On December 23rd, 2022, I was diagnosed with a rare form of spinal cord cancer at just 15 years old.

Leading up to the diagnosis, I had been involved in a minor bicycle accident in which I broke my right arm. Though the bone quickly healed, the atrophy from not using my arm progressed for months despite ongoing physical therapy. Confused by the unchanging weakness, my doctors sent me through a series of medical tests culminating in the MRI at the Colorado Children’s Hospital that I was diagnosed in.

Immediately following the diagnosis, I was taken to the emergency room where we deemed that surgery would be necessary. Given the risky nature of spinal cord tumor surgeries, the Children’s Hospital team elected to delay the surgery until their best neurosurgeon was available. After nearly six hours in the hospital, I was sent home to process all that just happened.

Not long after, the surgery was scheduled for January 14th. Going in to the operation, we were made aware of the risks; attempting to the resect  the tumor could cause permanent damage to the surrounding nerve tissue and in extreme cases, paralysis. The surgery itself lasted approximately nine hours, though I was under anesthesia for nearly twelve. Unfortunately, they had only been able to remove 50% of the tumor before I began to show signs of neurological damage and the surgery was called.

When I woke up in the ICU, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t move my legs, and I couldn’t feel anything from the waist down. I was heartbroken that they hadn’t been able to completely resect the tumor.

However, the following morning, things started look up. My sight had returned, and I was greeted with an entourage of gifts, cards, and prayers that covered the wall in my hospital room from floor to ceiling. I spent the next three weeks in the Children’s Hospital rehabilitation center, getting back on my feet, learning to walk again, and waning of medications. At the end of my stay, I had made a full recovery outside of some lingering weakness in my right arm, and was able to go climbing the day I was discharged.

A few weeks after, I met with a neuro-oncologist to discuss the treatment plan for what remained of the cancer. I was introduced to a clinical trial for an emerging type of chemotherapy that replaced weekly infusions with a twice-daily pill. Though the side-effects were similar to those of conventional chemo, I was blessed to be able to keep my hair and live my life relatively unhindered by my treatment. 

I have now been off of chemo for over a year and I’m happy to report that the tumor has remained unchanged since coming off of treatment. Though I still have a long road ahead to restore function in my arm and be considered “cancer free,” I’m grateful to have an incredible prognosis and a bright future ahead of me.

Fighting cancer hasn’t been easy for me, nor my family, nor my friends, and yet so many blessings have come out of it. My family and I have been surrounded by an incredible amount of people supporting us and my treatment has led me to new relationships that will last a lifetime. Furthermore, I’ve been able to become a part of several organizations who bring light into the lives of pediatric cancer patients, Swim Across America among them.

Swim Across America is a unique opportunity for swimmers and non-swimmers alike to come together and turn a usually competitive sport into a means to improve the lives of those in our community. In Denver, all of the funds raised go directly to the Children’s Hospital Center for Cancer and Blood Disorders, the exact facility where I received my treatment. Wether it’s participating in the open-water swim on August 17th, setting up a pool swim if your own, or simply donating to one of the many online pages, I’d encourage you to find your own way to be a part of SAA. Coming from someone who wouldn’t be alive today without the generous donations put toward cancer research, your involvement with SAA might just save a life.