Admire The Survivors

Cancer is a word that tugs at everyone’s heart. Cancer is cruel, shattering, and it does not care who you are. But the crazy thing about cancer is that it doesn’t have a face until it’s someone you love. Cancer isn’t supposed to happen to you, until it does. Those heartbreaking stories could never happen to you, until it becomes your reality.

In March of 2020, our whole world flipped upside down with just four words that will be embedded in my memory forever. “Your daughter has cancer.” Those four words took my breath away. In that moment, I forgot how to breathe, the world was fuzzy all around me, and I dropped to my knees with my face buried into my hands. I remember pleading to God to let my baby be okay. Our tiny, perfect, sassy 3-year-old daughter, Lula Beth, was stricken with an awful disease. After months of being sick and many doctor appointments with misdiagnoses, we finally found our answer within our local ER. We went thinking she would have appendicitis or possibly a kidney infection. Never once did cancer cross my mind. It was there they found a football-sized tumor attached to her left kidney, engulfed all around it and taking up most of her insides.

It all started adding up, and I couldn’t help but feel guilty for not knowing sooner or realizing something so awful was growing inside of her. Her body had gotten so weak in the weeks leading up to her diagnosis. She would go days without wanting to eat. I begged her and made her drink chicken broth out of a syringe, trying to get anything I could down her. She was always so lethargic, fevered, and vomited constantly with no reason as to why. We kept getting diagnosed with UTIs or flu bugs. Looking back at the photos of her pre-diagnosis gives me a pit in my stomach. She was so skinny. It wreaked havoc on her little body, and nobody knew what was actually going on within her.

At the ER, we were told they were unsure which kind of kidney cancer she had, so we needed to go somewhere to start treatment and get a plan as soon as possible. We were sent to a children’s hospital where we stayed for a week. I remember it like it was yesterday. Walking into a floor filled with sick children is not for the faint of heart. I remember looking around and thinking, “How is this our new life?” I wanted so badly to trade spots with Lula, with all the kids. Seeing those babies fighting for their lives is something I will never get over. We got into our room and were flooded with papers, nurses, doctors, financial aides, and child life specialists. Overwhelmed with terms I had never heard, equipment I had never seen, and beeps and monitors on 24/7.

We got Lula’s surgery scheduled for the removal of her kidney and tumor. After 6+ hours and a lot of mental breakdowns waiting for our child, we got news that all went well, and they were able to remove it all. They sent the tumor to pathology, and the waiting game began. Those days in between were some of the longest, hardest days of my life. Finally, she was diagnosed with Stage 2 Wilm’s Tumor, a pediatric kidney cancer. Her treatment plan consisted of 13 rounds of chemotherapy—Vincristine and Dactinomycin—within a span of 22 weeks. We had to sign papers for this poison to be entered into our daughter’s body to fight this monster known as cancer. We were taught all the awful side effects it could cause: pain, vomiting, hair loss, numbness, tingling, mouth sores, and more. We learned as much as we could, and then after some healing, we were finally able to head back home and get into our new normal life.

Every Friday was chemo day. We drove 3 hours to and from, and that just became our new routine. We had to be careful in everything we did, because this was all in the timeframe of COVID being introduced to the world. The world was shut down, and our world was turned upside down. We juggled it all as best we could. We took extra precautions and quarantined our little family from the outside world. We had months of just us. We had an amazing community rally around us. So many friends and family stepped up and helped us in the time we needed it most.

Lula was a champion throughout the 22 weeks of chemo. She only got sick from it two times. In fact, after chemo, most of the time she would come home and dance in the kitchen right after being pumped full of those toxic drugs. Her story reached thousands and thousands of people, and she was prayed for by many. Her hair slowly started falling out, and by June, it was time to shave the last little bit off her head. Her big brother wanted to stand in solidarity with her and let her shave his as well. Her cancer journey was the hardest thing of our lives, but it did bring some beautiful moments.

She was deemed “cancer-free” on August 28th, 2020. We celebrated with a big cancer-free parade within our community. She was showered with so much love and encouragement, and that will forever be one of my favorite days. She has had many, many scans following the ringing of the bell. The fight is never really over, even if the hair has grown back. She is finally on yearly scans, but the worry never goes away. Every sniffle or upset tummy sends my anxiety through the roof. Cancer changes you to the core. Cancer creates trauma, it gives you so much worry, but it also teaches you that in this life, good health is really the lottery of life.

We are so blessed that our baby girl, who is now 8 and in 2nd grade, is thriving and healthy. We know this isn’t the case for a lot of people, and if cancer has impacted your world, know you are not alone. Cancer has changed my life completely, and I will never stop rooting for all my heroes who fought, are fighting, or are angels now.

My Cancer Journey: Navigating Fear, Pain, and Faith

In the spring of 2013, I went to a local dermatologist for what I thought was just a rash. While I was there, I mentioned a mole on my right leg that had been worrying me for over a year. Two different family practice doctors had previously assured me it was nothing to worry about. But when I showed it to Dr. Blake, he immediately said he was certain it was melanoma and insisted on doing a biopsy.

Leaving the doctor’s office, I tried to push the worry from my mind, but fear crept in. Two weeks later, my worst fears were confirmed: it was melanoma. The news hit me like a ton of bricks. Dr. Blake had already scheduled an appointment for me at Huntsman Hospital. As he spoke, trying to offer comfort, my thoughts spiraled. What would happen to my girls? What would happen to me?

That evening, I gathered my daughters and shared the devastating news. Fear and uncertainty filled our home. Just two weeks later, I found myself at Huntsman Hospital for my first appointment. The doctors explained the surgery I needed, and I felt a mix of fear and determination. When they told me to take things one step at a time, I knew they were right, but I couldn’t shake the anxiety.

Soon after, I underwent surgery. The melanoma had spread to my lymph nodes, requiring another surgery to remove all the lymph nodes in my right leg. The news was hard to process—no more running, no more hot tubs, and a lifetime of wearing a compression sock. I felt like my body had betrayed me.

When I was diagnosed with stage 3 melanoma, my mind raced with questions: What does this mean for my future? How much time do I have? What will happen to my girls? One of my doctors didn’t mince words; he told me I had five years to live and advised me to go home and enjoy the time I had left with my daughters. He also mentioned that there was only a 5% chance of completing the interferon treatment because of its intensity: 30 days in the hospital followed by shots three times a week for 11 months.

Driving home with my parents after the appointment, I asked them what I should do. They suggested getting my affairs in order and making the most of my remaining time. I cried all the way home. My girls needed me. I knelt in prayer, pouring out my heart to my Heavenly Father, and then I opened my scriptures. The words spoke directly to me, and I knew that God was telling me to fight—to trust in Him completely, knowing He would take care of the rest.

The very next day, I learned that a fundraiser had been organized for me and my girls—not just one, but several. It was a powerful reminder that God was orchestrating everything, even the details I couldn’t see. Before cancer, I had worked two jobs to support my daughters and myself, with no help from their father. But over the next year, God showed me His care through the kindness and prayers of others. People from all over the world were praying and fasting for me. With unwavering faith in my Heavenly Father, and the support of my doctors, boss, family, friends, and even strangers, I beat the odds.

The first surgery left me with a large scar on my inner thigh, a constant reminder of the battle I was fighting. I was single at the time, and I remember wondering if any man would ever find me attractive again. My hair, though not completely gone, became thin and short. I tried wearing a wig to feel more confident, but after overhearing two coworkers make fun of me, I was too insecure to wear it again. My sweet friend Randi, who was and still is my hairdresser, helped me feel better about myself. She encouraged me and made me feel like I could still be beautiful, despite everything. As my hair continued to thin, I eventually resorted to using a spray to cover the spots—a painful reminder of the commercials I’d seen for men losing their hair.

Amid all this, I was blessed to meet Katy, a wonderful friend who had breast cancer. Katy became my go-to girl, someone who understood exactly what I was going through. She could make me laugh and remind me that it was going to be okay. Her presence made me feel less alone in this terrifying journey. When I was celebrating my last day of treatment, the doctors told Katy there was nothing more they could do for her. She passed away two weeks later. I was devastated. Losing her felt like losing a piece of myself. A few years later, I lost another close friend, Larry, to cancer. It was incredibly hard to lose them both, and part of me felt guilty for surviving while they didn’t.

During the first 30 days of treatment, I had to live in Salt Lake City. My sweet friends and family stepped up to take care of my girls. On weekends, they would bring my kids to visit me at my aunt and uncle’s house, where I was staying. My aunt and uncle were amazing, taking great care of me and making sure my girls had fun when they visited while I tried to rest. My aunt even researched the best foods for me during treatment. Those 30 days were the hardest of my life. I’ve never been so sick or in so much pain. I spent most of my time alone in a dark room, battling migraines and constant body aches. I would try to come out of my room for an hour or two each day, but the smell of food made everything worse.

On my first day of treatment, I met a beautiful young woman with no hair who was passing out candy. She was celebrating her last day of treatment by ringing the bell, and I remember feeling a special spirit in that place. My last day of treatment in Salt Lake was October 31st. I told my doctors I needed to finish early that day because I was going home. I had never missed Halloween with my kids, and I wasn’t about to start. I dressed up for my last treatment, passed out candy to other patients, and rang the bell. That evening, I surprised my girls by showing up at the ward Halloween party dressed in costume.

The 11 months of injections, three times a week, were easier in some ways, but still incredibly challenging. I learned to pace myself, knowing that on the days I had treatment, I would be home, and I would usually have one good day a week. Grocery shopping became impossible, so my two older daughters, who were 12 and 13 at the time, took over. They would go with a list and money, buying what we needed. Somehow, they always managed to get everything on the list, even when the money seemed tight. I was exhausted all the time, but my bosses at Encore were incredible. They allowed me to work when I felt good and leave whenever I needed to. There were days when I was so tired I would go out to my car, take a nap, and then return to work.

I cried a lot—over how my body was changing, over how hard it was to do this alone, over the sickness and the mood swings, and over trying to be as normal as possible for my kids. But when I started feeling depressed or overwhelmed, I would find someone to serve. Helping others not only brought them joy, but it gave me a purpose and a reason to keep fighting. I lived every day as if it were my last.

To this day, whenever I hear that someone has cancer, I want to run to them, give them a big hug, cry with them, and let them know they’re not alone. I want to be the person for them that Katy and Larry were for me. During my battle with cancer, I learned the true meaning of love, giving, hope, prayer, and strength. I was given so much, and now I’m determined to give back as much as I can. I participate in a tree for charity every year and have run several 5Ks and a half marathon to raise awareness for cancer. I will continue to dedicate my life to helping others because I was given so much during my cancer journey. I hope and pray that my story can help someone out there know that they’re not alone and that they can always reach out to me.