Inspirational Stories

Vera was diagnosed on July 23, 2022. Her symptoms started as typical flu-like, lethargic, loss of appetite, and a fever. After three days of a fever and no one in the house showing symptoms, we took her to the pediatrician and were told she likely had a virus and to return in a week or so if symptoms didn’t subside. Over the next three days, her symptoms worsened (pale skin, a fever of 101 with Tylenol, bruises, and no appetite), and we took her to a medical professional every day, including the ER. At the ER, they did a swab test, ultrasound, and X-ray, and she was dismissed with extra strength Tylenol and told she likely had a virus. We asked for blood labs and were told it would be no help when trying to identify a virus. The day after the ER trip, I begged our pediatrician to do something else, which resulted in a lab appointment. At 11:00 a.m., we took her for labs, and by 3:00 p.m., we received a call from our pediatrician asking us to rush to Kaiser Roseville, “I am fairly certain your daughter has cancer.”

Upon admission, we received the news pretty quickly that Vera had cancer, but a bone marrow biopsy was needed to diagnose correctly. After five blood transfusions, prepping her for the biopsy, we saw Vera’s mood and personality return. She had been only a zombie version of herself the last six days, silently and unknowingly fighting to stay alive. I had asked the oncologist what would have happened had we waited seven more days per the original advice, and they stated Vera would have likely gone into organ failure and potentially fallen asleep and not woken up. Her biopsy confirmed that she had B-cell lymphoblastic leukemia (B-ALL). Her port placement surgery and treatment were to be started the very next day.

On her first day of treatment, I received a call from the ER doctor who dismissed us with Extra Strength Tylenol. We both sobbed on the phone, and she apologized for not requesting labs. She said she asked every colleague on the unit if she made a huge mistake in following protocol, ultimately telling me, “I will NOT draw labs from a sick child again.” I felt some peace knowing that Vera had already helped change the outcome of a kid who came with her cancer journey.

The following month was brutal, spending 26 days in the hospital. Vera quickly grew unrecognizable both physically and emotionally. Her face swelled due to steroids, her beautiful curls falling in locks, and she could no longer walk or bring herself to a sitting position. She was in constant pain. She stopped talking, only communicating pain or a need. She didn’t want to play; she didn’t want to sing and dance. Treatment was taking over my baby, and I remember asking her oncologist, “When will she come back to us?” remembering the sentence of treatment being two and half years. Her little sister Ivy was the only person who brought her joy.

Our hospital was on a strict COVID protocol with no visitors and only caregivers. I was still nursing her then seveb-month-old sister, Ivy. Ivy needed me as much as Vera; both were incredibly vulnerable. Her sister was allowed to be in the room because I was nursing, but after a few nights of the IV pumps and monitors beeping all night and keeping Ivy up, we realized sleeping on a hard hospital floor was not an option for baby sis. However, keeping the girls separated meant Vera would spend the day in her hospital room with no smiles or laughs. Desperate to keep our family as close as possible, we were able to secure a travel trailer and slept in the parking lot of the hospital all month long, just an elevator ride away.

Treatment would continue to put hurdles in Vera’s way through mobility issues, short-term vision loss, neuropathy, foot drop, eye droop, high blood pressure, hypoglycemia, constipation, mouth sores, and urinary tract sores; the list continues. Along with all the physical side effects came mental side effects. Her anxiety was crippling; Vera couldn’t put on clothes without having panic attacks, which meant we were going to the hospital. Her separation anxiety was suffocating, sending her into fight or flight mode if anyone left the house. She struggled with her identity, saying she was not beautiful anymore. She looked in the mirror and saw a pale, bald girl with no eyelashes or eyebrows. She would ask me repeatedly, “When will I look like myself again?” She was scared to be amongst peers because she could no longer run or jump, and the differences she observed between her and them kept her secluded both physically and mentally.

Due to her being severely immunocompromised, we had to keep our family isolated. We were once a family who hosted gatherings, weekend plans, and always socializing, but now we stay home doing grocery deliveries and saying no to every invitation. We worked really hard as a family to stay entertained through crafts, games, family dance parties, and fort-making. We played dress up! And every time her hair fell out, we put it in a bag for the “hair fairy,” telling her that she would get prizes in the morning once the hair fairy retrieved her old hair. We celebrated that new, stronger, prettier hair would soon return. She and her sister learned to walk together, cheering each other on as they took assisted steps. We played make-up and pretend play. We played doctor endlessly, treating every doll, stuffy, and Barbie in the house for cancer. We celebrated birthdays and holidays with just our family. Vera would ask where our friends and family were, and we would let her know that everyone was staying in, trying to make her feel less lonely in our isolation. We tried daily to have as much fun as possible, even on treatment days and hospital admissions.

Throughout this journey, Vera has been adamant about helping and being with other “tube-kids” as she calls them, hosting various toy drives for our treating hospital, putting on lemonade stands as fundraisers, and wanting to make friends at the clinic and on admissions. During admissions, anytime she received balloons or toys, she would walk the ward hoping to run into another child with an IV pole so she could bring them a gift. Last November was her first Light The Night (LTN) and her first time experiencing being a “tube-kid” as a positive thing. She loved knowing that she was part of the group being celebrated and that she got to be a part of this exclusive group of fighters in the survivor circle. It was a powerful moment for our entire family but especially for Vera.

Vera is coming on her two-year cancer-versary, and while she still takes chemo every single day, she is now thriving! She had just had her first dance recital where she confidently walked onto that stage and wanted to have fun and show off. Vera will attend Kindergarten this fall and is excited to be amongst her peers. She only recently learned that cancer was not a “milestone” every child experiences with her questions of “Mommy, what was cancer like for you? Sister is turning three this year; what will we do when she gets cancer?” It has caused some frustration for her. We have continued to celebrate and empower her to know that she is the strongest girl in the world to have been given this battle and succeeded! Vera is set to conquer cancer on October 3 this year when she will finally be able to ring the bell!