Dari’s Story: Speaking ‘Child’

September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. Each day a different guest blogger will be featured who will generously share their personal experience with childhood cancer.  Stories are always more potent than statistics.  

Photography by Dari McManus

I’m not certain how or when Dari’s path first crossed mine.  Maybe it was when I was writing Donna’s Cancer Story in September 2011. Honestly, I don’t know, cause a lot was going on that month and my contacts in the childhood cancer community were growing by legions each and every day.

The American Cancer Society will tell you, and statistically it is an accurate statement, that childhood cancer is extremely rare.  That’s all well and good, but having been part of the community since 2007, it doesn’t feel rare, and I have meet hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of folks whose lives have been devastated by the number one disease killer of children.

Dari is one of them.

She is a New York City photographer and is now part of the fabric of the childhood cancer community, as she uses her camera and her heart to document the lives of children diagnosed with cancer.  She says that she, “speak[s] ‘Child’ and kids are my thing behind a camera, so it seems like an obvious choice. It’s something very small I can do in such an unjust world. I try to be their voice because I know firsthand that the front lines are hell.”

Hell indeed.

Dari explains her process this way:

“Would another photographer see them as sick? Be uncomfortable? Freak if they puke? Kids sense that, especially these kids (I throw them around, make them laugh till they gag, and play as hard as they can tolerate. I will stop at nothing for a laugh. I’m also an epic cuddler.) I have a large amount of “kid magic” and my relationships with children blossom easily and without much effort. I love them and they love me. I steal back those smiles from the monster, and they are genuine. I take the time to study the diagnosis prior to meeting each child. I have always felt that in order to offer support, I needed to speak the language, so I speak a certain amount of cancer. I don’t “shoot and run,” I stick around. These kiddos become my wee loves and I follow our friendship through until, most of the time, they pass. Then I stick around for their parents. Bonds have been formed that will sustain for life. I can’t work with a whole lot of children at once, because of the nature of the relationships that form. If I didn’t allow myself to fall madly in love with these families, what I do just wouldn’t work. And my God how I love them.”

When I asked Dari how and why she continues, especially when so many of the children she has photographed have died, she easily tells me about how she gets more than she gives, and about the many life lessons she has gained photographing children living and dying with cancer:

“I try very hard not to sweat the small stuff, laugh as hard and as often as I can and love with reckless abandon. They have taught me how to be stronger than I ever thought possible, while maintaining a gentle heart. I now understand that every single breath I take is a gift, and I try to live as though It may be one of the last. I now know how very very important it is to sprinkle sunshine in such a way, that you leave footprints. I have learned that there is really nothing like a bald sleeping child on my chest. And, they have shown me many many times that when you die, it’s not over. Not even close. Speaking ‘Child’ is stronger than death. So is love.”

 

Bryson’s Story: Miracles Happen

September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. Each day a different guest blogger will be featured who will generously share their personal experience with childhood cancer.  Stories are always more potent than statistics.  

By Kathryn Bryson

“Never give up, this may be your moment for a miracle.”

This has become our motto the last four years with my son Bryson. He has been up against some of the hardest battles, but has been blessed with even bigger miracles.

Jan 28, 2009, a day I will remember forever, just like it was yesterday. This is the day we were thrown into a world we knew nothing about, one that would change us in every way for the rest of our lives. The world of childhood cancer, something we knew little about, but that we would quickly learn.

  • 46 children are diagnosed with cancer each school day
  • 7 children die each day
  • it is the leading cause of death by disease in children and adolescents
  • 80% of children diagnosed with cancer already have advanced disease, spread to other areas of the body at the time of diagnosis
  • childhood cancers are biologically different then those of adult cancers
  • 2/3 of survivors later experience significant or chronic medical problems or develop secondary cancer later in life from the treatment they received for their original cancer

This is a world that you never get to leave, but after the initial shock and grief lessens, you find the fuel to fight like hell to change it and make the road better for others so that one day no one will have to feel the pain you have felt.

I could still tell you what we were wearing that day it is burned so clearly into my mind. This is the day my not quite 5 month old baby was diagnosed with cancer.

Baby Bryson
Baby Bryson

Over the next few days the news just seemed to get worse, and when all the tests, biopsy, pathology were complete we now knew our baby was up against the odds. He was diagnosed with neuroblastoma, stage 3, high-risk with unfavorable pathology. We were given a bleak 25-30% chance of survival.

The raw pain and emotions you experience at that time are so intense you can barely breathe, but you don’t have time to take it in before big decisions need to be made and treatment starts. You read protocols in a haze and hear risks and side effects that you can’t even think about, because as you are there listening, you know a monster is growing inside your baby trying to take a beautiful life and you need to do whatever you can to stop it.

So treatment started within a day or two. It was a long grueling road, but we were going to take it one step at a time. Bryson’s treatment consisted of  six rounds of high dose chemotherapy.  He actually got seven rounds because they started him on an intermediate protocol and then when his final pathology came back he had to be moved to the high risk protocol, then, after the fifth round of chemo on the high risk protocol, they also had to take his right kidney because it was too involved with cancer.

After tumor removal and the last round of chemo came scans which officially came back as NED (no evidence of disease).  We rejoiced, but that wasn’t even close to the end. The next step was stem cell transplant and Bryson was entered into a clinical trial to receive two back-to-back transplants. This was by far the harshest part of treatment.  Chemo is given to the point of death and the body unable to recover without the stem cells they had harvested from Bryson earlier in treatment. Then just as Bryson was starting to recover and get back to himself, you go back and do it all over again.

September Bryson2

After the second transplant he moved on to radiation and had twelve radiation treatments, each of which he had to be put under anesthesia because he was too young to know not to move. The final six months of treatment  included five rounds of human antibody therapy, which is extremely painful and requires a morphine drip to tolerate. And then six rounds of oral Accutane.

Finally treatment was done.

Bryson was still NED and we were supposed to learn how to be normal again in between every 3 month scans. Bryson began getting stronger and learning new things as a two yr old should.  He finally started walking, he was happy and playful, he was getting hearing aids to help with his speech development because chemo had caused hearing loss, and we were even starting to think about preschool the following year.  All the while we got more and more nervous with each upcoming scan, knowing reoccurrence was highest within the first year out of treatment.

Then it happened.  September 1st. 2011 our world was upside down again and again we were in a fight for Bryson’s life.  This time it wasn’t cancer, but a side effect of the chemo he had received to save his life. We learned that Bryson had progressive scarring of his lungs that was irreversible and was quickly progressing. Now we were in a battle without options to “fix” it, within a month from finding out what was causing his severe coughing attacks he was on oxygen all the time. Over the next nine months we tried high doses of steroids, but his oxygen need was increasing constantly. By June we were out of options and we knew the only and last chance to save Bryson was to look into lung transplant. We traveled to St. Louis for evaluation and were quickly told he needed to stay and be listed immediately, his lungs by that time, were only functioning at 35%.

He was admitted to the PICU the next week where he went downhill very fast.  Bryson waited twelve weeks on the top of the list and ended up on a ventilator the last two weeks.  We had some of our darkest days during that time. Helplessly sitting by your child as you see him struggle more and more to breathe each day.   He had terrible coughing attacks that you didn’t know if he would come out of, and we watched his body grow weaker and weaker.

All this happened while separated from our family, me in St. Louis with Bryson, and my husband and other son Braydon back home in Toledo. We didn’t know if Bryson would ever make it out of the hospital, let alone back to Toledo. Each day passed and we were facing last options of life support.

Then it happened.  Bryson’s miracle was here.

We got word in the early morning September 1st, 2012 that there was a donor match and Bryson would go into surgery that evening. We didn’t know where they were coming from or what had happened, only knew that the donor had to be close in size to Bryson. That evening Bryson’s damaged lungs were removed and he was given an angel’s lungs. A gift from a grieving family that in their time of tragedy, choose to give life to someone else.

It was a long recovery, but we finally were able to come back home in December. Since then, Bryson has been thriving and making up for lost time. He has always remained full of spunk and attitude and even when he felt his worst he was full of life. He doesn’t give up, so we don’t give up. And that is how we will continue to live, everyday to the fullest, because everyday is a gift.

September Bryson3

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Kaidan’s Story: American Dream Teetering on a Fault

September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. Each day a different guest blogger will be featured who will generously share their personal experience with childhood cancer.  Stories are always more potent than statistics.  

By Mystee Sudbury

Just before I sat down to write this story about my brave girl, I went out to the mailbox and was met with the harsh reality that often meets me there. Our reality is that our American Dream is teetering on a fault line, ready to drop into the abyss with the slightest shake of the Earth.

It all started in June of 2007, when our spunky five year old daughter, Kaidan, was lying in a bed in the Emergency Department at our local children’s hospital. That night, she was a shell of the girl she had been. She was almost lifeless, deteriorating before our eyes. We found out later that night (after the doctor tried to send us home with a prescription for fluids, rest, and reassurance for mom) that she had a dangerously high white blood cell count, most likely caused by cancer. She was immediately admitted to the PICU and spent two weeks there fighting for her life. Days later it was determined that she had a high risk form of acute leukemia (T-cell ALL).

Our lives were turned upside down in an instant and the next three years were spent in and out of the hospital in a daily battle to save our daughter’s life. We tried to maintain some normalcy for our other children, and quickly realized that cancer was a whole lot more than just a disease. Kaidan experienced many side effects during treatment and when she completed the protocol for her cancer in November 2009 we were elated; blissfully thinking that we had paid our dues and this chapter in our life was closed. Boy, were we wrong.

September Kaidan2

Here we are, nearly five years later, and cancer is still a daily topic in our home. Now, rather than fighting to save our daughter from cancer, we are trying to save her and our family from the aftermath. Much like a tornado, cancer leaves a wake of destruction that is visible long after it’s gone. The only problem is, it’s not really evident to outsiders. Even close friends and family often believe that once you finish treatment it’s all over. They happily exclaim how good she looks….every time they see her. They tell me to be more positive and to stop worrying so much. I learned really quickly that most people do not understand. Really, how can they?

So, back to the mailbox. Today I was met with a stack of bills for a five day hospital stay Kaidan had in July. Yep, you read that right – almost five years off treatment and she just recently came home from nearly a week in the hospital. It was awful – one of the more difficult hospital experiences I can remember. She was struck with a bout of unbearable pain late one Saturday night that sent us to the Emergency Department. After several hours and no answers, the doctor attempted to send us home…again. It was very déjà vu – you know, it took me right back to June 25, 2007. Same hospital, same vibrant girl, similar pain that was sucking the life right out of her. The faces that came in and out of the room were different, but they were saying the same words – trying to reassure me and send us on our way. But, just like in June 2007, I refused to take my girl home. I knew that Kaidan was not herself and something was seriously wrong. Unfortunately, I was right….again.

Within hours of being admitted, Kaidan was bleeding internally. Losing more and more blood with every bowel movement. After five days of specialists, tests, procedures, medicines, more specialists, and more tests, we still had no answers. So, we were sent home with a non-diagnosis that we have heard before:  We don’t know why this happened, but we don’t see any signs of cancer. Most likely this is a late side effect from the treatment she received. It should get better, after your try A, B, and C. We’ll follow up in a couple months unless it seems to get worse. Yada, yada, yada.

Situations similar to this scenario have happened to us too many times to count. Kaidan seems to have one major medical setback after another. We count on at least one per year. This year, by the end of July, she has already had two. Each of these events comes at a hefty price for our family – emotionally, physically, and financially.

Emotionally and physically, our family is spent. This last hospital stay was rough. Kaidan’s sister is old enough that she understands the seriousness of it all. She worries too much for a 14 year old. She’s wise beyond her years and shows more compassion than some adults. She forgets how to have fun because she has a complete understanding of how fragile life is. I hate cancer for that – robbing the innocence of my kids. We’ve been on this roller coaster for over seven years, and we are tired.

The financial burden that is placed on a family during a time of medical crisis is unfathomable. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. In addition to co-pays, deductibles, and out of pocket maximums, you are suddenly eating out, sometimes three meals a day. You have added travel expenses, driving to and from the hospital to home and back again. You miss time at work or possibly you lose an entire income. Even a five day hospital stay can sink a family that is living paycheck to paycheck.

We live in a world with amazing people. Times of duress bring out the best and people often jump at the chance to make a difference. Soon though, everyone goes back to their own lives and forget that yours is stuck in quicksand. Financial aid is very prevalent at first, but once you ring that bell, showing you have killed the beast, the world thinks you are done and that everything is now back to normal. It’s easy to see why people would think that the medical bills stop and your life will resume right where it left off, but that is often not the reality.

Childhood cancer research is grossly underfunded and our children are treated with the same chemotherapies used decades ago. The only difference is the cocktails and dosages that we give them. The side effects are harsh, often leaving our kids with secondary cancers or chronic conditions that will plague them for life. Kaidan could be the poster child for this sad truth.

September Kaidan1

I worry endlessly about our girl. She is a brave, amazing soul. You will almost NEVER see her without a huge smile on her face. But, she fights a daily battle against cancer, even though she’s long been declared the victor. I fear that one day she will get tired of fighting, be it physically or mentally. But here we are, nearly to the five year mark where Kaidan and our entire family will celebrate that she is officially CURED! But please don’t be fooled. Please remember families like us. Families that have won the battle, but are still fighting the war. We are still fragile – in so many ways.

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I was so grateful to receive Mystee’s post, as she highlights the financial toll and ruin so many childhood cancer families are left with after treatment.  It is not uncommon to lose jobs, houses, or insurance in the middle of treatment.  The Affordable Care Act works to ensure coverage for the survivors of childhood cancer, but there are so many other costs associated with treatment.  If you need help finding resources, check out THIS PAGE from the American Childhood Cancer Organization.