Pediatric cancer is being told your brother has 4 months to live. Pediatric cancer is missing out on play dates and sports because you’re always at the hospital. Pediatric cancer is watching your dad, who you thought was invincible, cry. Pediatric cancer is watching your younger brothers struggle with bereavement depression before they are even at an age to understand ‘grief’. Pediatric cancer is when your mother and brother are never home because they’re living out of state or country trying the next best treatment. Pediatric cancer is not recognizing your brother because the cancer has so destroyed his body and spirit. Pediatric cancer is hearing through the wall the doctor say your brother should go home to die with his family. Pediatric cancer is being afraid to go to sleep because of the nightmares, but being even more afraid to wake up because of reality. Pediatric cancer is watching the heart monitor wave go slack and watching your best friend take his last breath. Pediatric cancer is wondering how you can now live a normal life when your last 4 years have been consumed with this battle.
Pediatric cancer is grim but it doesn’t have to be hopeless. With the help of donors, we get closer and closer to a cure. Be the difference.
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