On Friday, August 18, 2003, I walked my small son into the hospital for an MRI I was sure he didn't need. A head CT in June for eye symptoms and headaches had come back clear, still the pediatric ophthalmologist had ordered this scan. I helped two nurses restrain him so they could start an IV in his little arm. I held him and rocked him as he screamed and fought and gradually fell asleep from the sedation meds. I stood in a hall and watched the nurses carry my sleeping son into a large room with a giant machine and lay him on a table. I watched them hook him up to oxygen and all types of monitors and strap his body down. Then, they closed the door. I sat in our patient bay for an hour & a half listening to the strange mechanical noises of the machine scanning my son's head and wondering how much longer it would take. When it was over, the nurses brought him to me. He was floppy, drugged, and belligerent as he recovered. After he had awoken sufficiently I walked out of the hospital with his young three year old body in my arms, convinced it had all been an unnecessary trauma and colossal waste of time. I couldn't have been more wrong. About five hours later I answered a phone call I never imagined I would receive. It was a doctor telling me a mass had been found in my son's brain - that he had a tumor. A tumor we would soon learn was inoperable. I honestly don't remember much about that day or the following week, but I do remember the moment of realization when I understood our lives had been changed dramatically.

Joshua is now 7 years old, and we have been living with the knowledge of his tumor for more than half of his life. Since diagnosis, his tumor has progressed twice. He is currently on his second chemotherapy protocol, which we should finish in September. While we are exhausted by the longevity of each protocol, the prospect of ending treatment is emotionally difficult. We've been on this path before, and know the level of stress that is coming. Because Joshua's tumor is inoperable - it is still there. Because it is still there, I must constantly watch him for signs, signals, & symptoms of further growth. I'm sure I would still be watching just as vigilantly if his tumor were able to be surgically removed, but it isn't. It is sitting there, in his head, threatening me with the possibility that it will start to grow again. I've often said I feel as though I woke up one morning to discover I've become a lion tamer. A lion resides in our living room and it has no purpose but to destroy. With a whip and a chair, we have fought the lion. But after a time, when the lion has gone to sleep and this particular whip and chair have lost their usefulness, I must stand empty-handed. I must stand and watch this lion, and wait for it to awaken and take another swipe at my child.

Despite the difficulties of coping with Joshua's cancer, I have many things in life for which I am thankful. I am thankful for the feistiness in our "smiling pirate" (a nickname earned through daily eye-patching), our boy with the strongest will I've ever seen. I am thankful for his resilience, his fight, his gentleness, his love, and the character I know is growing in him through this trial. I am thankful for our other children who add to the joyful noise, love, and laughter in our home. I am thankful for my husband, who is the hardest working man I know, who has supported me at every turn, listened to each of my concerns, and has remained my voice of reason and my best friend. I am thankful for the family and friends who have stuck by us on this long, long road. I am thankful for every ounce of support we've received and especially for the love and prayers we've been given. I am thankful for the perspective I've been given, the new friends I've made, and all the people I've met on this journey. I am thankful for our amazing doctor & her team, our fantastic nurses, and all the staff who make a day at clinic so much less painful and tedious. And I am especially thankful for our Lord who is my Rock when the world feels like quicksand, my Light when all looks dark, and my Strength when I am too weary to stand.

We are also thankful to be living in Atlanta and have Joshua under the care of such a phenomenal healthcare system. We come to the outpatient clinic every Friday, so each week we benefit from the money that is raised to help make this place possible. We are so fortunate that Joshua has been able to receive all of his chemo at the outpatient clinic, and has not needed inpatient treatment. As of this writing, Joshua has had a total of 108 appointments just in the outpatient clinic. At 85 of those appointments he has received chemotherapy. So you can see that we really do spend a lot of time here. Even though Joshua knows he will be getting medicine that makes him sick, he loves to come to the clinic. He loves his doctor, Claire Mazewski, and his nurses. And he loves the games and activities he gets to play each week. Since I homeschool, I almost always have Joshua's siblings with us as well. It is wonderful to have all the games and toys at clinic for the kids to play; it really helps keep them occupied while we are waiting.

The Aflac Cancer Center is not just an important part of our past and our present, it is a vital part of our impending future. Although Joshua's cancer has no cure, and it is likely he will need further treatment in the future, we are grateful knowing he will always receive the very best care.

Thank you so much for the opportunity to share Joshua's story during the Care-a-Thon. We truly appreciate the innumerable ways the Aflac Cancer Center has been a benefit to Joshua and our family.

Julie, Joshua's mother