Levi’s Story: Finding the Kindness in Cancer

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September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. Each day I will feature a different guest blogger who will generously share their personal experience with childhood cancer.  Stories are always more potent than statistics.  The hope is that by learning about children with cancer, readers will be more invested in turning their awareness into action.   

By Melina Brown

In August 2004, life was looking up for me and my children. I was nearing the end of a long divorce process, I had just saved up enough money to move into a new place and my kids were healthy, beautiful and thriving.

My middle child, Levi, age 4, began having some headaches that summer. Nothing too bad, just enough to worry his Momma. I took him to his pediatrician, who diagnosed him with a sinus infection and prescribed some amoxicillin. When the headaches continued, I took him back and he received a stronger antibiotic.

I point blank asked his doctor “Could he have a brain tumor?” (partially because my grandmother had passed away from a brain tumor just hours after she was found unresponsive in her apartment and partially because I am a grade A worrywart). I was assured that of course it was not a brain tumor – he would have many more symptoms than a few headaches!

Fast forward two weeks – my sweet Levi lay in a bed in PICU, diagnosed with medulloblastoma, a highly malignant brain tumor that had already spread to his spine. A follow up visit to another pediatrician ended up being a 4 week hospital stay – two weeks in PICU and two weeks on the pediatric floor. The surgery to remove his tumor left him mute and paralyzed. All he could do was scream and scream and scream. I cannot even begin to imagine how scared my baby was. A long year of treatment was planned – six weeks of radiation to his brain and spine, followed by harsh chemotherapy.

Of course, my first thought was of Levi and his fight. But soon after, other worries began creeping in. Who would take care of my other children? How would I pay my bills? My house was half packed – how would we get moved and unpacked before Levi’s treatments would begin? My car was a 10 year old wreck that needed new tires, would it last the 50 mile daily trip to Levi’s radiation treatments?

Levi in Treatment at 4

When I look back, what stands out the most is the kindness of people. We hear all the time how the world is going to hell in a hand basket, but I have found that people are truly good, for the most part:

  • My babysitter kept my two year old daughter Kayleigh for two weeks for no pay while Levi was hospitalized. My parents kept her the next two weeks.
  • My son Ethan, who was 10, moved in with his friend’s parents for the entire month of September. They took care of him like he was their own child (and still do!).
  • My high school friend, who saw me at the gas station, crying hysterically, the night Levi was diagnosed (I had ran home for some clothes). She rounded up two other best friends from high school and they stayed with me the entire day while Levi was in surgery.
  • My friend who came to my new home and unpacked boxes for me.
  • The sweet lady who was going through radiation at the same time as Levi, who brought him a different toy every single day.
  • The senior citizen at Hardee’s who came over to talk to us one morning after Levi finished his radiation treatment. He asked if Levi was sunburned and when I explained that it was damage from radiation to treat his brain cancer, he cried and prayed for Levi right there at our table.
  • The stranger who walked up to us one day in McDonald’s and gave me $20 to pay for our meal.
  • Our pharmacist/friend , who paid to have my car fixed and showed up every few weeks with diapers, toiletries, and other goodies from Sam’s Club – all while she was fighting cancer herself.
  • My ex-husband’s former boss, who brought us a dump truck load of gravel to extend our driveway, so I didn’t have to carry Levi through the mud and snow that winter.
  • The newspaper reporter who wrote an article about Levi while he was still in PICU. This story resulted in enough donations to allow me to stay home with Levi throughout his entire year of treatment.
  • The DMV clerk who insisted on paying for our handicap decal.

Levi is now 13 years old. He loves PlayStation and pizza. He attends a school for children with learning disabilities and was held back two years. He has relearned everything he lost, with the exception of jumping on one foot, but he’s working on that. For the past three years, he has won the “Most Kind to Others” award at the end of the school year. I would say he learned that the best way possible – by example.

Levi Celebrating

Melina, Levi’s Mom, is one of the original St. Baldrick’s “46 Shave for the Brave” Moms — all women whose children were diagnosed with cancer. In September 2010 Melina appeared on the nationally televised Stand Up 2 Cancer event with her newly shorn head. She organizes an annual St. Baldrick’s event with the support of the Virgina Tech Hokies. You can find her fundraising page here.  

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Childhood Cancer Stories: The September Series

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Two years ago I set about the task of writing Donna’s Cancer Story, a blog series devoted to my daughter’s cancer treatment.  After being diagnosed with papillary meningioma, an aggressive brain tumor, Donna had 31 months of treatment before she died on October 19, 2009.

I need you.  YOU.
I need you. YOU.

When I thought about how I could use my blog platform to raise awareness about childhood cancer in September (Childhood Cancer Awareness Month), the communion of 30 days in September and 31 months of treatment clicked.  Light bulb.  Each day in September 2011 I wrote about one month of Donna’s treatment.

It was a lot harder than I imagined it would be.  In some ways, I am still reeling from the experience, as Donna’s story has defined me as a blogger and social media presence.  Towards the end of the month, I started posting not first thing in the morning, but at 4 or 5 in the afternoon, and simply felt numb, as the reading and the writing and the reliving had become overwhelming.  I wrote about the experience here.

My strategy about raising awareness for childhood cancer has not changed. I firmly believe that people respond and relate better to stories than statistics. When you know a child with cancer, everything changes.  The realities of how poorly funded research is are a punch in the gut to any Cancer Parent (and governmental funding for childhood cancer research was lowered this year, thanks to Congress and sequestration measures).  Other stats of significance focus on how archaic treatment modalities are, or how alarmingly high death rates are for certain cancers.

There is a false belief that with a 94% cure rate for the most common childhood cancer, leukemia (ALL specifically), this whole childhood cancer thing is a done deal.  Tell that to the 6% of families who will lose their child to ALL.  Or the 50% of families who will lose their child to a brain tumor.  Or the 100% of families who will lose their child to DIPG, a particularly insidious form of brain cancer that targets children.

More children will die from cancer than any other childhood disease. That is fact.  Despite that, the American Cancer Society will maintain that the numbers are not statistically relevant, as does the National Cancer Institute:

In the United States in 2007, approximately 10,400 children under age 15 were diagnosed with cancer and about 1,545 children will die from the disease (1). Although this makes cancer the leading cause of death by disease among U.S. children 1 to 14 years of age, cancer is still relatively rare in this age group. On average, 1 to 2 children develop the disease each year for every 10,000 children in the United States (2). 

So 1-2 kids out of 10K are expendable, not worthy of the care, concern, or dollars of governmental cancer research entities.  And that, my friends, is why I tell Donna’s story and why so many other Cancer Parents I know tell the stories of their children, both living and deceased.  If we don’t tell then, who will?

Our children are not statistically insignificant.

Our children are just like yours, except they were unlucky enough to be diagnosed with a disease that does not rate high enough to merit research dollars or the attention of pharmaceutical companies looking to profit from the R and D of new treatment modalities.  That is the stone cold truth, harsh as it is.  And so, I tell Donna’s story, and in September, am humbled to host a month of other children’s stories told by their parents.

September Cover

Please join me every day in September as I share Piper and Silas and Abby and Mia and Ryan and Cal and so many other children, 22 to be exact. Reading the posts, as they came into my in box, I was blown away. These are beautiful children, beautiful families.  I know it is cliche, but I really did laugh and cry.  I think you will, too.  And like Donna did in 2011, these kids will teach you so much about life, and sometimes, about death.

And this is the part where I ask for a favor, or two to be exact.  One is that you subscribe to my blog.  By doing that, you won’t miss a single post, a single story, a single tear, or a single opportunity to be changed.  You can subscribe here, and I promise no spam, just great and important content — stories, cause we all know they are more important than stats.  It’s easy.  Just enter your email address in the top box, then click the “Create Subscription” box below it.  1-2-3.

Secondly, I will offer a hug and kiss (virtual only, yo) to each and every one of you that pledges to share these stories.  The reason Donna’s Cancer Story had such a profound impact is because of the generosity of the share and the “LIKE.”  You did that, not me.  By sharing the stories of these children and their families, with a literal click of a button, you are helping to raise awareness.  There is a well known formula in cancer circles:

Awareness + funding = cure.

We gots to be aware before the funding will come, and there is no cure without funding.

Thanks for your time today, this Friday of Labor Day weekend.  I know you have barbecues and road trips or just a lot of Real Housewives of It Doesn’t Even Matter on your mind, so I really appreciate your time.  Join me starting Sunday and you will be introduced to some kids that will change your life.  I promise.

xox, Mary Tyler Mom

Four

My son is four.  I’ve written about it before.  A few times, actually.  Four is just so damn amazing, surprising, joyful and funny.  Like hilarious funny.  Like Louis C.K. funny.  Capital “F” Funny.

This week, driving in the car together, my boy, out of the blue, said, “I wish there was a medicine the doctor could give me so that I could stay this age.” WOW.  How cool would that be?  Can you imagine?  So much wonder to absorb.  But then I would roughly spend one third of my remaining life waiting for him to put on his shoes.  It would be my new sleep.

Having successfully come through the challenging aggressive phase of last spring (knocking on the wood surface of my writing desk furiously), what’s left are the joys of four.  I honest to goodness enjoy spending time with my boy. We go on adventures together and it feels like the most exclusive club I have ever been in.  It’s he and I against the world.

We call it Camp Mom, but the boy usually calls it CAMP MOM! as in “CAMP MOM! goes to the Botanic Garden!  CAMP MOM! goes to the beach!  CAMP MOM! goes to the museum!  CAMP MOM! goes to Target!”  All he needs is a snack, a book, a toy for the car, and a bottle of water and we are good to go.

Sigh.  Would that all of life were so simple.

Even my boy at four knows that it’s not.  After he wished for the medicine that would keep him four forever (which, having lost my daughter at four breaks my heart just a wee bit too much), he then went on to talk about all the responsibilities that grown ups have that he is not looking forward to having. “Like what?” I asked.  Well, for starters, fixing dinner every night.  And having to put your kids in time-out when they act up.  And bills and cleaning. Hmmm. He had a pretty good handle on the responsibilities of adulthood.

I explained to the boy that all of those responsibilities come on gradually, not all at once.  And that part of growing up is learning the skills to handle all that responsibility.  This is what I think he heard:

It’s okay.  I’m old enough to realize that he teaches me more than I will ever teach him.  Today I asked him what he most likes about being four, primarily so that I could exploit his thoughts for this whole mom blogger gig.  Do you know what his answer was?  “I can crack an egg and open it.”  Freaking brilliant.

“I can crack an egg and open it.”  That right there is a lesson in living in the moment, appreciating the moment.  I can crack an egg and open it, too, but being quite a bit older than four, I focus way more on the runny goo that drips down the side of the bowl every time I crack an egg rather than the joy of independence and satisfaction in mastering a task.

Most every day this summer I woke up and thought about the many hours that I would need to fill with my boy until Daddy got home and the business of dinner and bedtime took over.  What would we do today was a common question posed to me just seconds after blearily opening my eyes.  What would we do today? I would think to myself, with a little bit of panic mixed in for good effect.

I wish I had thought to tape these words to my mirror.  I wrote them myself for a piece I did for Huffington Post about being the mother of a child who died:

Life is full of wonder.
I will always and forever, for as long as I live, be the mother of a 4-year-old. A beautiful, clever, smart, and creative 4-year-old. Four-year-olds know a lot of things that we manage to forget as we grow into adulthood. They see and appreciate the wonder of the world around them. Dandelions are not a nuisance; they are a sweet smelling flower worthy of a vase on the kitchen counter. A rainy day is not something to be avoided, but an opportunity to stomp in puddles. Public transportation is not the awful thing that happens to you when your car breaks down, but an adventure. See the wonder, appreciate the wonder, don’t lose the wonder. Find it every day.

Well, with school starting next week, I am so damn proud of me and my boy. We rocked four this summer.  We squeezed the ever loving wonder out of four.  Sure, there was probably too much screen time here and there, and yes, there was grump from both of us, and more than once I tagged my husband as he walked through the door at 6:30 — “You’re it.”  But, for the most part, man, we had a great summer.

I think we have four to thank for that.  Thank you, four!  You are one damn fine age.  I will miss you, and promise to remember you fondly.

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