandparents’ house each day before going to work. My grandfather would take me to school every day on his way to work while Lee stayed with my grandmother. I made my first best friend in kindergarten; his name was Ben, and we used to play together all the time. We played kitchen and sometimes house during centers (our different play stations), and we always worked together when we had to do class work. In fact, we sat in the same group during class. My grandmother lived right across from his house, so it wasn’t uncommon for us to play after school regularly when we were little. There’s a bit more to that story, but I’ll tell you about that later. I vaguely Lee’s first birthday party, Winnie the Pooh. I was only four so I suppose most people wouldn’t too much from when they were that age. Luckily, Mom kept a baby book on Lee and me. When Lee began walking and talking, he was slightly older than I had been, but from my understanding, it’s perfectly normal for some children to pick up things a little faster than others. Lee was mostly healthy; however, the doctors seemed to think he had Crohn’s disease, but later that was ruled out. When Lee was three years old, he had some problems with his leg and had to have fluid drawn from it. Then, the next year he was tested for allergies. I Mom telling me that they stuck needles all over his back. He was so

brave, yet so young. I don’t think anyone likes needles—at least most normal people don’t. To this day, Lee is terrified of needles, but I think he has a good reason to be. Poor thing. I also he used to be so afraid of the Chucky Cheese mouse. He was just a guy in a rat’s outfit, but Lee wasn’t convinced. I suppose we all have our own fears, no matter how big or small. When my kindergarten year was over and the summer break had begun, I was told that we were moving to a bigger house. I was so upset that I cried; I had already picked the teacher that I wanted for first grade, and Ben and I were supposed to have class together. Now, not only would I have to change schools, but I would also have to leave all of my friends—including my best friend Ben. I loved the new house, so don’t get me wrong. It was beautiful and had three much bigger stories instead of the one we had been living in, and I would even have an upstairs bedroom all to myself. They say true friendships last a lifetime, but we were so young, and I suppose we just let our memories slide to the back of our minds. After we moved, Ben and I never spoke again. Despite leaving a familiar school with other children I knew, I adapted well. It was difficult, but I made new friends when I started my first grade year of school. Things didn’t change too much. Lee still stayed with our grandmother, and our grandfather still took me to school. I did well in class, and I liked my teacher. We got our first dogs that year. One of Dad’s friends from work was giving away German shepherd puppies—they were adorable. Mom and Dad took us to see the puppies, intending to only bring home one, but they were so cute that Lee and I simply could not agree on just one. So we came home with two puppies. I named mine Lady, and Lee named his Tramp. Don’t ask me how we agreed to those names, but you can guess we got one female and one male. In 2001, Dad came home from work one day with major back pain. A big barrel had rolled onto him while he was pushing the two-wheeled dolly. After going to the doctor, it was determined that he had crushed two of the discs in his back. Soon after that, surgery was scheduled. Dad wouldn’t get to return to work anytime soon. I that I didn’t entirely know what was wrong with him. I also him coming home from the hospital with stitches all the way

down his back. It looked like it hurt, and I’m sure it did. It wasn’t too long after that that Dad was feeling better and ready to go back to work, but not as a truck driver. This time he was working with a company simply unloading frozen foods that were sent out to restaurants. Other than Dad’s injury, we had a pretty normal year. As for the year to come, it would make up for a lifetime of unfortunate events.

Jessica holding yellow flowers age 7 Easter 2002 1 month before being diagnosed with her brain tumor

When you think you’ve had a bad day, Or when your sky begins to turn grey, Look at the world around you and say, Thank you, God, for where I am today.

CHAPTER 4

A Year of Misfortune

I F THERE EVER WAS a year of misfortune for my family, it had to be in 2002 —my second grade year. I was seven years old with long, beautiful, brown hair and big, blue eyes. I can’t say I was one of the most popular children, but I can say that I had a lot of friends and I never had to sit or play alone. The school year was almost over; I’d be a big third grader when school started back after summer. I was so excited about summer break. I’d get to stay at my grandmother’s house and play with my dolls, and I could play outside and have fun with my little brother. He was only four, but he was so much fun to play with. Little did I know that my dream of a fun-filled summer break wouldn’t go as I’d planned. Dad’s back had begun giving him more problems, so he returned to the doctor. This time, a different surgeon decided to do another surgery on his back. Not long after that, he had the surgery; I that he came home from the hospital wearing a big back brace. Now he had a huge scar on his stomach and staples instead of stitches. I thinking to myself how bad it would hurt if I stapled my fingers together. I can’t even imagine how badly that must have hurt him. The morning my mom found out about the tumor, I was sitting in class as if nothing was wrong, as if I were nothing more than a healthy, happy-go-lucky second grader. I wasn’t expecting the call from the office that said, “Mrs. Lindsey, could you please send Jessica Stafford to the office to go home.” I was stunned. I had only been at school for an hour, and I wasn’t pleased to miss a day of school. I got to the office and was immediately in for another surprise. My mother’s eyes were filled with tears; I was so confused and nothing made any sense. I eagerly left school, concerned about the cause of my mother’s tears.

I that all she told me at first was that I was very sick. But I felt fine, so I didn’t understand what she meant at all. In absolute silence, she drove to my grandmother’s house to pick up my brother. My grandmother also had tear-filled eyes. My mind was filled with confusion, and whenever I said anything at all, she just held me close and told me that God would take care of me and that everything was going to be just fine. We didn’t stay long; just enough time for more tears and some long, heartfelt hugs. At home that night, dinner was very quiet compared to our normal lively conversations. After dinner they broke the news to me, but to this day, I’m almost certain I never completely understood the risk of my illness. My parents explained to me that I could die. As a seven-year-old child, I didn’t really know what that meant. I wasn’t afraid though, not in the slightest.

And the Lord, he it is that doth go before thee; he will be with thee, he will not fail thee, neither forsake thee: fear not, neither be dismayed. (Deuteronomy 31:8)

CHAPTER 5

Why Am I Having Headaches?

I T HAD ALL BEGUN several weeks earlier. I had been having frequent headaches for the past few weeks, and my mother had grown concerned. Her first thought was that I needed glasses. It made perfect sense; she got glasses when she was around seven. So, she made the appointment, and that day she picked me up early from school, and we went to the ophthalmologist. During the car ride to see the doctor, I played a game of twenty questions with my mom. I had never been to the eye doctor before, and I didn’t know what to expect. I asked questions like, What will I have to do? Will it hurt? How long will it take? Is he nice? After arriving at the doctor’s office, Mom parked the car, and we walked hand in hand into the office. Mom signed me in at the front desk, and we sat and waited in the lobby. I thinking to myself, I hope I don’t need glasses. I’d look like a nerd wearing them. Interrupting my thoughts, the nurse called my name, and with Mom by my side, she led me to a room filled with interesting objects and toys. She asked my mom a few questions, and then she left the room, saying the doctor would be in shortly. Only moments later, Dr. Moore entered the room. He was a funny looking, older man with glasses. I thought it was strange that someone wearing glasses could tell others that they needed them. He was tall and skinny and bald on top of his head, with fuzzy white hair in the back. The doctor made me read a lot of letters and look into a lot of strange machines. He even put some weird drops in my eyes that made it hard to see. Then it was over. We listened and waited for him to tell us whether or not I needed glasses. He said that I had twenty-twenty vision, whatever that meant. All I knew was that I didn’t need glasses. That was a good thing, right? Mom and Dad wouldn’t be forced to spend the extra money on glasses if my eyes were normal.

After that appointment, the headaches continued, but they never really got in the way, and I always proceeded with my everyday routine. Of course I complained, but anyone could assume that they were nothing more than any other headache that everyone gets from time to time. That’s how little they affected me. Mom didn’t know why I was having headaches, but she was determined to keep searching for an answer until she got one. The second doctor Mom took me to see was my primary care doctor. It just so happened that my doctor was very busy that day, and I can still hear the voices of the ladies at the front desk asking my mom if she minded if we saw another doctor instead. Mom said that she didn’t care; she just wanted to find out why I was having headaches and to make sure that nothing was seriously wrong. I like to think of it as a blessing that I got to see a different doctor that day. If I hadn’t, then they might not have found my tumor, and it could have killed me. God was watching over me, and he took care of me that day. The other doctor turned out to be a lady. She politely knocked on the door of the examination room and came in introducing herself as she did. Dr. B had long, blonde hair, and was very pretty. She was such a very nice lady, the kind of doctor children don’t mind going to see. She checked my heartbeat and listened to my chest and my back, telling me to take big, deep breaths. Then, she looked in my ears, nose, and throat. She even told me to walk around so she could see how I walked. Finally she said she was going to have them draw my blood so she could do some tests. The nurse came in and poked my finger and took some of my blood. It hurt a little but not too badly. I have never been one to make a big deal of having blood drawn, and this was only one of the numerous times in my life that I would have it done. The nurse informed us that Dr. B would return shortly with the results of the test, and she left the room. So, my mother and I impatiently awaited the results of the test we hoped would determine the cause of my frequent headaches. After what seemed like hours, Dr. B came back into the room and explained that everything came back absolutely fine, and I was perfectly normal. She was quiet for a minute while she thought. Then she said that she wanted me to have a CT scan of my sinuses, because I had some dark circles underneath my eyes. She said I could have a sinus infection and that would explain why I had been having

headaches. Mom took my hand and led me to the car so we could head straight for the hospital for the CT scan. This was my first time having that test, and I was quite frightened by the thought. On the way to the hospital, my mind wandered near and far: What is a CT scan? Will it hurt? How long will it take? Will there be needles? My fears were calmed when the radiologist explained to me that the machine was nothing more than a giant donut that would rotate in a circular motion and take pictures of my head. No needles were involved, and Mom could stay in the room with me, but we each had to wear a big, heavy vest. That didn’t sound so bad after all. I had to lie really still and not move at all while the radiologist took pictures with the giant donut—and then it was over. I can closing my eyes so I wouldn’t get dizzy looking at the tiny ball spinning inside the machine, but in my mind I pictured a giant donut with chocolate frosting and multicolored sprinkles. Life was normal that night—one of the last few nights I had as a normal child. All this happened on a Friday, and that weekend was one of the last I would spend playing outside for a while. That Monday I went to school just like every other day. I was as cheerful as always as I read my library book to my grandfather as he drove me there. Reading has always been a pleasure of mine. That was the day Mom picked me up early, her eyes filled with tears. The CT scan had shown a mass the size of a walnut at the base of my skull. We didn’t know what it was, where it came from, or what on earth it was doing there. There were two things we did know: it wasn’t supposed to be there, and it was the cause of those headaches I had been having. We spent the following week at the hospital trying to have an MRI. The doctors needed to get a closer look at the mass inside my brain. The problem was that I was frightened by the machine, and lying still was not going to happen. This machine was so different from the giant donut; it took so much longer and was terribly loud. Keep in mind that I was only seven, and what seven-year-old wouldn’t be terrified by such an encounter? Eventually, after deciding it just couldn’t wait anymore, the doctors decided that they would have to put me to sleep for the scan.

By sedating me, they had more success than they would have while I was awake. It was only a few days after the scan that I was referred to a neurosurgeon, and my entire life was about to change forever.

Life is short, so make memories that last. Before you know it, today becomes the past. There’s no telling what the future will hold, We have no choice, but to be bold.

CHAPTER 6

Meeting the Neurosurgeon

I T WAS THE FOLLOWING Monday of that weekend that I was informed that I had an appointment with a new doctor. I was very upset that morning because I didn’t want to miss another day of school. Mom assured me that it was necessary, and reluctantly I went (but being seven years old, it wasn’t like I had much of a choice). I found it odd that unlike most doctors’ offices I had been to, this one was not crowded with patients. In fact, the lobby was completely empty. The only signs of life were the nurses behind the desk, and the doctor himself. It was even stranger when the nurse asked my parents to come with her and let me stay in the lobby and play. I didn’t understand why this happened—I was there to see the doctor, not my parents. They hesitantly went with the nurse, and I stayed out in the lobby, but I was not completely alone. The ladies behind the desk kept me plenty busy. As soon as the door had closed, they were giving me candy and coloring pages with crayons. I colored for hours; I ate candy and talked to the nurses behind the desk. It was beginning to look like that door had swallowed my parents, and I began to grow impatient. Soon after that, the door opened once again, and I met Dr. H. Dr. H was certainly a very pleasant man. He took my hand and led me to a room where my parents were waiting. He sat down, picked me up, and sat me down on his knee. I looked around me, and all I saw were strange images of things that I had never seen before. Dr. H explained to me that these were pictures of my brain. He pointed out the mass inside my brain and explained that I needed to have surgery to remove the tumor or it could make me very sick. There were several risks; of course, I was only aware that I could die. Why frighten children by telling them that they might never be able to walk or talk again after this surgery? Honestly, I can’t say I really knew what dying was. I was only seven, and I was more confused than anything about why all this was happening.

Despite the risk, my parents had to make the decision of a lifetime. They could choose to leave the tumor where it was and hope for a long life with me, or they could decide to let me have the surgery. The problem was if they chose the surgery, they were risking me never walking or talking again—or possibly death. But then those same risks were possible if they left the tumor where it was. My parents decided that the surgery was the best option. They wanted to keep me here longer, even if that meant taking some major chances. At least they would still have me. Their hope was that the surgery would increase the length of my life. The surgery was scheduled immediately; it would be one week from that day. The day of my surgery, the hospital saw more visitors than they had ever seen for just one individual. I think maybe we even broke a world record, although we didn’t actually count the number of people. Church and family , along with friends, gathered from all over to pray and wait for the surgery to end. I recall that I had to get up very early that morning, and I couldn’t eat or drink, though I didn’t understand why. We got to the hospital, and after they ed me, I was taken to a room. Not long afterward, Dr. H came into the room and spoke to us. We were told the surgery could take up to twelve hours, and because he didn’t want to feel rushed or get tired, he had scheduled only my surgery for that day. Before he left the room, he prayed with us and asked that God would be with him and guide his hands as he did his best to get the tumor out without doing any damage. Mom and Dad thanked him graciously, and he left. When the doctor left the room, the nurse came in and made me take some yucky medicine. It tasted really gross, even though she said it was cherry flavored. Soon after that I was put on a bed, and Mom and Dad were given a chance to say their good-byes before I was rolled down to surgery. As they did, I noticed tears in my mother’s eyes once more. I hugged her and assured her she didn’t need to worry, because God would take care of me. Then I hugged Dad and gave him one of those big smiles we’ve always shared. Looking back now on that moment, I can understand why my mom was so upset; I’m sure Dad was too. That could have been the last time they ever got to see me alive. Given the circumstances, it could have been the last time they

heard my voice or saw me run and play. I was far too young to understand that. I don’t much after that. Only that they rolled me into an elevator and then down some long hallways. Finally, they rolled my bed through some big double doors. The nurse put some medicine into my IV, and I began to get very tired. A guy in a funny hat told me to count to one hundred, but I don’t think I got past ten before my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer, and I fell asleep. The surgery could have taken up to twelve hours. The tumor was in the fourth ventricle of my brain and in the dead center of my cerebellum. The headaches were caused by the blood flow being blocked by the tumor. I was very fortunate to have only had the headaches as symptoms; it could have been much worse. The surgery was very dangerous, but the tumor couldn’t stay where it was. As I said, God was with me, watching over me, taking care of me, and guiding the hands of a wonderful surgeon. After twelve excruciatingly long hours, the surgery was over, and I was in the ICU recovery room. I don’t my first words after waking up, but I’m told I asked for my parents. This was a miracle. It had been a huge possibility that I might never talk again, and yet with God watching over me, I was doing just that. The doctors said that I would spend about one to two weeks in the ICU, but I was out in just two days. It was estimated that I would spend at least three to four weeks in the hospital, but with God’s healing powers, I was out in just one. I had stitches in the back of my head, but I would make a full recovery from the surgery. And as if God was saying, “Here’s another miracle,” I was not only able to talk, but also able to walk. I suppose most everyone had anticipated this being the end of it all—I know I had. Little did we know our journey had only begun.

Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness. (Isaiah 41:10)

CHAPTER 7

Treatments

I MET DR. P soon after the surgery. He is not only the funniest man you could ever meet but also the smartest. I don’t give him all the credit, for had it not been for God, he wouldn’t have had the ability to help me in my battle against cancer. The tumor was malignant, and it was a Medulloblastoma. This type of tumor is extremely rare, and when the few cases do occur, they are most often found in males and not females. So why on earth did I have this tumor? Why did I have cancer at all? That’s something I’m not sure I’ll ever understand, but I believe in my heart that all things happen for a reason. Treatments to destroy the remaining cancer cells in both my brain and spinal cord needed to begin immediately in order to ensure that the cells did not develop into tumors as well. Those treatments would be extensive doses of chemotherapy and radiation. I’ll never forget the first day I went to have radiation—I was petrified by the experience. The children’s hospital wasn’t equipped with the machinery, so I was forced to either take treatment at the adult cancer center or move myself and my family to St. Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee. At this time we were living in Knoxville, Tennessee, so my mom would have had to quit her job. My dad, still recovering from a recent back injury due to truck driving, would have been forced to change doctors. And, of course, we would have had to leave our friends and family behind. I have always loved my parents very much; I didn’t want to cause a separation between us. I had been frightened by the procedure that was to be used for my radiation treatments. While I laid facedown on a table, a hot, metal mold was to be placed directly over the top of the back of my head and snapped down. I am extremely claustrophobic, and although this was only to hold my head in place for the sixty seconds each day while the radiation treatments were given, I simply could not do it.

Keep in mind that I was only seven years old, and I didn’t quite understand what was going on or why. After two days of trying to get me to cooperate with the technicians, Dr. S, the radiation therapist, decided we could try simply making permanent marks on the back of my head where the rays of radiation needed to be sent, and my mom—who couldn’t be in the room with me because it could harm her severely—could count down the sixty seconds with me over the intercom. Dr. S had intervened when he heard me screaming from all the way across the building. I wasn’t a mean child; I was generally easy to please, but I was truly terrified of this procedure. As it turned out, his suggestion worked, and I was able to get through all eight weeks of radiation treatments. However, I was forced to spend six of those eight weeks in the hospital with third-degree burns from the inside out. This would be similar to having the worst possible sunburn imaginable on the inside of your body rather than on the outside. Those weren’t the only treatments. I also endured forty-eight weeks of three different types of the most toxic chemotherapy currently on the market: Cytoxan, Vincristine, and Cystplastin. They were all extremely harsh. They had so many side effects one couldn’t begin to count, and as always, every patient experiences them differently, so we were oblivious to what to expect. The most common side effects were vomiting, loss of appetite and the ability to keep anything at all down, nausea, and hair loss. These are just some of the numerous outcomes of the drugs that were injected intravenously into my body. For some of the chemotherapy treatments, I had to be itted to the hospital. Then, of course, adding to those six weeks that I was hospitalized for the thirddegree burns that I had on the inside. I spent so much time in the hospital that I memorized the name of every nurse that worked on the oncology floor. People were always sending gifts, and I can’t even begin to express how much that meant to me. It made me feel special somehow, and knowing that so many people cared gave me the will and courage to fight ten times harder.

January 31, 2003

Dear diary, I don’t feel so good today. I had to go to the doctor. I was supposed to get chemo, but my immune system was too low so I didn’t get it. I hope I get better soon.

I always had lots of visitors—sometimes people that I’d never met before. Churches sent baskets of goodies and activities to help keep my spirits uplifted. Occasionally, some of my teachers would even come by for visits. At the hospital, a group of volunteers called Child Life must have gotten tired of me calling them and asking for arts and crafts to do. If I could talk to them now, I’d thank them. I don’t think they realized how much they helped me get my mind off that for even the shortest time. At first, the doctors decided that because of the need to draw my blood so frequently, they would do surgery and give me a port-a-cath. A port-a-cath is a small device inserted under the skin to allow easy access to your bloodstream. After the surgery, my chest hurt quite a bit, but eventually the pain went away, and I got used to having the port. It seemed like this easy access made life easier for the doctors, nurses, and myself. I didn’t have to get an IV when I got chemo anymore, and when they drew my blood, they didn’t have to poke me, so that meant less pain for me.

February 2, 2003

Dear diary, I got my port put in a few days ago. It still hurts a lot, but I guess it will stop eventually. I have to be careful when I put my shirt on and when I take it off because it hurts my port. It looks like a bump on my chest; you can’t see what it looks like.

Then one day my port got a blood clot, and because it was so close to my heart, it had to be removed immediately. At the time, I didn’t realize how serious it was to have a blood clot, but now looking back, I thank God for getting me through it. That could have easily taken my life.

Sometime after the port was removed, the doctors discussed using a dual line Broviac. This was a very similar device; however, it had not one but two easy access lines that could flow directly to my bloodstream. Finally, it was decided that a Broviac would be an excellent choice, and they proceeded with surgery to install my handy-dandy new device. I can’t say I was in agreement with all this, but I can’t say I was against it either. I was too young to fully understand what was going on; I guess one could say I was just along for the ride. Looking back now that I’m older, I understand how serious every decision was, and I’m proud of my parents for making such difficult choices. It was so hard for them, but I appreciate what they did. If they hadn’t decided to do the surgery or if they had made choices other than the ones they made, I’m not sure that I would be here today.

April 8, 2003

Dear diary, yesterday I had my port removed and a Broviac put in. I’m so tired of having surgery. I’m tired of being in the hospital, and I’m tired of going to the doctor. I’m tired of being sick. I hope that God makes me better soon. My Broviac is weird, and it gets in the way a lot. I had just gotten used to the port and then they took it away and gave me a Broviac.

Jessica in her favorite kitty cat PJ’s sitting in the hospital bed after receiving chemo. October 2002 Age 8.

Live each day like there’s no tomorrow. There’s no time for feeling any sorrow. Live your life and dream your dreams, Like water they flow, down the streams.

CHAPTER 8

Growth Hormones

S OMETIME AFTER I WAS diagnosed and had undergone several treatments, the doctors discovered that my pituitary gland had been damaged. This was caused by the ruthless chemicals from those harsh chemo and radiation treatments that weren’t yet complete. The function of the pituitary gland is to produce growth hormones. These hormones act on the muscles and kidneys, and they also have a great deal to do with the endocrine system, which affects the thyroid and reproductive organs along with regulating body growth and metabolism. The chemotherapy and radiation treatments caused damage to my pituitary gland and this caused my growth plates to develop much more slowly than normal. In order for me to maintain normal growth rates, I needed to take growth hormones. It started out with a home health-care nurse coming to my house every night to give me a shot, and once a week I went into the endocrinologist’s office for another shot of a different type of growth hormone. Eventually, I think the home health-care nurses got tired of coming out so often, because they taught my parents to give me the shots.

August 12, 2003

Dear diary, I don’t like taking growth hormones. I don’t really like shots at all. I guess nobody does. They hurt and sometimes they burn. I take them in my legs, but I could take them in other places if I wanted too. I wish I didn’t have to take them anymore.

A year after I started taking the growth hormones, the drug manufacturers came out with a fancy way of making the shots look more appealing to children. It was called a genetropin pen, and it looked very similar to a fat ink pen or something like one of those Epi-Pens my grandmother carries with her in case she gets stung by a bee. The genetropin pen made giving the shots easier because it hid the needle until the end of the pen was pressed down onto the site where the shot was being given. When pressed downward, the needle pierced the skin, and then to inject the medicine, you just had to press the button on the top of the pen. After learning this, I was then allowed to give myself the shot. Every night for five years, I took growth hormones, and I was more than relieved when they told me I didn’t have to take them anymore.

June 30, 2008

Dear diary, I had to go to the endocrinologist today. He said that I don’t have to take growth hormones anymore. Isn’t that great? No more shots every night. I’m so happy.

Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened. (Matthew 7:7–8)

Jessica sitting on the couch at home opening Christmas presents and stocking December 2002. Age 8

CHAPTER 9

Make a Wish

I WAS STILL BATTLING cancer when I was eight. At that time, my family and I were honored to meet with some extremely generous people from a group called the Make-A-Wish Foundation. This is a nonprofit organization that grants the wishes of millions of children with life-threatening medical conditions all over America. When they asked what my wish was, I immediately knew I wanted a horse. I have always had a love and ion for animals, especially horses. They would have given me just that, including the upkeep of that horse; however, my family didn’t live in an area that was zoned agricultural, and we didn’t have nearly enough room to satisfy a horse. I was forced to choose another wish, and I chose to go to Disney World. Any child dreams of going to Disney World, but most children, even when they grow up and have children and grandchildren of their own, never get to go there (the price is likely part of that reason). It’s such an amazing place. Not only did they let me go to Disney World, they let me go with my parents and my brother. That’s not all though. The Make-A-Wish foundation let us go to Disney World with all expenses paid, including the stay in a special little village designed specifically for Make-A-Wish families, the food, and a fast that allowed us to jump ahead of all the other tourists who were in line for the rides. We got to stay at Disney World for a whole week; it was absolutely fantastic. Despite the hot and humid weather of Florida, we all had a wonderful time. The small village we stayed in had many condos, one of which we stayed in. The village was designed for children, of course, and as it was Disney World and all was make-believe, the mayor of that village was named Mayor Rabbit. (He was a rabbit, of course.) Mayor Rabbit would come by each night and tuck my brother and me into bed and read us a bedtime story.

Each morning we would awaken to find that small gifts had been left on the front door for us. Just small things like stuffed animals or candy, maybe even books, but they tickled me to pieces. My brother at this time was only five, and so he was also thrilled by all this attention. I imagine that most visitors at Disney World don’t get the opportunity to meet with Cinderella and Belle in the castle and having one-on-one time, but I can say that I got to do that. I also met Tigger and Pooh Bear; then of course, my brother had the opportunity to meet his favorite characters Woody and Buzz Light-year. We met Shaggy and Scooby Doo, along with the rest of the gang, and we took a tour inside of the Mystery Machine. We got their autographs and had pictures taken with them all. With the combination of the humid temperatures and my medications, the temperature felt like a hundred degrees. We spent a lot of our time at the pool rather than in the parks. Of course, I couldn’t swim, but it is always fun no matter what your age to splash around and cool off in some water. There was a small diner in the village where we were staying. We went there for dinner every night. I wasn’t exactly a big eater at the time, but I’ve always loved pickles. When we ate there, the people working in the diner found it funny because I would eat platefuls of pickles. But what they especially found amusing was the way I preferred eating the pickles. I would eat all the pickles and leave plates full of pickle skins. My parents never complained, nor did anyone else, because it wasn’t often that I would eat at all. While we were staying in Florida, it just so happened that one of the two lines on my Broviac caught a blood clot. Fortunately, the village we were staying in had a fully equipped medical staff (including doctors and nurses). The doctors approved us to be able to finish the week’s stay. That now meant that I only had one available line to use for transfusions or injections, and if this failed, the only option was to go back to using my veins. Believe me, I didn’t enjoy having a port or a Broviac, but having those meant that the doctors didn’t have to use needles—my arms and hands had lots of bruises from those. I have to say that one of the most memorable moments while on the trip to Disney World was the plane ride there and back. As I now, I should’ve thought it to be terrifying, because it was soon after the devastating attack of 9/11. As a young child though, those thoughts likely never crossed my mind, and the view from the window was breathtaking. Unlike most people who ride on a plane, I received special treatment from the pilot. He found out that I

had received this trip as part of Make-A-Wish and allowed only me and my brother to sit in the pilot seat and take pictures in the cock pit with him. Even though I didn’t get a horse through the Make-A-Wish Foundation, that wish did eventually come true. My grandpa—Dad’s dad—knew how badly I wanted a horse, and who knows, maybe he even wanted one too. One day Papaw C called and said he had a surprise for me. So we loaded into the car and drove to his house, never expecting to find a horse in his yard when we pulled in. I was ecstatic, my dream had come true. The horse was brown, with a long, beautiful, tan-colored mane. I knew exactly what I wanted to name him: Buttercup! He was the greatest horse ever; I would always take carrots or apples to feed him. Even though I couldn’t take him home with me, it was still amazing just knowing I could come see him anytime I wanted. I even got to ride him a few times. He was so soft; I got to brush his hair all the time. I would even talk to him, although of course he couldn’t talk back. Later on Papaw C got two cows. They were fun to feed too, although I have to it Buttercup was a lot more beautiful and he did more too. It was great to just sit and watch him run up and down the fence line. I always wanted to ride the cows, but for whatever reason, my parents didn’t seem to think that was a good idea. Sometimes I think about how wonderful it must be to be a horse—they can just run, wild and free, without a care in the world. I know horses can get sick too, but not like people. They’re so beautiful. They get their hair brushed and they get fed and watered. Then I guess some horses live with owners who don’t take very good care of them. It’s so sad to think people mistreat or neglect animals, but really, they are no different from people.

Make a wish upon a star. I often wonder where you are. The mountains seem so very far. Yet I wonder where you are.

CHAPTER 10

You Gotta Eat!

W HEN I WAS DIAGNOSED, I started out at sixty-five pounds. By the end of the year in 2002, I was down to fifty pounds, and I continued to lose more and more as treatments proceeded. I would eat, but I couldn’t keep anything down, and when I did eat, the food never tasted any good. I had to eat with plastic silverware because everything tasted like metal. Apparently that is a side effect of chemotherapy. Finally, I think I just gave up on eating altogether and only ate when and if I felt like it. I never really got hungry, so that wasn’t the problem. A dietician finally started coming around and talking with us about my favorite foods. She told us what the hospital cafeteria could make if I wanted it. There were a few things, like grape Jell-O, and grilled cheese sandwiches, and then some ice cream or sherbet every now and then, but I really didn’t want anything at all. Occasionally when I had the opportunity to be outside of the hospital, Mom and Dad would take me to Pizza Hut, and we would order a stuffed-crust pizza. Sometimes they would even bring one to the hospital for me. I never ate the pizza, just the cheese inside the crust. That was more than I ate most days, so everyone was happy. Still that wasn’t enough. I was getting too weak and losing too much weight and strength. I tried those disgusting Ensure and Pediasure drinks that are supposed to taste like milkshakes, but they didn’t taste anything like ice cream to me. I couldn’t even be forced to drink them (and believe you me, they tried). I have to it that both of my grandmothers are very good cooks, and though I didn’t eat very often, there were certain exceptions. Mamaw L (Mom’s mom) can make the best homemade gravy and biscuits in the world. When I was in the hospital, sometimes I couldn’t have visitors, but she would send Mom or Dad a big bowlful, and they would bring it up to me. I really loved that. And my dad’s stepmom, Mamaw C, makes the best homemade bread. She would always bake

extra and send it home with me because she knew how much I loved it. “You have to eat.” “You have to eat.” I got so tired of hearing those words. I knew I needed to eat, but if only everyone had known how I felt or how it made me feel to eat, they wouldn’t have tried so hard. I know they only meant well, and they wanted me to be stronger and healthier, but it was so hard for me to force down even the smallest bites of food. By October I had lost even more weight, and if any progress was to be made at all, I needed food and nutrients in my body, and I needed them soon. The surgery was set up, and I had a G-tube put into my stomach. It was just a small button-like object that stuck out of the surface of my skin just to the left of my belly button. A milk-like substance similar to Pediasure would be sent directly to my stomach by this device, and I could still eat any foods I wanted if I felt like eating. Morning, noon, and night I was hooked up to a bag of milk and fed. It was inconvenient, and when I stayed with family or friends for any length of time, those bags of milk had to come too. I was cautious not to let anything get caught on the device because it hurt a lot if it was pulled accidently. Once, on the day of my parents’ wedding anniversary, my brother and I stayed with our grandparents while Mom and Dad went out to dinner. Mom had to teach my grandmother how it worked and tell her when I needed to be fed. It almost made me seem like a baby to have the G-tube. I had feeding times just like a baby, but luckily I didn’t have to wake up in the middle of the night and be fed. I had the G-tube for almost two years. The worst part about it was that the skin around the area would get infected or irritated a lot. It was then that I learned the term cauterize, the most terrible pain one could imagine. Well, I’m sure there are several things more painful, but you get the point. It’s the same type of procedure as when a person has nosebleeds a lot. They just put you to sleep and stick a cauterizing stick up inside of your nose and practically burn it to death. The only difference was that they didn’t put me to sleep. The first time I had it done, my doctor did it in the office, but from then on, we did it at home, and my parents were the ones who got to torture me. Mom couldn’t bear inflicting pain on me, and someone had to do it, so that left Dad. He would cauterize the area as often as required, but I know he didn’t enjoy it. He loves me way too much to cause me pain.

I screaming at the top of my lungs because it hurt so badly. I always dreaded it and tried to avoid the incident completely, but of course, it was something that had to be done. I can’t even express the happiness I felt when I finally got to have the tube removed. On the other hand, the scar will always remain as a reminder of the pain I once felt.

Jessica sitting on couch at home receiving her tube feeding through her Gtube November 2002 Age 8

Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee. (Deuteronomy 31:6)

CHAPTER 11

No More Chemo

O N JULY 27 TH OF 2003, I celebrated not one party but two. It was not only my dad’s birthday, it was also the day of my last chemotherapy treatment. It was my off-chemo party, and trust me, it was a blast. All the other children in the hematology and oncology clinic gathered around with all the doctors and nurses to have berry, berry tea and chocolate cake with lots of cookies and other sweets. We had party hats and lots of crafts with the help of Child Life. The music played loud, and it was a day I’ll never forget. I got a gold medal with the word Victory engraved on it because I had beaten the horrendous disease called cancer. Dad had made things somewhat better throughout my treatment. He willingly shaved his head to match mine so that if someone were to make fun of me, that person would have to make fun of him too. It made me happy to know Dad cared so much. Mom had offered to shave her head too if I wanted, but I assured her that wasn’t necessary. It was funny—around the time that Dad shaved his head, they were advertising for auditions for the role of Mr. Clean. Everyone kept telling him he should audition. I thought he would have been good at that. The day of my off-chemo party, my oncologist, Dr. P, gave my dad a big, red, victory stamp on the very top of his ever-so-neatly shaved bald head. That was a lot of fun! I wore my victory medal around my neck. The best part of all though, was that I didn’t have to take chemo anymore. That was reward enough for me. That was my last day of chemotherapy, but it wasn’t the last time I’d be seeing or hearing from an oncologist or having MRIs or CT scans. At first I went back every three months and then six months and eventually every year to have the follow-up MRIs. It was in 2004 that I was finally proclaimed to be in remission.

It was finally over, and I could get back to being the normal child I had been only two years before. Life wasn’t exactly the same though. I had lost many of my friends, and although several of them had sent me cards while I was in the hospital, they all seemed to have made new friends and moved on without me. Thankfully, true friends don’t turn their backs on you, and I still had those few. It was devastating for me, and I was so insecure. With hardly a hair on my head, it seemed like the entire world was staring at me. Walking with Mom in Wal-Mart one day, I can still hear the words and see the little girl pointing at me and asking her mother what was wrong with me. She had said it loud enough for me to hear, almost as if she had meant it to be heard. The girl probably wasn’t more than six or seven years old herself; she probably hadn’t meant to hurt my feelings. Mom knew it bothered me, but she assured me that the girl was just a child with no manners. I wore hats a lot after that to cover up what little hair I had. I know now that the little girl walking through Wal-Mart that day was only curious, and she hadn’t meant to hurt my feelings or to be rude. Shortly after that, we stumbled upon an organization that helped us to get a wig that looked identical to my hair before we found out I had cancer. The wig was ordered, and it was a beautiful piece of completely real and natural hair; however, I was only able to wear it on rare occasions. The problem was that my scar from surgery was directly down the back of my head, and that was the same spot where the seam in the hairpiece was sewn. It was very irritating and aggravating to wear the wig, so I chose not to, and for the most part, I just wore my hats.

Left: Jessica age 9 with brother Lee age 6

Above: Jessica age 9 with mom, dad and brother

Left: Jessica age 9 Easter 2004 with brother Lee

Miracles happen each and every day. Bow your head, stop to pray. Look around you, stop to say, Hear me, God; save me today.

CHAPTER 12

More Cancer in the Family

E XACTLY ONE YEAR AND three days after the date I had been diagnosed with a medulloblastoma, my grandfather on my mother’s side of the family was diagnosed with multiple myeloma. Multiple myeloma is a hematolic cancer of the blood; it affects mainly the bones but can also affect the kidneys. Unfortunately, I suppose I was either too young or maybe I just had too much going on to understand and absorb all that was going on with him. I only know that I saw my grandfather wither away from an on-the-go, playful, and full-of-life person to a more “let’s just sit on the couch and watch TV” person. It wasn’t his fault; it was just the combination of his diabetes and the cancer. He understood to some extent what I went through, and in that way, we have always related. He had to take chemo treatments, and to this day is still taking those treatments. As it turns out, some of his sisters died from breast cancer. It seems that cancer just might run in the family after all, even though doctors claim it’s not genetic. On May, 15, 2005, my great-grandfather died, and I lost one of my dearest friends. I was devastated and heartbroken; he and I had been like pen pals. We always wrote letters back and forth to each other, even though we didn’t live far apart; it was just something we both enjoyed. He lived alone and didn’t work much anymore, so it was easy and convenient. Occasionally Mom, Dad, Lee, and I would go for visits to see him. He was such a wonderful great-grandfather. He was always finding things to give me every time I saw him. There was something special about him. We always had this bond, and I felt like I could tell him anything and he would’ve understood. He had been a preacher back in his younger days, and I know he must’ve been an excellent one and made God very proud. I was still young at that time, only ten years old, but my great-grandfather meant so much to me, and it was extremely hard trying to think of a world without him in it. I never had the opportunity to meet my great-

grandmother, but I am positive she was a wonderful woman. My greatgrandfather wasn’t sick when he ed away; I suppose he just died from old age. More likely though, I believe God was ready for him to come home. Several months before my great-grandfather died, he bought me a gorgeous pink stationary set and encouraged me to write more often. I continued to write him, but for whatever reason, I hesitated on using the set he bought me. We all have things in life we wish we could go back and change, but unfortunately life doesn’t rewind for us to do that. To this day, I haven’t opened that gift set. It reminds me of my great-grandfather, but when I see it, I also regret not using it for the reason he wanted me to. I miss him dearly, and I wish he could still be here today for me to tell him how much he meant to me, but I know he is up in heaven looking down on me. One day, I know I’ll see him again. It was that same year that my friend Mary died of leukemia. Leukemia is a cancer of the blood or bone cells. When Mary and I had been in the hospital together, our blood counts were usually too low to visit one another, so we would call each other from hospital room to hospital room and talk. It was always great to know I wasn’t the only one going through something so terrible. Mary was one year older than me, and we had been diagnosed around the same time. Our dads both smoked, and since the hospital had a restricted smoking area, they would strike up conversations when they were there. I suppose that must be how Mary and I met, although aside from phone calls from room to room, Mary and I never saw each other very much. We did occasionally because we both attended the same hematology-oncology clinic. There was a video cart that would come around in the hospital, kind of like a library on wheels, and we would always check out the same movies and watch them together while still being in separate rooms. I was appalled to hear the news that she was gone. How could something so terrible happen to such a wonderful friend? Sadly, when I had finished treatments, she was still battling them, and I felt like such a horrible friend for not staying around with her. I didn’t understand why I had been allowed to live when her life had been taken. Nothing made sense, but I knew God was in control, and for whatever reason he

had called Mary home, I knew she was in a much better place. Living without the ones we love and care for so much might be a struggle, but we must consider all the outcomes. Mary was in pain here on earth and now that she’s there, she has no more treatments, no more medicine, and most definitely no more pain or tears.

February 21, 2005

Dear diary, I found out that my friend Mary died today. We got one of those little booklets from the Pediatric Brain Tumor Foundation, and her name was on the list. I can’t believe I didn’t even know it. I feel like a bad friend. I should have kept in with her. I don’t understand why I got to live, but Mary didn’t. I we used to watch movies when we were in the hospital together.

That same year, the doctors suggested that I have a hearing test. Radiation and chemotherapy treatments often cause hearing loss, so it made perfect sense to test my hearing. The hearing test was dreadfully awkward and uncomfortable. I had to wear these weird microphones in and around my ears at different times, and I was asked to repeat words I heard or push a button every time I heard a beep. Apparently I had hearing loss, and not only that, I no longer had an eardrum in my left ear. The radiation had weakened my bones, and the ones in my eardrum just deteriorated. Surgery was done twice that year to try to repair my left eardrum, but each time they failed, and it was decided that I needed a hearing aid. I silently broke into tears; hearing aids were for old people, not for girls my age. I was reassured that it would only benefit me and allow me to hear more and be happier, but it certainly wasn’t something I was thrilled about. The hearing aid was ordered to match my hair color so it would blend in and wouldn’t be so obvious. I didn’t like it at all; it was different and though I was told it was well hidden, I felt like it stood out. I wore it at first, and on occasions I still do, but I have never, nor will I ever, like the idea of wearing it. It is very uncomfortable, and I really don’t see that it makes much difference anyway.

May 10, 2005

Dear diary, today I had to go to the ear doctor. They did a weird test to check my hearing. It didn’t really hurt; it was just really awkward. They put little spongy things in my ear and put a weird headband thing on my head. It felt really weird. They said I need a hearing aid. I wanted to cry, but Mom told me not to. I don’t want to wear a hearing aid; they are for old people.

In the year 2005, I got the chance of a lifetime to meet one of my all-time favorite country music singers. Not only was the legendary George Jones a favorite classical singer of my dad, but he was also one of my own favorites. From the time I was a young child, I listened to his music and sang it while Dad was driving down the road. I must have memorized every song and could have sung them to you word for word. Mom had called in to WIVK one morning, trying to win concert tickets, and she was successful in winning two tickets. Just one problem: we needed two more. When Mom called the radio station for the other two tickets to the concert, she was told that they were sold out. She told them my story of having cancer and how much I would enjoy seeing George perform live. The host of the show that day gave us his front-row tickets and got us the backstage to meet The Possum before the show. It was an honor to meet George Jones—one I know I’ll never get the chance to have again due to his recent ing. It is so sad to hear how those you love and enjoy in life so much can be gone in just the blink of an eye. Nevertheless, I won’t ever forget the time I met George and his wife. He hugged me gently, and we had pictures taken together. I even got an autographed T-shirt. Even though people die, it doesn’t mean we have to forget them; they live on within our hearts. I won’t forget George Jones, and I will continue to listen to my favorite songs “Choices” and “Who’s Gonna Fill Their Shoes.”

July 25, 2005

Dear diary, tonight was so much fun. We went to a George Jones concert. We even got to sit in the front row. Before the show started, me and Mom got to go backstage and meet him and his wife. They are both very nice people. They hugged me, and we had pictures taken together. It was so much fun. Then we went out and sat down and waited for the show to start. It was the best concert I have ever been to.

Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that heareth my word, and believeth on him that sent me, hath everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation; but is ed from death unto life. (John 5:24)

CHAPTER 13

Back to School

N OT ONLY DID I miss the end of my second grade year of school, but because I was so sick all the time and had doctor appointments and hospitalizations almost every day, I was forced to complete my third grade as a homebound student. Homebound is basically where a teacher comes out to your house two or three days a week and gives you your work. If you don’t understand it, they help you, and there is no rush in getting it finished because unlike the rest of the world, you really don’t have a due date. I went through three different teachers, but it wasn’t because I was a bad student. The first teacher was a librarian; she came for about a month and then said she was going on vacation, and we would catch up when she got back. But she never came back. The second teacher stayed longer, and I really liked her; she was very polite and easygoing. Then something came up, and she had to move away, so I was assigned a third teacher that I finished up third grade with. I have always had friends or heard from people who have been homeschooled, and thought to myself, How could they possibly have enjoyed that more than attending a public school? Being homeschooled—or in other words, being homebound—meant that there was no music, gym, art, or library class, and there was no lunch or recess to go have fun and talk with friends because there were no friends around. I hated being taught from home, and although I enjoy learning, I didn’t like the experience. My fourth grade year, I was as close to returning to normal as I could possibly be, and so I was allowed to return to school, which greatly pleased me. My hair had not fully grown back in at this time, and I had no more hair on my head than that of a two-year-old child. With a doctor’s approval and the principal’s signature, I was given the option of wearing a hat to school to hide my embarrassing, near-bald head. It wasn’t so bad at home or with family because they understood, but at school there were other kids, and I knew that they were

bound to stare at me and make me feel even more insecure. The other children laughed and often dared me to take my hat off, but I never did. I knew they would only make fun of me. Many times I would sit alone, and I would hear their muffled conversations about me. I was happy to be back in school, but hurt to find that my old friends were cruel and pitiless.

August 22, 2004

Dear diary, today on the playground I was just swinging on the swing by myself like always, and some kid came up and asked me why I got to wear a hat but nobody else did. Fortunately Kayla, one of my old friends from before I got sick, was two swings over from me, and she heard what the other girl asked me. She told her I had a doctor’s note, and the other girl left. I miss having my hair.

Upon returning to school, I did considerably well and kept up the pace with my classmates, always taking the highest lead with reading skills. I proceeded remarkably well in my fifth grade year, and along with my friends, I moved on to middle school. Sadly enough, many friends were left behind as a result of there being no Gibbs Middle School, but a few of us moved together to Holston Middle School. Middle school was wonderful; I made new friends and kept some old ones. Class changing was different, but so exciting, and I quickly learned my way around. Then in seventh grade, a calamity struck—a very special friend of mine from kindergarten was killed. Although we had not attended the same schools past kindergarten, our families were good friends and had kept in touch. It was a devastating loss; he was only thirteen. As he was crossing the road to attend a high school football game, Ben was killed by an automobile. I can still recall how we played house and kitchen together in our kindergarten class. Ben’s death was shocking, but life must go on, and so it did. Toward the end of seventh grade, on March 19, 2007, a close church member

also ed away. David had battled cancer not once but twice. He was only fifty-six years old when he ed away. I always felt like we had some sort of special bond; then again, maybe everyone who experiences cancer has that bond with other cancer patients and survivors.

March 20, 2007

Dear diary, yesterday David died at 4:00 a.m. He had been suffering for a while. He had cancer two times. The first time, the doctors said he wouldn’t live more than six months, but he did. This time they gave him four months to live, but he didn’t live that long. He had lost the sight in one eye and lots of weight. At least now he is in a better place with no pain.

Eighth grade was a blast, and I attended my first dance. I went only with friends because I wasn’t yet interested in dating. After middle school, it was back to Gibbs for high school, and I was reunited with some of my old friends. In 2009, my first year of high school, the family German shepherd Lady of six years died of old age and devastated us all. She was my favorite dog, and I cried for a while, but it does no good to cry. Crying wouldn’t bring her back. Not long after that we got a new puppy; this time it was a Chihuahua whom we named Harley. Unlike Lady, Harley could stay indoors. Harley got along well with my beloved cat Snowball. Snowball stayed in the basement because he was deaf; nevertheless he was my baby, white with big blue eyes like mine. I always felt we had some sort of connection. I know the vet said he couldn’t hear, but in my heart I always felt he could or maybe he just had selective hearing.

Jessica age 9 4th grade 1st year back to school after finishing treatment

No problem is so big that it won’t fit in God’s hands. —Suzanne Berry

CHAPTER 14

The Move

I T WAS IN THE middle of my sophomore year that Mom lost her job. Her company was downsizing, and it seemed like that wasn’t the only company downsizing. All over the news, people were talking about how badly they needed jobs and that their companies had downsized hundreds of employees. Mom signed up for unemployment, and with Dad being disabled, times were hard for us as a family. God brought us through, and finally Mom got called for an interview in Brentwood. That’s a little town on the outskirts of Nashville, where higher class people live. As it turned out, Mom got the job, and it paid more than her old one. The only problem was that in order for her to work in Brentwood, we would have to move. One weekend we all drove down and looked at a few houses. There were things about each of the houses that we liked, but then of course, there were also the things we didn’t like about them. We ended up coming back down again on a different weekend to look at more houses, and finally we found one—a one-level brick ranch. It was in a subdivision, but nonetheless, it was beautiful. It took a while to get all the paperwork and final agreements drawn up, and then of course, we had to pack up all our belongings from our three-story house in Knoxville. Meanwhile, Mom had to start work, so she would stay in hotels all week and drive back to Knoxville on the weekends to help us pack. It was definitely different without Mom at home every night. We all missed her being there. Then finally we were given the key to the house so we could move in. That day was funny. Dad rented a U-Haul truck, and we loaded all the furniture into the back along with many other things we owned. Mom was still staying in a hotel and wasn’t able to help, but there wouldn’t have been much room if she had been there, because the three of us rode the three-hour drive all the way from Knoxville to Nashville in the front cab of that U-Haul truck. It was a tight

squeeze, but we made it. I wouldn’t say I was thrilled that I had to change schools in the middle of my sophomore year, but looking back now, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I made some amazing friends at Spring Hill High School. For the remainder of my high school years, I was a member of FCCLA, HOSA, Drama Club, and Key Club. “FCCLA” stands for Future Career Community Leaders of America. “HOSA” stands for Health Occupational Students of America. The Key Club was for teenagers; it resembles the Kiwanis club for adults. I was very active when it came to clubs because I enjoy helping to make the world a better place in any way I can. My junior year of high school I dated my first boyfriend. We met in math class, and although we aren’t currently dating, we had some great times together. My senior year I met my best friend for life. Her name is Amanda, and I truly believe with all my heart that God sent us to help each other. Amanda and I relate in a way our other friends never could. Her mother was battling cancer when we met, and I had previously had cancer and then developed a new brain tumor, so she understood to some extent what I was going through. I graduated with a 3.1 average on May 22, 2012. Amanda and I kept in touch after high school, and for that I am thankful. It wasn’t long after we graduated that her mom died. Thankfully she had friends there to her and help her get through.

And the Lord shall guide thee continually, and satisfy thy soul in drought, and make fat thy bones: and thou shalt be like a watered garden, and like a spring of water, whose waters fail not. (Isaiah 58:11)

CHAPTER 15

Please God, Not Again

Y ES, YOU READ CORRECTLY. I have another brain tumor, but let’s not leave out the finding of that tumor. Let’s backtrack a bit. On March 31, 2011, my junior year of high school, Dad’s mother ed away. She just died in her sleep. Living in Nashville—or Spring Hill, should I say—we had gone back to Knoxville for a weekend visit. We hadn’t planned on staying long, so we only took enough clothes for a two-day visit. My family visited that Saturday and awoke the next morning in the hotel room to a call telling us the news. Her death took us by complete surprise. I have to it that even though she was my grandmother, we were never very close. It’s one of those situations where after someone dies, you realize you have feelings for them and you really wanted that close relationship, but by then it was too late for me to have a relationship with her at all. With only a few days’ notice, the arrangements were made, and we all made what clothes we had work, although we did borrow some from family . The funeral was scheduled, and it was that very night that my doctor called to tell us the news. Perfect timing, right? The funeral service was about to begin, and I was sitting in one of the family rows with Dad, when one of my aunts came and told my dad that Mom needed him. He told me that he would be right back and disappeared, leaving me alone. It seemed like he was gone forever, and then finally my aunt returned and asked for me this time. So I followed her with a sense that something was very wrong. We were already at a funeral; what could be more wrong? Without a word, we walked into a room with fewer people, and I found my parents both with tear-filled eyes. This was the same look that I had seen in my mother’s eyes the day she picked me up from school early in my second grade year. For some reason, I think I knew what he was going to say. I ran straight to my

father and hugged him tighter than ever before and listened with my head on his chest while he broke the news to me. This time I had two tumors, and they weren’t just in my brain this time. I had a tumor on my thyroid and another one in the right temporal lobe of my brain. I was astonished—then I broke down in tears. I was so afraid. The first words that came to mind were, “I won’t get to graduate high school.” My father assured me that I would, and he was right. I did! Despite the horrible news, there was a funeral waiting to proceed. That day was one of the worst days of my life, and I try not to think about it very often. I wouldn’t be writing about it now, but I want you to understand how wonderful God has been to me and family. Miracles really do happen; I don’t understand how anyone could think differently. It takes a lot of effort and time for me to work on my book. Each time I write about a memory, I relive that memory through my words, and my mind is filled with images I so well. Sometimes I just have to take a break and go listen to some music or read a book; other times, I simply find something to clean and that keeps my mind busy doing something else for a while. I don’t mind telling others my story—I do it quite often. I suppose that I leave out some details that bring back the most painful memories. There is a song called “The Impossible” by Joe Nichols that truly touches my heart. It explains that the things you think would never happen can happen just like that. The Titanic was thought to be an unsinkable ship, but it sank. I never would have guessed that I would get cancer or have any type of tumors, but I did. When you think of yourself, you just think, “Oh that can’t happen to me,” but it can. I don’t understand why God puts us through some of the things we go through, but I’ve learned not to ask “why?” because God has a purpose for everything, and there’s always a rainbow after the storm. Back on the pews in that funeral parlor, the service began. I think I was still in shock, and reality was finally settling in for me. I cried and whimpered almost like a puppy that had just gotten separated from its mother. During the entire service, I Mom touching my hands gently and telling me to be quiet. Things were different this time. When I was seven, I was too young to fully understand the extreme dangers that cancer comes with, but being sixteen years old, I understood the horrendous risk involved.

God’s promises are like the stars; the darker the night, the brighter they shine. — David Nicholas

CHAPTER 16

Going Home

I T WAS A VERY long, quiet drive back to Nashville the next day. None of us uttered a sound until we stopped for dinner, and then there were just the simple questions, and we were back to silence again. I don’t think any of us really felt up to eating though. Back home that night, we were all relieved to be in our own home and in the comfort of our own beds, but as for me, I cried a lot, and I suppose I must’ve finally cried myself to sleep. What better place to be than Nashville when you discover you have a tumor? We live only forty-five minutes away from Vanderbilt University Medical Center. Needless to say, this fact didn’t make me feel any better. My oncologist in Knoxville called with a recommendation of whom he thought was the best neuro-oncologist at Vanderbilt, and with that being said, we made an appointment. Dr. E was very understanding and considerate; he introduced himself and explained things in a way we understood. Dr. E made plans to take my case to the Vanderbilt tumor board. He explained that this would allow us to have more than one doctor’s opinion without actually having to see all of them. The brain tumor wasn’t as much of a concern as the tumor on my thyroid because it was much smaller. Unlike the brain tumor, the thyroid tumor could be seen and felt without an X-ray or an MRI. Neither of the tumors hurt as far as I was concerned, and neither of them was causing any harm to me. Before actions could be taken, we needed to find out exactly what we were dealing with. Dr. E wanted me to have a biopsy of the tumor on my thyroid. A biopsy is where a needle is inserted into the skin, and a small portion of the center of the tumor is extracted and then tested to find out exactly what it is— mainly to find out if it is cancer or not. What the doctors didn’t say was that there was a huge chance that a biopsy test would come back as undiagnostic, meaning we would still know nothing more than we had before.

When I was told I was going to have a biopsy, I thought that I would be put to sleep. Isn’t that the way most biopsies take place? It never occurred to me that I would be awake and able to feel the entire procedure. If you’ve never had a biopsy, don’t ever try to tell someone that it doesn’t hurt, because that would be a lie. If you have a biopsy in the future, don’t be afraid. Just that God is with you, and he will see you through. I wouldn’t say that a biopsy is unbearable or that it’s the most painful thing in the world, because personally I have experienced far more painful things. I am just assuming, but I think that the location of the biopsy has a lot to do with it. My thyroid tumor was located in my neck—or you could say, my throat. Just close your eyes and image hundreds of wasps stinging away at your neck; that’s exactly what it felt like. I was sixteen at the time, and no matter how I feel, I have always tried to stay strong, not only so that I wouldn’t embarrass myself, but because I know that somewhere out there, someone is going through something much worse than me.

Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. (Matthew 11:28)

CHAPTER 17

The Biopsy

S ITTING IN THE EXAM room with my parents that day, I was afraid because I didn’t know what to expect. I just wanted to get it over with so I could get back to being a normal teenager. I was even more frightened because I had just discovered that I would be wide awake during the entire experience. When the lady finally came in to do the biopsy, she explained what she was going to do and asked me to lean my head back, so reluctantly I did as she asked. Just imagine you’re at the dentist office having a cleaning and your head’s leaned back. Now imagine feeling that you need to swallow and how hard it is to do in that position. Now image a needle being poked into your throat over and over again. Trust me; I know from experience that this makes it all the more difficult. I fought the tears as she pierced my skin over and over again. I’m sure she cared how I felt, but at the time, it felt as if she were stabbing me with the needle for pleasure. When she was finished, she left the room and I broke into tears. Maybe it was the look on Mom’s face that made me finally give in—I don’t really know. A week later the results were in, and I found myself back in that same exam room. Dr. E shared the news with us that the results of the biopsy had come back as undiagnostic, meaning that it was undeterminable. So there we were. Why had I had the biopsy done to begin with? It’s not like it helped at all, because we still didn’t know if the tumor on my thyroid was cancer or not. I think some part of me knew the biopsy wouldn’t help. I hadn’t wanted it in the first place, but I had been persuaded that it was for the best, and it would determine whether or not I needed to have the tumor removed. Still unaware of what he was dealing with, my oncologist referred me to a headand-neck surgeon. Dr. Miller was an older man; he was very kind and I ire his personality. On my first appointment with him, he informed us that he had

reviewed my charts and was prepared to operate. As he was talking and examining me, I noticed that his hands were shaky. This man was going to remove a tumor from my thyroid, which, in case you didn’t know, is very close to your vocal cords. What if he accidently cut my vocal cords? I was very nervous about having this surgery. Dr. Miller must have noticed that I was looking at his hands because he looked at me and said, “Don’t worry. When I’m in the operating room, they don’t shake like that.” Very reassuring! The day of the surgery we had to get there very early, and as I always am before being put to sleep, I was extremely nervous. Dr. Miller came into the room and once again explained to me and my parents the extent of the procedure and that he might need to take part or possibly even my entire thyroid out depending on what he found once he got in there. Then he left the room, and shortly after that we were introduced to the anesthesiologist. Moments later, the nurses came to get me for surgery. I hugged both my parents and we said our good-byes. After all, you never know what could happen, and there’s always the chance that you won’t ever see each other again. The surgery didn’t last long; I was in the recovery room and waking up in no time at all. There was good news to share when Dr. Miller came into the room. The surgery had gone fine, and he got the tumor out without doing any damage. The best news of all was that the tumor hadn’t been cancer, and although he had to remove part of my thyroid to get the tumor out, I would recover and be back to my normal self in no time at all. The only consequence of having part of my thyroid removed is that I need to take medicine to keep my hormones and all my levels balanced. So for the rest of my life, I will be taking thyroid medication. It’s not so bad though. I know it could have been horribly worse.

To be a Christian without prayer is no more possible than to be alive without breathing. —Martin Luther

CHAPTER 18

What Do We Do Now?

W ITH THE THYROID TUMOR gone, it was back to discussing the new brain tumor. This tumor was much smaller than the tumor I had when I was seven. It was possible that it was a reoccurrence, but highly unlikely due to the location. Another possibility was that this was a post-radiation tumor, but after being in remission for eight years, that was also highly unlikely. So Dr. E suggested that we have a biopsy done. With so many risks and no current side effects from the tumor, we all decided the biopsy wasn’t necessary at the time, which was a relief for me to hear. After having the last biopsy, I definitely wasn’t up for having one performed on my brain. It was decided that because the brain tumor wasn’t currently doing any harm, we would simply keep a very close watch on it, meaning that I had to have an MRI every three months. I never look forward to having an MRI; I can’t really see why someone would. They always put me to sleep because I’m extremely claustrophobic. I suppose one of the reasons I dread them so much is because I don’t want to know the results. Of course, I want to know the good results, but you never can tell when you might get bad results. Recently my family and I learned that my brain tumor is growing, but that’s only the opinion of my neuro-oncologist. According to my neurosurgeon, there’s just a lot of swelling around the tumor. Either way, it’s all pretty scary, and from what I’ve been told, surgery isn’t an option at this point. It’s too risky because of the tumor’s location (my right temporal lobe). You’ve probably heard the phrase, “Left-handed people are the only ones who think on the right side of their brains.” Well supposedly, that’s the theory. I am left-handed, and the tumor/tumors are on the right side of my brain, which is also the location where most of my memory resides and where really important skills are controlled. If I had surgery, it could cause speech or vision problems, possibly even paralysis.

The doctors wanted to do a biopsy, but they wanted to make sure the swelling was taken care of first. Luckily I got to finish my first year of college before any treatments or surgeries would have to take place. To get rid of the swelling, my doctor put me on an extremely high dose of steroids for a few weeks. After taking them for just the short period of time, I honestly wonder why anyone would want to take them (by that, I mean an athlete). Why do people take medicine when they don’t need it? I don’t even like taking my medicine, and it’s prescribed. Anyway, they made me feel horrible, but I have experienced much worse. I am an extremely cold-natured person, and I rarely get hot at all unless I’m outside on a hot summer day. Things were much different when I was on the steroids; I was hot one minute and cold the next. Being on steroids makes it extremely hard to sleep, and I was up and down nearly half of every night I took them. Apparently steroids also cause you to eat excessively and often gain weight. I did eat a lot more, and I gained five pounds. For me, gaining weight wasn’t necessarily a bad thing because I only weigh about ninety pounds anyway. You may have heard of how eating excessively and gaining too much weight can stretch your stomach. I wonder if that works the other way. Perhaps not being able to eat for so long when I was younger, my stomach shrunk and that’s what caused me to be such a petite person. Then again, maybe that’s just the way God intended for me to be. But believe me, I’m perfectly fine with being a petite person.

He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength. But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint. (Isaiah 40:29, 31)

CHAPTER 19

Face the Facts

T HERE IS A FACT that has to be faced about having cancer of any kind: you will never live the normal life that you once did. When I was seven, I could ride my bicycle all over the yard and up and down hills and back again, but the tumor I had caused my equilibrium to be off balance. For this reason, I can no longer balance a bicycle or even stand on one foot. I can’t walk a straight line either, so if I ever get pulled over and they do an alcohol test on me, they will have to do the breathalyzer test instead. Otherwise, they can call Dr. E (my oncologist), and he can give them all the proof they need. Driving is another issue. When I turned sixteen, I went to the DMV and took my permit test. I ed it with ease, and Dad began teaching me how to drive. He tried and tried, but it just wasn’t working. There is a driving school in Brentwood, and I began going to classes. After only one week I had ed my driver’s test. I finally had my license. I was thrilled that I had achieved something so wonderful. A few weeks after that, my dad brought up the fact that I tend to veer to the left side quite frequently when driving. My doctor suggested I attend the Vanderbilt driver rehabilitation sessions. Boy oh boy, those sessions were expensive. I only attended two of them, but I wasn’t getting any better. There was no point in throwing money down the drain. I haven’t given up; I still drive occasionally when one of my parents is in the car with me. Some people tend to believe it’s better for me not to drive at all. I have shortterm memory loss, and oftentimes when we come out of a store or restaurant, I can’t where the car is parked. More importantly, I am absolutely terrible with directions. What if I got out somewhere and didn’t my way back home? I’m in complete agreement that Dad can be my chauffer for a while longer, and he seems to be perfectly content with that decision.

During the Christmas break of my tenth grade year, my family and I discovered something wonderful. There was a company located in Nashville that would make me hairpieces absolutely free until I turned eighteen. I said before that my hair grew back—well, some of it did. I everyone telling me that when my hair fell out it would come back in thicker and longer than it had been before. Maybe that’s true for some people, but it didn’t happen for me. At first it wasn’t too noticeable, but I got increasingly self-conscious each time I brushed it and more and more would fall out. Once I found out about the Hair Club for Kids, I was immediately interested. In 2011 (my junior year of high school), I started having some difficulty learning. It wasn’t that I didn’t try as hard as the other students; I probably tried ten times harder if anything. The long-term effects of the tumor I had when I was seven were finally beginning to take effect, and I started having short-term memory loss. We met with a certain type of psychologist and prepared to have a neurocognitive test done. That was a test I will never forget. It ranged from preschool level work to advanced college-level work. I had to connect dots and draw pictures. I looked at images and then had to what they looked like so that I could draw them. The doctor would read off a list of words and sometimes even short stories, and I would have to relist the words and retell the stories as best I could. It took two days to complete the entire test. I got a short break each day to go have lunch with my parents and then go back and continue testing.

December 20, 2011

I had my neuro-cognitive testing today. I had to get up at 6:30 this morning, then Mom and I went to the hospital to have my testing. It started at 9:00 a.m. and ended at 2:45. We took an hour lunch break in between. It wasn’t too bad. She just read me some words and told me to them and then repeat them back. I had to draw some shapes and finish some patterns. I had to do some math problems, but they weren’t too bad. Overall I think I did pretty good.

After that, I had to get my blood drawn to check my thyroid levels. They had me pee into a cup because they think I have a kidney infection. We have to get up early tomorrow and drive to Knoxville. I can’t believe it is only five more days until Christmas.

When the test was finally over, we met with the psychologist, and she explained that indeed I did have some learning disabilities. I have slow processing skills and a slower reaction time than most people. I have no problem learning; I just need some extra explaining sometimes.

Out of difficulties grow miracles. —Jean de La Bruyère

CHAPTER 20

Graduation

T HE YEAR 2012 WAS an exciting time for me. In May I would successfully graduate high school. I was so excited, but also very nervous about beginning my life as a college student.

January 1, 2012

Today is Sunday and it’s the first day of 2012. It’s only four months and twentyone days until I graduate high school. It’s so hard to believe. Today we woke up and went to church like we do every Sunday. But Mamaw had to go to the ER this morning. She had fluid on her leg and got itted so that they could drain it. She has to stay in the hospital all night, but she’ll be okay. I’m mailing Leonard a letter and a picture of Harley, me, and Lee. I think he will like it.

On May 22, I walked across the stage and accepted my diploma, graduating high school. With my classmates, I threw my cap high up into the air and rejoiced. I was absolutely thrilled to have accomplished one of my dreams in life. For most people, graduating high school may not be such a big deal. For me, it was. I had come through so much in my life, and I had proved to the world that when you set your mind to something and believe in yourself, you can truly accomplish anything. In June of that same year, Mom found out that she needed to go to a meeting for work in Las Vegas. Mom and Dad discussed it and decided that we should just make a vacation out of it. I was ecstatic; it was like a graduation trip and

vacation trip all in one. None of us—Mom, Dad, Lee, or myself—had ever been to Vegas before, so it would be a new adventure for each of us. On June 23, we boarded the plane and were on our way to Las Vegas. This was only my second flying trip, and I very much enjoyed myself. Once we finally landed in Las Vegas around 12 p.m., we got our suitcases from baggage claim and took a taxi to our hotel. None of us had ridden in a taxi before. Just for the record, it’s nothing spectacular, but it was something I could then say I had done in my life. Our hotel was called The Mirage. It was extremely busy in Vegas, and I now understood why most people took taxis rather than drive their own cars. The hotel was beautiful—it had a restaurant inside and even a casino. My favorite part was the palm trees that were everywhere inside and outside the hotel. It also had a dolphin and wild cat habitat called the Secret Garden of Siegfried and Roy. It was beautiful; there were tigers, lions, and even leopards. Then of course, there were the dolphins. You could take a stairwell and walk down underneath the dolphins to watch them swim, and that was truly a majestic sight. It just so happened to be dinnertime for the dolphins when we were there, so we got to watch them come up to top of the water, do tricks, and enjoy a feast of slimylooking fish. Outside the hotel each night, a volcano would erupt. Not a real volcano of course, but it was a dazzling display. At nine o’clock, the lava would start to bubble and rumble, splashing out over the lips of the volcano and spewing down its sides. And then with the snap of your fingers, it was over just as quickly as it had begun. We were fortunate to be able to take a bus tour of Arizona and Lake Meade. As a bonus, we also had the privilege of viewing a portion of the Grand Canyon. Arizona didn’t seem so fantastic—just lots of mountains, dirt, and cacti. When we got out of the bus to walk on one of the trails, we saw some squirrels. Yeah I know, squirrels—big deal, right? Well, I was pretty amazed to see how different the squirrels in Arizona were from the ones in Tennessee. The Grand Canyon on the other hand was beyond anything I had ever seen. Honestly, it made me wonder how people could witness something so majestic and not believe that God exists. Nothing like that could have just been a

coincidence.

Jessica age 16 Summer Senior picture for graduation

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. (Psalm 23:1–3)

CHAPTER 21

Starting College

I N THE FALL OF 2012, I began my first semester of college at Columbia State Community College in Columbia, Tennessee. My dream was to go to Vanderbilt, but I was assured that starting out at a smaller community college would be my best option. I took the simple, basic classes: math, reading, and writing, along with biology. Biology was a bad choice from the start. I have always been terrible in science, and that wasn’t about to change. My goal at this time was to be a pediatric oncology nurse. I wanted to work with children with cancer and someday be a part of finding the cure to end cancer once and for all. My first semester went fairly well, aside from the fact that I successfully failed my biology class. I was terribly upset; this was the first class I had ever failed. Nevertheless, I signed up for four new classes the next semester. This time, my science class would be Anatomy 1. I had taken all the nursing classes at my high school, so I had no doubt in my mind that I would this class with flying colors. Well I wouldn’t exactly say that I ed it with flying colors. In fact, I barely ed it at all. It was extremely hard for me because of my short-term memory loss. After my second semester was over, I was notified by the Lottery scholarship program that I had lost my scholarship because of my grade in anatomy. I was devastated. I had just failed Anatomy 1, I still needed to take Anatomy 2, and that wasn’t even the beginning. I still had to make grades high enough to get accepted into the nursing program. I considered changing my major to respiratory therapy. That would allow me to focus on one area of the body versus the entire body. After some thought, I realized that no matter what I changed my major to, if I stayed in the medical field, I would still have to put myself through anatomy classes.

That’s when I decided to try something new. I considered every two-year degree Columbia State offered. I wasn’t sure how I felt about most of them. I needed to pick something I would enjoy and be good at. Finally I found it: English and history. I love to write, and I love to read and learn of America’s past. For a degree in English, I would need two years of a foreign language. I wasn’t up for that, so I considered history. With a history degree, I could take all of the same classes with the addition of a few extra history classes, and I wouldn’t need a foreign language. In February of 2013, I decided to add a new pet to the family. I bought a beautiful, blue beta fish and named him Pluto after the planet. I must it we were both disappointed when they decided that Pluto was no longer a planet. Pluto and I have been together for over a year now. He is the color of the deepest royal blue you could ever find. He doesn’t do much except swim around in a bowl all day, which makes me thankful that I’m not a poor little fish. In April of that same year, I went for my follow-up MRI. The fact that I was older didn’t make my claustrophobia go away; they still had to sedate me for the scan. The results came back, and they weren’t exactly what I wanted to hear. The tumor had grown—not much, but still, it was a change. A few weeks later it was determined that maybe the tumor hadn’t grown after all; maybe it was just because the MRI hadn’t been done at the same hospital, and the machines could have been different. That was a reassuring explanation. In December of 2013, a dear friend of mine ed away. He had been battling cancer for quite some time. It was devastating news, especially with Christmas just around the corner. Cancer takes the lives of so many innocent people, but all things in life happen for a reason.

Without the rain, there would be no rainbow. —G. K. Chesterton

CHAPTER 22

A Summer to

T HIS SUMMER HAS BEEN the summer of a lifetime; it certainly is one that I don’t ever want to forget. The year 2014 has been amazing for me. I am continuing my studies at Columbia State Community College as a history major. It’s a huge change from my first career choice as an oncology nurse, but I truly believe that everything happens for a reason, and someday I hope to make a wonderful career out of my history degree. Classes ended in early May, and on May 27, my fun-filled summer officially began. That week, my family and I left to go to Orlando, Florida, on a family vacation. Because we had been to Disney World when I was seven, we decided to find something different to do with our time. To make things fair, Mom and Dad decided to let both Lee and me pick something that we might enjoy doing. I was in complete agreement with Lee’s choice: the Kennedy Space Center. As I said, I am a history major, so I enjoy learning about the history of America. I wanted to go to a dinner show, and Orlando has several to choose from. It was a tough decision, but I finally decided on the Capone’s dinner and show. The price was affordable, and they had an all-you-can-eat buffet bar; the show itself lasted about an hour and a half. The space center was great too; it took nearly all day for us to view the entire museum. They are also a national wildlife reserve center, so there were lots of alligators, manatees, dolphins, and all kinds of birds. While we were in Florida, we decided to try out a beach that we had never gone to before—Cocoa Beach. It was a little over an hour from our hotel, but we enjoyed spending the family time together during the drive. After all, we don’t go to Florida very often, so the drive gave us time for sightseeing. The beach was beautiful and not too crowded. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to stay too long, because both Dad and I take medicines that make you get sunburned really easy. Did I mention before that we drove to Florida? Well, yes, we drove—thirteen

hours. As you have read before, Dad used to be a truck driver; he is used to driving long hours into the night. He actually says he would rather drive at night. We left way before breakfast time, so we had to stop to eat and then occasionally for gas or to use the bathroom and stretch our legs.

May 28, 2014

Dear diary, it has been a long time since I last wrote, but so much has happened. This past Sunday was decoration (this is the Sunday before Memorial Day weekend when we spend time decorating graves of our lost family ). We had to get up at 6:30 and leave around seven. We got back home that night around 6:45. Monday, Mom was off of work, and it started our vacation. We cleaned up around the house and packed. We went to bed around 10:30 that night, but Dad went to bed a little earlier because he had to drive. We all got up at 2 a.m. and left at three. We loaded the truck the night before so we wouldn’t have to do it that morning.

It was only about an eleven-and-a-half-hour drive, but we stopped for breakfast at Hardees, and then we stopped for lunch at an Old Country Buffet restaurant in Georgia. We finally got there around 5p.m. We’re staying at the Walt Disney World Resort in Orlando, Florida. We ordered pizza from Dominoes for dinner, and they delivered it to the room because we were too tired to go out.

Today we slept until around 10:00 a.m. When we woke up, we all got dressed and ready to go to Cocoa Beach. It took us about an hour to get there. We ed a river called the Banana River. We also had to stop at several toll roads. When we finally got there, we ended up parking behind two hotels (it didn’t say that you couldn’t park there). I got some seashells off the beach, and we played in the water and on the beach for a little over two hours. When we left, we went to McDonalds to change clothes. The beach was pretty and not too crowded.

We all got hamburgers at McDonalds and then came back to the hotel and took showers. Then we got dressed for Al Capone’s dinner show. It started at seven thirty, but we got there at six thirty. The food was pretty good, and the show was funny. It ended at ten thirty. I bought six postcards; they were three for ninetynine cents. Even Lee and Dad laughed at the show. We all got our pictures taken like we were being arrested. That was funny.

May 29, 2014

Dear diary, today has been a pretty good day. Unfortunately it is our last day on vacation. We are leaving in the morning to drive back home. At least we will get to see Harley though; I wish we could have brought him with us. When we got up this morning, we got ready and headed toward the Kennedy Space Center. We stopped on the way there and got breakfast at McDonalds. When we got to the space center, we took a short bus tour.

They had several different buildings to go into with different exhibits. Lee wanted to ride the space simulator—honestly, I did too—but with my brain tumor and my past history, I know I shouldn’t ride things that jerk you around. Dad has back problems, so he couldn’t ride it either. Lee didn’t want to ride it alone, so Mom went with him. It was supposed to feel like a real rocket ship taking off. Even though I didn’t ride it, I did get to watch Mom and Lee on the monitor. It looked like it would be fun, but I didn’t want to take any chances with my tumor.

The space center is also a national wildlife reserve. They have alligators, turtles, manatees, dolphins, sharks, and lots of beautiful birds. We got to see real spaceships, and astronaut suits and equipment. We were there for almost four hours; I bought a snow globe and some more postcards. For dinner, we ate at Golden Corral. Then we went to a huge souvenir store. I bought some key chains and two small snow globes. Lee and I bought each other something small; we are going to surprise each other on the ride home tomorrow.

After we got back home from vacation, it seemed like we might just get a break from traveling. Mom travels a lot for her work; we always miss her when she’s gone. Occasionally, we get the opportunity to go with her when she travels; this was one of those times. Mom flies a lot, so she gets free points to use for herself. Luckily, she had earned enough points for the three of us to go to New Mexico with her. I immediately thought this was a great opportunity; after all, what other reason will I ever have to go to New Mexico? We had exactly one week to prepare for a second vacation. This time we wouldn’t have to drive; we got to fly. I don’t particularly like to fly, but I must say the view from an airplane window is truly remarkable. To make the trip a bit more fun, we decided that it would be fun to go to the White Sands Missile Range while we were there. We got back home on a Friday, and the next day I had to be at camp. I hadn’t spent the night away from my parents since before I was diagnosed, so I was pretty nervous. Mom and Dad drove me to Camp Horizon that Saturday. It is a camp for children who have or have had cancer. It is one week that they can just forget about cancer and have fun. I got the opportunity to go as a CIT, a counselor in training. The first night, I was absolutely terrified. One of the other girls staying in my room found two brown recluse spiders and one black widow. I have major arachnophobia, and I immediately wanted to go home. As a CIT, I had to arrive Saturday and help prepare for the arrival of the kids on Sunday. Sunday was a much better day for me. I had the privilege of waiting at the top of the hill and greeting the kids and their parents. Once the kids got settled in and the fun finally began, my heart was won over. No matter how big the spider, nothing could top being with those kids. Some of them were in remission, while some were still in the midst of their battle. There were six beds to a room—bunk beds of course. My counselor only had three girls in her cabin, so they had an extra bed and I got to move into their room. From that point on, the days at camp flew by. Starting Monday, we had three rounds per day, during which the kids could choose between five different activities that lasted an hour each. They could go fishing, learn to swim, go to the puttery and make something, play on the playground, or play some type of field sport.

As a CIT, it was my job to be wherever help was needed. The girls in my cabin were thirteen to fourteen, so they didn’t need all that much help. Some of the kids were homesick, so we had to comfort them and try to get them to have enough fun to not think of home for a little while. Personally, I was too busy to think of anything but the matter at hand. There must have been at least fifty to sixty kids there, maybe more. Each night, all the girls would line up, and all the guys would come and hug us or give us high fives. That was what we called tuck-ins. After that, the kids under twelve would go to their cabins and head to bed, and the older kids would have an hour of “teen time,” which was a time when the kids could just talk and play games. It was a way for them to make friends and enjoy themselves. Before arriving at camp, I had joked with my parents about how this could be the experience of a lifetime, and I might just meet the love of my life. Well, that had all been a joke, I assure you, but surprisingly, I did meet someone very special. From day one of camp, one guy caught my attention. There was just something about him that drew me to him; it was almost as if there was a magnetic force between us. I was surprised to learn how much Jordan and I had in common. Since my last relationship had hit a dead end in the road, I had prayed to God that he would help me find someone who would accept me for who I really am, a person who understands what I’ve been through. Jordan is just that person. Honestly, I was worried that I would have to wait a whole year to see him again after camp. Then all of a sudden, we had exchanged numbers and discussed where we lived and how far away from one another we were. Thursday night at camp, he finally got the courage to ask me to the teen dance. I was thrilled and immediately said yes. The dance was so much fun. It was almost like prom, but with people who actually understood me. Camp was a place that finally made me feel like I fit in with the crowd. Being at camp I could feel confident with sharing stories of my past because most everyone there had a story of their own. One little girl there that reminded me a lot of myself when I was her age. She had lost all of her hair and commented on how beautiful my hair was. Immediately I knew I had to share with her my story and tell her that my hair was actually a hairpiece. I explained to her how she too could get her confidence back with the Hair Club for Kids. She was ecstatic, and it made my day to know

how happy she was.

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. (John 3:16)

CHAPTER 23

A Happy Ending

T HE LAST DAY OF camp was heartbreaking. I said my good-byes to all of those wonderful kids, with only hopes and prayers of seeing them again next year. I exchanged information with the girls who had stayed in my cabin so that hopefully we could stay in touch throughout the year. After all the kids were gone and it was just us CITs and counselors, we got to have some fun for ourselves. We played several games, and then finally we had dinner. Jordan sat with me, and it just made me so happy. Every counselor and CIT got an award; I got the arachnophobia award. We had a blast, and it was after midnight before any of us went to bed. Jordan and I had a long, heartfelt hug in the hallway of the lodge before we parted our separate ways for the night. The next morning, we all hugged each other one last time. Jordan and I sat together on the porch of the lodge and talked while we waited for our parents to arrive. He promised to come visit me in Spring Hill. The story of Jordan and I didn’t end that day, and we didn’t have to wait for a whole year to see each other again. Four days after camp ended, he drove an hour and a half from Lebanon to see me. That was our first date. Jordan is a wonderful person, and I am truly blessed to have him in my life. I could go on and on about the amazing times we’ve had together, but I’ll save those stories for another time. Life is short, so we make the most of what time we have. We all have dreams, but there are always the obstacles in life that come between them and prevent those dreams from coming true. I prefer to call those obstacles “trials,” and I know in my heart that no matter how rough life gets, God will always make those trials into blessings. In other words, everything happens for a reason. Jordan and I both had cancer, but having cancer is what brought us together.

When I first found out we were moving to Spring Hill, Tennessee, I wasn’t thrilled about it, but I would have never gone to Camp Horizon if we hadn’t moved here. I wouldn’t be going to Columbia State as a history major. I honestly can’t say what I would be doing today if we hadn’t moved here. I fought a harsh battle of cancer, but it opened the eyes of so many people. They realized that miracles do happen, that God does exist and he does answer prayers. So many people in my life have lost their battles with cancer, but I know in my heart that it all happened for a reason. I may not understand now why they had to die, but someday I will. I have come so far in life, but yet I still have so far to go. I still have the one brain tumor, and honestly, I do my best to forget it’s even there. If you’re reading this, then you know by now that the theme of my story is hope. No matter what trials you may face in the world or in your life, if you have God in your life, you can overcome anything. So many people want to give up when bad things come their way. If I had given up, I probably would not be writing this book today. In October of 2003, at nine years of age, I gave my life to God and got saved. Visiting another church for a Halloween play, I knew in my heart that if I wasn’t living for God, I would die someday and go to hell. God has been with me always, not just since I was saved. He was there during my first surgery and all throughout my life. I may have short-term memory loss and slow processing skills as a side effect from chemo and radiation treatments, but God left me here on this earth for a reason. I believe that with God, all things are possible; you just have to believe and put your faith in him. I hope this book has shown some encouragement to you or someone you know. Always , there is nothing too big for God!

Our battles in life make us who we are. Be strong and let your battle take you far. Don’t let a feeble stone get in your way. Stand firm and live to fight another day.

In Loving Memory of Bill Hemphill July 23, 1944 - December 4, 2014. “I Love and Miss you Papaw”