My hero

Hello again everyone. It's been a really, really long time since I have posted anything here. It's not for a lack of anything to say, although not really anything of substance I'm sure. I've spent much of my time on here often spouting meaningless prose about my sports fanaticism or love of all things related to Bruce Springsteen. Entertaining entries for me, but certainly nothing especially important or profound.


My favorite entries have been the ones about my kids and my coming to grips with their growing up -- and my own. Those are the ones that always bring a smile to me, and the ones that I'm most thankful that I wrote down somewhere. My kids bring me and my wife, Jennifer, such joy and love and writing about them is pure pleasure.


But sometimes life throws you a wicked, wicked curve. I'm writing today about one of my kids, but it would be hard to call it pure pleasure. Quite the opposite.


Over Memorial Day weekend, my 10 year old daughter Jessie complained of back pain. We didn't think much of it -- she had been swimming at a friend's house and riding her bike. Probably just a pulled muscle or something. Then it continued into the week. My wife took her to the immediate care center where they thought it might be a urinary tract infection or something of the like. They encouraged Jen to take Jess to the pediatrician, which she did the following Monday afternoon. Even then, it didn't seem serious, although the doctor felt like her symptoms "didn't fit neatly into a box." So, maybe it was a kidney stone or something like that. Unusual for a 10 year old, but not off the charts. He told us to have an ultrasound the next morning, Tuesday.


That night, at bedtime, Jess was in extreme pain and discomfort, So much so, that we ended up taking her to the emergency room by our home in Manteno. There, some more tests and some pain medication, but it still didn't seem too serious. They sent us home around 4 am with a prescription for pain medicine to go with her antibiotics to fight the infection. She should be alright. Just before we left, we asked, "should we still go for the ultrasound in the morning?" The doctor said it was probably a good idea and if it was a kidney stone, that would confirm it. After a 4:30 am stop at the 24-hour Walgreen's, we were back home, Jessie was resting comfortably and I was contemplating whether to try and head into work on two hours sleep while Jen and Jess headed to Orland for the ultrasound, which seemed like just a formality.


Instead, I decided to go with, just to be sure all was OK. I emailed my folks at the office, let them know I'd be out in the morning and should be back online working from home that afternoon.


I didn't end up working from home that day.


Instead, the technician told us they'd transmit the results to our doctor and he would "call us later." We left and debated where to stop for some lunch on the way home. A good burger at Pop's in Frankfort seemed like a great choice. We were discussing menu choices with Jessie. Jennifer's cell phone rang.


And life as we know it would never, ever be the same again.


Jen answered and I continued driving until she touched my arm and quietly said "you need to pull over." I pulled into the parking lot outside the restaurant and listened to half of a conversation between Jen and the doctor on the other end of the phone. Jessie watched a DVD in backseat. Jennifer's hands were shaking as she scribbled notes on a pad of paper. I saw two words and my head began to spin violently -- "mass" and "oncologist."


Oh my God. This cannot be happening, this cannot be happening. It's not real, please tell me it's not real, it's a mistake, it's something besides what it is. 


But it's not.


That day, June 5, we found out my beloved Jessie has cancer. And we were instantly transported into a world we had never imagined even in our darkest nightmares. 24 hours later we were at Ronald McDonald Children's Hospital at Loyola in Maywood, Illinois, preparing for Jessie to have exploratory surgery to have a biopsy to determine the disposition of this horrible invader into our daughter's body and our lives.


More words I never wanted to hear or see, that pain me and make me tear up even now as I type them: tumor, malignant, chemotherapy, radiation, surgery. And then tears, and more tears and even more. 


There is nothing to prepare you for this kind of thing happening to your child. Even now, after nearly two months of chemo treatments, I keep praying that I'll wake up from this terrible dream and the problems I'm dealing with are cranky clients, temperamental telephones or even chicken salad in the toilets. I'd so much rather be dealing with that than this.

Anyone who knows me well know that my kids are my world. Jessie has been my special little girl from the first moment I held her, from the days she called me "da-doo". She's a very special little girl.


Even in the most dire circumstances though, you find things that reaffirm your faith in love and humanity.  The love of our family. The love I've seen sent her way from my extended work family at JT, most of whom have never even met her, means more to me than mere words can express. The countless cards, emails and calls from friends far and wide, old and new has helped us through some of the darkest days of our lives to date. And the people around our little town, who have stopped us in the grocery store or at the ballfield to touch our shoulder, offer their love and friendship, are an amazement to us. The love directed toward our beautful daughter has been inspiring in the face of the most awful circumstance imagineable.



The most inspiring person in all of it has been my Jessie. And I guess that's why I'm writing this today, just to put it down and share it with whomever takes the time to indulge my ramblings. And to hope that maybe she will inspire others the way she has inspired me.


She heard the word "cancer" and held her tears. She has taken on all of the slings and arrows of this malicious disease and its treatment with strength and poise far beyond her 10 years. She worries more about her mom and me and how it affects us. 


Her prognosis is good. Her initial treatments have shrunk the tumor about 30 percent and she will soon have surgery to remove it. She still faces months and months of chemotherapy and radiation treatments. She knows she will have difficult days and more hospital stays in front of her. She tires easily and will not be able to go back to school with her 6th grade class this fall. She won't get to play in 6th grade band or be a part of student council or try out for the volleyball team. The cancer robbed her of all of that.



But she doesn't wallow in self pity or anger. She has lost her hair, but not her sense of humor. One morning, as she sat at the breakfast counter in our kitchen with her mom and big brother Mike, her thinning hair hidden by a hooded sweatshirt, Mike asked how she was doing. Her reply? 


"Goin' bald, dude."


She takes the time to write a thank you note to every person who has sent her a card or a  email or token of affection. She still sits with me and laughs at Adam Sandler movies. She tells me that everything is going to be alright. She is beautiful, strong, kind brave and true. She is the best person I know, far better than me, far stronger than me.


She is my hero, and I love her with all of my heart and soul.


I hope you will do the same. Please keep Jessie in your thoughts and prayers. This world needs people like her. Please make sure God knows that.