In August of 2017, I held my ten-month-old daughter tightly to my chest after receiving the diagnosis that confirmed the anemia, bruises, lethargy, and recurring infections that summer. My daughter had leukemia. I sobbed, remembering my high junior high and high school years when my dad battled cancer. Having the experience of a parent with cancer, both prepared me for what was to come and also broke my heart, because I knew the road ahead was going to be heartbreaking, full of emotional turmoil, nightmares of death, and so many unknowns. At some point, during the five years of chemotherapy, traveling to different hospitals for clinical trials, radiation, transplant, graft versus host disease, and immune suppression, I felt the calling to become a nurse. I remember sitting in an isolation room for three months at Seattle Children's Hospital, promising myself that I would honor this fragile existence and answer that call. When my daughter was finally well enough to receive outpatient treatment, as a single mother I went back to school, taking one class at a time until I became a CNA and had graduated with an associate degree in social work. One year after my daughter rang the bell, cancer free, I was accepted into the nursing program through Nightingale College. Today, I work at the same hospital and the same unit where I held my daughter on that heartbreaking August day, ready to begin my fourth semester of nursing school, and investigating the possibility of becoming a pediatric nurse practitioner. I spent the first three years of my healthcare career working in hospice and end of life settings, where I was able to process my own grief of my daughter's friends dying from cancer by helping others. While I still volunteer with hospice, I have moved on to working at the hospital so I can continue to learn and grow in my career and work closely alongside nurses who are willing to teach me how to be a good nurse. I often wonder if the universe chose me to be my daughter's mother because they knew that I would not only pour my heart and soul into making sure my daughter lived, but that I would apply that same tenacity into my education, using everything I learned in pediatric oncology to help other people. Sometimes, when I am studying my nursing courses, I have flashbacks to some of the more difficult days of my daughter's cancer treatment, and I am able to find healing by using those experiences as educational moments. Connecting with the emotional side of pediatric oncology allows me to be able to hold space for the emotions of my patients and their families today. My daughter is my biggest cheerleader when it comes to nursing school and my number one reason why I keep going, even when it's hard. She teaches me everyday how to show up for the hard things. Thank you for allowing me to share a snippet of my story with you, and for considering me for this scholarship.

I am a single mother of a cancer survivor, set to begin nursing school September 5, 2023. My interest in building a career in the medical field began when my daughter was initially diagnosed with high risk acute lymphoblastic leukemia at just ten months old. During the five years of cancer treatment, which included 8 months of traditional chemotherapy, a clinical trial of CAR-T cell therapy in Seattle, a mismatch cord blood transplant, and three years of recovering from graft versus host disease, I learned how to live in hospitals and survive purely on caffeine and the grace of God. I learned how to administer chemotherapy to my baby, how to change dressings, perform central line cares, hook up electrolytes, TPN, and antibiotics, and so much more. I was in charge of managing medications, tube feeds, taking my daughter to countless appointments, and advocacy. The pediatric oncology nurses taught me how to be a nurse. While my daughter was spending more time in an outpatient setting, I decided to continue my education one class at a time, and became a certified nurse’s assistant in the process. Though it has taken me nearly a decade of chipping away at an associate’s degree while my daughter was sick, I have finally been accepted into nursing school. My daughter is now cancer free and thriving. I am choosing to build a career in hospice. As of right now, I am a CNA for a home health and hospice company. Many of my daughter’s friends did not survive cancer, and through this, I learned about the sacredness of life and death. My experiences with the fragility of life as a “cancer mom” have only given me more drive and determination to persist with my nursing education. Those experiences have completely shifted my perspective on life, and I truly appreciate being on the side of my daughter’s good health. The grief of those lost along the way doesn’t really ever go away, but because of that, we show up and do the things, including the hard thing of nursing school. The path of nursing feels like a natural fit to me. I truly love people and caring for them. I know that nursing school is going to come with the challenge of sacrificing my time and energy to creating a life of stability for my daughter and myself, but we are only given this one beautiful life to make the most of. I am anticipating a financial strain, as I will be a full time student, a full time mom, and I will inevitable have to work, as well, to get by. I do not have any finances to contribute towards my education myself, so I am relying heavily on scholarships, financial, aid, and loans for the next two and a half years of school. I am very blessed to have a massive support system within my family members, as they showed up and carried me through my daughter’s cancer journey so I could carry her. This same support system has shown up to continue helping me with my daughter while I complete the nursing program. I have put in a lot of work in therapy and processing the trauma of my daughter’s cancer journey so I could get to the point of balanced mental health in preparation for the journey ahead. I am ready for this next chapter in life, and I am willing to do whatever it takes to create a beautiful life for the miracle that is my daughter.

The most challenging combination of being a student and a single parent is the sacrifice of time and energy I have to make to create a future of stability for my daughter and myself. There are times I choose to put off homework so that I can show up as mom, and times I have to cut time with my daughter short so I can show up as a student. I also have to be able to afford regular living expenses and balance a job with motherhood and my education. The balance is challenging, but ultimately I continue pressing forward with my education because I have the opportunity to break the cycle of poverty for my daughter, and I hope and pray that the example I set in pursuing my nursing degree will show her that she, too, can aim for the moon in her endeavors. It has taken me nearly a decade to finally be at the point where I am taking my last class for my associate's degree and to receive my acceptance letter to nursing school, which will begin this fall, as much of my adult life has been spent in the pediatric oncology units in both Spokane and Seattle, Washington while my daughter fought and miraculously survived infant leukemia after nearly five years of treatment. I promised myself while sitting in hospital isolation rooms and not knowing whether or not my daughter would survive, that when we got to the other side of cancer, I would do the things and live a bold and daring life. I prayed endlessly that my daughter would be able to live a life, too. Nursing school is going to be a large expense for me, and because I am unable to put any money toward getting my bachelor's degree in nursing, I am relying solely on financial aid, scholarships, and loans. I have $1,000 in emergency savings, as I have not been able to enter the workforce until last year when my daughter rang the bell for the end of treatment. While my daughter was in a more outpatient setting, a friend of mine who is a nurse generously offered her time to care for my daughter's medical needs while I completed the CNA program, which ultimately landed me at the beginning of building the career of my dreams as a hospice nurse. Though I know I will have to sacrifice time with my daughter while I complete my education, I also know that it will pay off in the long run. I have gained so much information about the medical field through my daughter's experience with childhood cancer, and through childhood cancer I have discovered so much strength within myself. I know how to show up for the hard things and press forward with persistence and determination. I have communicated with my daughter every step of the way what each day has planned for the both of us, which grandparent is going to babysit that day, and why it's important that mommy goes to work and does extra homework today. I incorporate her with my studies as much as possible, which has expanded her vocabulary and her interest in learning, and still allows us to be together and connect, even when that means we aren't playing dolls or watching cartoons. I read a quote by Glennon Doyle at one point that said, "Every time my daughter looks at me, she is asking the question of what it means to be a woman." I pray that my daughter sees my strength, determination, and confidence and takes these qualities and soars.

On the first of March 2018, I held the hand of my best friend’s son just a few hours before she had to make one of the most difficult decisions she would ever make: to end life support for her fifteen month old son who has been battling stage four ATRT brain cancer. After saying goodbye, I walked down the hall from the pediatric intensive care unit to pediatric oncology, where my sixteen month old daughter had been battling leukemia since August 2017. Hours later, I got the notification. “Our prince has gained his wings.” I collapsed into the charge nurse’s arms. My best friend was living the reality that I had deeply feared for myself. This was the first childhood cancer related death I had experienced since my daughter’s diagnosis. Sadly, it was also not the last. Not long after the death of my friend’s son, my daughter’s oncologist pulled my ex husband aside and told us that chemotherapy was not working for our daughter, but that there was a clinical trial we could try at Seattle Children’s Hospital, 6 hours from home. If it worked, we would follow with a bone marrow transplant, both of which we did. While my daughter was fighting tooth and nail for her life, more of her friends died from cancer. In the 1,716 days from the day of her diagnosis to the day of ringing the bell for end of treatment, we visited the headstone of one of her friends, saw another in a casket, and held that first sweet boy in a marble box. I share this particular information about my journey being a “cancer mom,” because these experiences with the intimacy with the fragility of life have shaped me as a person. When my daughter was finally in an outpatient setting, I made the decision to continue my education, one class at a time. I became a Certified Nurse’s Assistant the same year she finally had her seventh central line removed. Little did I know, childhood cancer would inspire me to pursue a nursing degree. My experiences with grief and death and life and love led me to the beginning of building a career in hospice. Now that my daughter is done with treatment and thriving in public school, I am working as a CNA for a home health and hospice company with plans to begin nursing school this fall. I have already performed tasks that nurses do, such as caring central lines, administering chemotherapy medications, giving IV fluids, subcutaneous infusions, and more. While my education allows me to delve deeper into the world of medicine, the life experience of being a “cancer mom,” the lessons I learned, and the wisdom I gained has expanded my levels of compassion and dedication to the things I care about. I simply cannot see myself doing anything outside of the medical field. I am drawn towards hospice and end of life in particular, because death has not been cushioned for me. Death, after all, is our greatest teacher about life. It is a deep honor to hold space for families who are experiencing the sacredness that is death. As I nurse, I will not only be able to provide stability for my daughter and myself, I will also be able to put life experiences to full use in helping others. I am very fortunate to have the opportunity to answer the call on my life to be a nurse. I thank God each and every day for allowing me to keep my baby, and for showing me the next right thing.

“You are going to be a nurse,” my mentor told me while we were visiting in my daughter’s hospital room. Again, “YOU are going to be a NURSE.” Thoughts of the future and my own potential scared me at that time. My daughter was newly diagnosed with leukemia at ten months old. Imagining the future was scary, because with my daughter’s diagnosis, there was the potential of a future without her in it. Three years after my daughter’s diagnosis went by, and she was still in treatment, as her leukemia was stubborn and required a clinical trial of CAR-T cell therapy and a mismatch cord blood transplant in order to save her life. She was finally in an outpatient setting when I called my mentor again. “I want to become a CNA,” I told her. She told me to take it like it was meant for me. My mentor believed in her premonition so much that she helped fund my CNA education, and cared for my daughter while I was in class. She is a nurse herself with experience in oncology, and one of the few people I had trusted to care for my daughter. One year after my daughter rang the bell, just this spring, I sent her the text. “I applied for nursing school!” When my mentor friend told me I was going to be a nurse, I started thinking like one. After all, I HAD to. My daughter’s life depended on it. During the 1,716 days my daughter was in treatment, I was immersed in the world of medicine. Childhood cancer was the life I was living, so I lived it the best I could. When it came time for Anatomy and Physiology and Pharmacology classes, I received A’s in my classes. Partly due to determination and drive, and partly due to five years of living in hospitals and managing my daughter’s medications. Medical classes feel natural to me, as though the course of my life had been predetermined. Perhaps it was. After all, my mentor friend knew. My daughter inspires me to press forward with my education when it feels overwhelming. If I could do life in oncology, I can absolutely meet the challenges that come with nursing school. Grit, determination, and compassion are qualities I have that did not come from a life of ease. As of now, I am working as a CNA with a home health and hospice company. I am particularly drawn towards building a career in hospice and end of life cares, as I have already been so intimate with the fragility of life and the sacredness of death. My mentor friend continues to encourage and empower me on my educational and career journey. She is a coach, a space holder, and a woman of integrity, the kind of woman and nurse I aspire to be.

On the first of March 2018, I held the hand of my best friend’s son just a few hours before she had to make one of the most difficult decisions she would ever make: to end life support for her fifteen month old son who has been battling stage four ATRT brain cancer. After saying goodbye, I walked down the hall from the pediatric intensive care unit to pediatric oncology, where my sixteen month old daughter had been battling leukemia since August 2017. Hours later, I got the notification. “Our prince has gained his wings.” I collapsed into the charge nurse’s arms. My best friend was living the reality that I had deeply feared for myself. This was the first childhood cancer related death I had experienced since my daughter’s diagnosis. Sadly, it was also not the last. Not long after the death of my friend’s son, my daughter’s oncologist pulled my ex husband aside and told us that chemotherapy was not working for our daughter, but that there was a clinical trial we could try at Seattle Children’s Hospital, 6 hours from home. If it worked, we would follow with a bone marrow transplant, both of which we did. While my daughter was fighting tooth and nail for her life, more of her friends died from cancer. In the 1,716 days from the day of her diagnosis to the day of ringing the bell for end of treatment, we visited the headstone of one of her friends, saw another in a casket, and held that first sweet boy in a marble box. I share this particular information about my journey being a “cancer mom,” because these experiences with the intimacy with the fragility of life have shaped me as a person. When my daughter was finally in an outpatient setting, I made the decision to continue my education, one class at a time. I became a Certified Nurse’s Assistant the same year she finally had her seventh central line removed. Little did I know, childhood cancer would inspire me to pursue a nursing degree. My experiences with grief and death and life and love led me to the beginning of building a career in hospice. Now that my daughter is done with treatment and thriving in public school, I am working as a CNA for a home health and hospice company with plans to begin nursing school this fall. I have already performed tasks that nurses do, such as caring central lines, administering chemotherapy medications, giving IV fluids, subcutaneous infusions, and more. While my education allows me to delve deeper into the world of medicine, the life experience of being a “cancer mom,” the lessons I learned, and the wisdom I gained has expanded my levels of compassion and dedication to the things I care about. I simply cannot see myself doing anything outside of the medical field. I am drawn towards hospice and end of life in particular, because death has not been cushioned for me. Death, after all, is our greatest teacher about life. It is a deep honor to hold space for families who are experiencing the sacredness that is death. As I nurse, I will not only be able to provide stability for my daughter and myself, I will also be able to put life experiences to full use in helping others. I am very fortunate to have the opportunity to answer the call on my life to be a nurse. I thank God each and every day for allowing me to keep my baby, and for showing me the next right thing.

“Everything I want for my daughter, I must go after myself.” This was the first epiphany I had after giving birth to my daughter, which would inevitably lead me to make many difficult decisions in efforts to better my life for both mine and my daughter’s sake. I became more intimate with the fragility of life when my daughter was diagnosed with cancer at a mere ten months old. It was during her 1,716 days of cancer treatment (which included an initial diagnosis of leukemia, failure to achieve remission with traditional chemotherapy, a clinical trial of CAR-T cell therapy, a mismatch cord blood transplant, life threatening graft versus host disease, osteopenia, and close calls with death), that I learned what it meant to be alive. If I wanted my daughter to live a full life with her miraculous recovery, I had to as well. During the outpatient portion of my daughter’s leukemia treatments, I became a single mother as a result of intimate partner violence from my husband at the time. My daughter and I were able to live with family members at this time, where my auntie encouraged me to go back to school, even if it was just one class at a time, to which I obliged. By the time my daughter rang the bell for end of treatment at 5 years old, I had won a custody battle, became a certified nurse’s assistant, declared nursing as my major, and became sober from alcohol with help from a sponsor, which I used as an unhealthy coping mechanism during treatment. Initially, I had no idea what a healthy role model for my daughter would look like, so I looked to the women who inspired me. These women were women who had courage to break patterns, women who pursued their education to better themselves, women who empower other women, women who were single and thriving, and women of faith. I want my daughter to take life by the horns, show up fully for herself in the human experience, set and enforce boundaries, and follow her intuition. If that is so, I must do the same, which requires me to be bold in untangling my former patterns of self-sabotage and to just do the darn things. I have persisted, and because of that, I am preparing to graduate with my Associate’s degree in Social Work in the summer of this year and begin nursing school in the fall while my daughter graduates into the first grade as a healthy, wildly intelligent, and sensitive child. Choosing to better myself through my education, therapy, and sobriety, I hope, will inspire my daughter to show up courageously for the rest of her life as well. I choose to be a single mother for the time being because I do not want the distraction from the most important things: my daughter, my education, and my serenity. The women who have gone before me continue to inspire me with strength and hope, and when I feel I’m at my wit’s end, I look to them for guidance through the hard things. I am determined to continue co-creating a beautiful life for my daughter and myself. I don’t expect this beautiful life to be free of further hardship, but we have learned the art of resilience and persistence. The only way out is through. As the inspiring Glennon Doyle says, “We can do hard things.”

Choosing to pursue a nursing degree after my daughter’s diagnosis of high risk infant acute lymphoblastic leukemia just felt like a natural fit to me. My initial interest in nursing peaked when I was a teenager, and my father was diagnosed with stage four Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Yes, I’ve experienced a lot of cancer diagnoses of loved ones in my life where I have shown up as a primary caregiver. I was thirteen when my father was diagnosed with cancer. My sister was just starting kindergarten, and my brothers were 11 and 2 years old. My 11 year old brother and I teamed up to manage the household and the farm while our father was fighting for his life in the hospital and our mother worked and cared for him. Our father battled cancer twice and participated in a stem cell transplant which ultimately saved his life. Just two years after graduating high school with honors, I became pregnant with my daughter. I was still recovering from a traumatic past several years of my father’s cancer battle, and now an impending divorce of my parents. My daughter was and is my world. I didn’t get to be a “normal mom” for very long. My daughter was born in October, and by summer she was acquiring multiple infections, very pale skin, many bruises (which I attributed to learning how to crawl), and slept even more than the usual baby. One day, she wasn’t waking up, until finally she let out an agonizing scream. She had a high fever. I called my grandmother, a retired LPN, and she told me to go to the clinic right away. Upon arriving to the clinic, we were immediately told to go to the ER across the street. Within just a few hours, life as I knew it had changed. “Your daughter has leukemia.” I had no idea BABIES could get CANCER. My daughter and I rode in an ambulance to the Sacred Heart in Spokane, Washington, as there were no doctors who specialized in pediatric oncology in North Idaho. What we thought would be a two year treatment plan turned into almost five years, including four trips to Seattle Children’s Hospital for CAR-T Cell Therapy, a mismatch cord blood transplant, and nearly fatal graft versus host disease. My daughter miraculously survived. When she was moved to an outpatient setting and her and I were living with family, I was encouraged to go back to school, even if it was just one class at a time. Eventually, my daughter was able to get her central line removed, and at that time I decided to participate in the CNA program, thanks to a friend of mine who was a nurse and empowered me to pursue my nursing education. At this point, I am a CNA in my chosen field of hospice, where I would like to build a career. While my daughter did survive cancer, many of her friends did not. Through pediatric oncology I became intimate with the fragility of life and the sacredness that is death. To be a part of the transition that occurs at end of life is truly an honor and a privilege. My daughter rang the bell when she was five and a half years old. Now that she is thriving in public school, I am ready to apply for nursing school. I plan to begin with my LPN and go from there. I also have interest in becoming a death doula. Death is our greatest teacher about life. Witnessing my daughter being near death has transformed my life forever.

Choosing to pursue a nursing degree after my daughter was diagnosed with high risk acute lymphoblastic leukemia at ten months old was a decision that was divinely guided. Oftentimes, I feel as though the four and a half years my daughter spent in treatment and the life experiences and insights I gained during that time were a part of my prerequisites for nursing school. In my classes, I experience flashback memories to various stages of my daughter’s cancer treatment, and I am able to easily connect the dots in what I am learning, as well as experience a certain amount of healing. During the 1,716 days of treatment, from the day my daughter was diagnosed with cancer until the day she rang the bell for end of treatment, I underwent my own deep, personal transformation. I was 21 at the time of my daughter’s diagnosis, just a kid myself. My daughter’s doctors, nurses, social workers, and various other members of her medical team raised me while I raised her within hospital rooms and housing for cancer families. I learned how to change dressings for central lines, give chemotherapy drugs, hook up IV fluids, IV antibiotics, and TPN. I have flushed central lines, pushed over 20 different medications a day, involved myself in creating care plans and advocacy, hooked up feeding tubes, and pulled red wagons down the halls of pediatric oncology. I have done everything a nurse does, even without a degree. Not only did I learn the ins and outs of countless medications, how to keep my composure on visits to the emergency department, and hold my fragile baby in a five hour ambulance ride, I also learned about the fragility of life. I held the hand of my best friend’s son on the day he died at fifteen months old from brain cancer. I took my daughter to visit the headstone of the little boy we spent nearly all of treatment with. I explored my deepest fears around death until the only thing I could do was surrender to the life we were living, the life of childhood cancer. During my daughter’s cancer treatment, I learned how to be an exemplary nurse by paying attention to the nurses who showed up for us. I learned that being a nurse was more than just taking vitals, reporting to the doctor, and answering to the millionth distal occlusion on the IV pump of the day. Being a good nurse is also holding the sick baby so mom can shower the vomit off herself, or taking over a wagon ride in the hallway so mom can get a quick coffee, or being the arms a mother collapses into after she hears of another death of a child. Nursing requires compassion, patience, integrity, serenity during the storms, the provision of dignity, and a whole lot of heart. I have been completely broken open by my daughter’s diagnosis, and in the openness and the ache, my destiny was made clear to me: I would become a nurse myself. When my daughter was finally well enough to be in outpatient treatment and have her central line removed, I began my trek towards a nursing degree, beginning with becoming a certified nurses assistant. I have fallen in love with the world of hospice, and I hope to continue a career in that particular field as I create a life of stability for the sweet little girl who showed me how to be brave and show up with everything I’ve got. Thank you for your time in reading a small glimpse of my story.

I became a single mother while my daughter was still in treatment for leukemia after the hospital social worker and oncologist expressed their concerns about intimate partner violence. I knew I had to get out of the marriage I was in, but I was terrified because I was so focused on the survival of my daughter, and a shelter was not an option, as my daughter had little to no immune system. My daughter was diagnosed with leukemia when she was ten months old. I woke up to begin my first day back in classes after having a baby, but instead of doing school work, I was taking my daughter to see the pediatrician for a high fever. One look at her, and we were sent to the emergency room. She was covered in bruises, which I had attributed to learning to crawl. She was pale, lethargic, and so dehydrated that it was difficult to draw the labs that would inevitable tell me my baby had cancer just a few hours later. Our local hospital was not specialized to treat childhood cancer, so we rode in an ambulance across state lines. I had to drop my classes to focus solely on her. I never went home again after that day, except to retrieve clothing and a few basic essentials. My daughter’s leukemia was stubborn, so after 8 months of living in the Ronald McDonald House, we were once again sent to a different hospital even further from home so my daughter could participate in a clinical trial and a cord blood transplant. Less than a year after receiving her transplant, graft versus host disease reared its ugly head, and my daughter’s health took a more serious turn. Once again, my daughter and I were on a 5 hour ambulance ride, where we would face the most terrifying stretch of treatment. During the summer of graft versus host disease, I miscarried, and my marriage was proving itself to be an unsafe situation, to the point even hospital staff being close by was not a barrier for my husband’s words and actions. It was shortly after this hospital stay that the medical team explained to me the dangers they were aware of. With intensive interventions, my daughter miraculously survived, but was looking at an additional number of years to recover. Upon arriving home, my marriage was to the point I had to contact police so I could leave the home safely with my daughter. Praise be to God, my family opened up their home to us. At this time I knew that I needed to compete my education, so I started chipping away at college one class at a time, while fighting a custody battle in the middle of a pandemic, spending countless days taking my daughter to appointments, administering medications, and performing central line care, and living on $500 a month. We made it happen. I got everything I asked for in the custody battle, and shortly after trial was over and nearly five years after diagnosis, my daughter rang the bell for end of treatment. She is now in public school and thriving. We are still living with family, though we have moved multiple times since I’ve been a single mother. I am now working as a CNA in hospice and continuing to pursue a nursing degree. So far, we get a happy ending to cancer, but our story isn’t over yet. I am determined to become a nurse so I can provide long term stability for my daughter and myself, from the ground up.

I am a single mother of a cancer survivor. My daughter was diagnosed with high risk infant acute lymphoblastic leukemia at ten months old. At the time, I was twenty-one and married to my daughter’s father. My daughter failed to achieve remission with traditional chemotherapy, but she qualified for a clinical trial of CAR-T Cell Therapy at Seattle Children’s Hospital. This worked, but because her leukemia was so aggressive, we immediately followed with a mismatch cord blood transplant, which came with many life threatening complications. The summer after my daughter received her transplant, when she was two years old, her and I went back to Seattle by ambulance from Spokane, Washington. We spent the entire summer in the hospital fighting for her life. During this time, I became increasingly aware of the the complications within my marriage. Upon returning back to my daughter’s original care team in Spokane that fall, both the oncologist and social worker confronted me about what they saw as intimate partner violence. Even though my daughter was still in treatment, I knew I had to leave. Just before my daughter’s third birthday, I became a single mother by choice, because I had to break the cycle. This meant my daughter and I would be starting from the ground up. For another two years, I fought in a custody battle during a global pandemic while my daughter was under immune suppression. At this time I decided to go back to school, one class at a time. Naturally, nursing felt like the best fit for me. With all the life experience I had acquired through my experiences of my daughter battling cancer and being her primary caregiver, it made sense that I would pay forward the compassion that was given to us from her nurses. The judge gave me everything I asked for at trial. A few months later, my daughter rang the bell for end of treatment at five years old. During the long years of being in isolation rooms in the hospitals, merely surviving by the grace of caffeine, I promised myself that I would just do the things. Being so intimate with the fragility of life and being broken open by my daughter’s diagnosis and the deaths of her friends in oncology, completely shifted my perspective on life. I discovered a strength I didn’t know I had that would inevitable carry me through more hard things. Since being a single mother, my daughter and I have lived in multiple homes. We’ve been scraping by and leaning heavily on our support system, all while showing up for the beautiful, miraculous opportunity to experience the human existence. My daughter is my reason to continue persisting. She has my hope, my drive, and my reminder to be courageous. Pursuing my nursing degree is my opportunity to provide a life of long term stability for myself and my daughter. We can do hard things.

My life has revolved around cancer for as long as I can remember, from my grandfather’s cancer cancer diagnosis as a result of Agent Orange in Vietnam, to my father’s diagnosis of Stage IV Hodgkin’s Lymphoma when I was 13, to my daughter’s diagnosis of High-Risk Infant Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia when she was 10 months old. When I first heard the words, “Your daughter has cancer,” my heart dropped into my stomach. I knew exactly what this entailed. My mind flashed back to when my mom told me my father had cancer. Once again, I was thrown into a world of grief, fear, and constant hand sanitizing. It felt as though I was living parallel lives with my mother and grandmother, both in the medical field, both caregivers for someone with cancer. With their lived experience, I leaned on them heavily, and gained further understanding into their lives of survival mode. My first ever ride on an airplane was to go to Seattle to visit my grandfather in the hospital after his bone marrow transplant, which ultimately failed. He lived with cancer for twenty more years, and miraculously passed away cancer free. When my father was diagnosed with lymphoma, I was just about to enter my 8th grade year. I was the oldest of four, so my brother and I took care of the farm and our younger siblings while my mom spent all of her time either working or at the hospital with our dad. I was rarely allowed to have friends over because his immune system was so weak. He was placed in “the Circle of Life,” as he was not expected to live. Somehow, he went into remission, but he relapsed when I was sixteen, and was cured with a stem cell transplant. To this day, he still experiences immune complications as a result of his cancer diagnosis. Just when I thought I had processed my difficult teenage years, cancer struck again. I was twenty-one when my daughter was diagnosed. I had no idea babies could get cancer, but when the ambulance took my daughter and I to Sacred Heart Children’s Hospital in Spokane, I would find that not only do babies get cancer, they die from it as well. My daughter failed to achieve remission after eight months of traditional chemotherapy. We had lived in between the hospital and the Ronald McDonald House for all of this eight months. Her oncologist was able to pull some strings, and due to her lack of remission, she qualified for a clinical trial of CAR-T cell therapy at Seattle Children’s. This treatment put her into remission just ten days after receiving her cells, and immediately after, we began preparing for transplant. Two months before my daughter’s second birthday, she received a mismatch cord blood transplant. While transplant itself was successful, the graft versus host disease to follow was severe and near fatal. My daughter proved to be a miracle. From diagnosis to the day she rang the bell for the end of treatment, we had spent 1,716 days on the pediatric oncology rollercoaster. She went through 7 central lines, countless transfusions, many fractures from steroid induced osteopenia, and sadly, the deaths of many of her friends. My daughter is a living miracle. It seemed natural to me to pursue a degree in nursing. I have lived experience, which gives me a leg up in my education, and it’s important for me to be able to pay it forward. Our nurses became family, and I want to provide that same level of comfort to my own patients.

Hi, I’m Sydney, and I’m an Alcoholic. I’m an alcoholic who is using the twelve-step program of Alcoholics Anonymous to recover from alcoholism, severe anxiety, CPTSD, codependency, and emotional disregulation. Since my sobriety date of March 05, 2022, I have had to come face to face with my past, my traumas, my fears, and my patterns. Ever since I was a small child, I have struggled with anxiety. I am sure some of this stemmed from growing up in a dysfunctional home with a parent who was diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder and inflicted psychological trauma onto my mother, myself, and my siblings. With my work in AA, I am able to see him now as someone who is sick, and finding forgiveness helps lessen the grip of my anxiety. Throughout high school, anxiety and depression took a strong hold. I began self harming by cutting myself, binge eating, and threatening suicide. During this time, my doctor tried several medications for me, and none of them worked. It was suggested that I had bipolar disorder and anxiety, yet no one knew about the chaos that was occurring within my home. During my senior year of high school, I discovered alcohol and the craving that developed after the first drink. That same year, I was molested by a friend. After graduation, my mental health completely tanked. I was so depressed that I would sleep or stay in bed all day and every day because I was too low to do anything other than get up to use the bathroom or eat sometimes. At that point, I had such little self worth and self esteem, that I began to further self harm in the form of sexual encounters with strangers, just so I could feel something. I left to Bible College that summer, and within two months, I had many panic attacks with increased anxiety, came out as queer, and was advised to drop out and move back home after I told my therapist I had been further contemplating suicide. Moving home was not what I hoped it would be. My brother had taken over my bedroom, so I moved in with my aunt and uncle. My drinking and partying increased to the point I felt like I was beyond help. I ended up spending time with my cousin, who was addicted to meth and heroin. While I did not try those particular drugs by the grace of my higher power, I did learn how to snort pills. I was constantly under the influence of something. This led to several sexual assaults within a period of 5 months. I continued using until my cousin and I were in a car accident, and she moved away because I had finally told my grandmother about the drug use and my fears. I was no longer able to provide rides for my cousin to get loaded. At this point, I had lost nearly all of my friends due to my addictions and mental illnesses. I ended up dating who would be my daughter’s father. What I did not realize early in that relationship, was that I would end up leaving with help of the police several years later due to domestic violence. I became pregnant with my daughter just before my 20th birthday. My pregnancy and my love for my unborn daughter put a halt to my substance abuse. While pregnant with my daughter, my father was arrested for domestic violence, and my parents separated. I ended up moving in with my daughter’s father, and anxiety and PTSD took a hard grip on me. The birth of my daughter saved my life, I believe. I married her father despite warnings from my family and friends. When my daughter was ten months old, and I was 21, she was diagnosed with high risk acute lymphoblastic leukemia. This would be my wake up call. I spent most of my time alone with her. My husband was not helpful, and inflicted his anger towards me. I showed up every single day for my daughter. I learned the ins and outs of her treatment and diagnosis. I refused to leave her side until the doctor told me I had to get a minimum of three nights of sleep at the Ronald McDonald House. I allowed this time with my daughter, and all the sleepless nights at the hospitals be the thing that broke me open and work from the inside out in my transformation. While my daughter was still in treatment, I had a miscarriage. My husband no longer held back with his language and actions towards me in front of the nurses, to the point the oncologist and social worker had to provide and intervention and explain was intimate partner violence was. I listened, and I left, and thus began a two year long custody battle. The stress and anxiety I experienced from my daughter’s cancer treatment and my divorce led to heavier drinking, yet I still persisted. I went to school to get my CNA, and I won the custody battle that continued through the COVID-19 pandemic, and got everything I asked for from the judge. In 2022, my daughter rang the bell for end of treatment, and I hit an emotional rock bottom. Since then, I have found the proper medications for my anxiety, depression, and PTSD. I have been in therapy, and I have a sponsor. I made a firm decision to break the cycle for my daughter, and I have not turned back. I’m grateful I persisted, because today I experience peace, emotional sobriety, abundance, and gratitude. I am now able to use my past as a tool for learning about myself, as opposed to a prison. I have not had a panic attack in nearly a year. I am able to get along with my daughter’s father, and I am able to find forgiveness for mine. I now have a story of being an OVERCOMER. I am no longer a victim.

I am studying Nursing in school with a minor in Social Work. In December of 2023, I will be ready to apply for the nursing program. I plan to apply for both the LPN and RN programs, and whichever one I get into is where I will start, but will bridge to BSN either way. I have one more class needed to get my Associate's degree in Social Work, and four more classes to complete to be done with my prerequisites for the nursing program. I have considered becoming a Nurse Practitioner down the road, as well. There are many obstacles I have overcome while attending school as a single parent. When my daughter was ten months old, she was diagnosed with high-risk acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Because of this, I had to take time away from my education so I could focus on her survival specifically. I was able to get back into school while she was in an outpatient setting for treatment. Due to her cancer diagnosis, I was unable to join the workforce until she was five and a half, which is when she rang the bell for the end of treatment. We are a low-income family, as I simply cannot work full time while I am attending school, therefore we live with family members until I complete my education and create a life of financial stability for the two of us. During the COVID-19 pandemic, I was in a custody battle with my daughter's father, which I won, as the hospital social worker had to pull me aside and explain that what hospital staff witnessed was intimate partner violence directed towards me from my daughter's father. While I have been in school, I have also become sober from alcohol, which I used as a crutch at times to get through my daughter's cancer treatment and my divorce. For the past year, I have been actively working with a sponsor and attending AA meetings. I have also dealt with what feels like insurmountable anxiety and panic attacks related to PTSD, which I am finally able to keep under control with anti-anxiolytic medications, counseling, and the work I am putting into the twelve-step program of Alcoholics Anonymous. I am dedicated to completing my education and getting my nursing degree as a way of breaking the cycle for my daughter, who has proved to be a living miracle. As of now, I am working as a Home Health and Hospice CNA. I intend to become a nurse and potentially continue a career in hospice, as well as become a death doula after I have completed nursing school. Through my experiences with my daughter's cancer treatment and the many deaths of children whom we knew in pediatric oncology, I have become intimate with the fragility of life. Because of this, my heart is drawn toward end-of-life care and advocacy for hospice patients.

I am particularly drawn toward Hospice and End of Life Care. I have experienced the fragility of life through my daughter's battle with infant leukemia. During the several years she was in treatment, many of her friends and children we met in pediatric oncology did not survive. Because of this, death has not been cushioned for me. I lived every day for 1,716 days (from the day of her diagnosis to the day she rang the bell for the end of treatment) not knowing if she would wake up the next day or not. I met my best friend during my daughter's cancer treatment. She had a son close in age to my daughter, who died from ATRT brain cancer at fifteen months old. For five years, I have walked along the path of grief with her and held space for the heartache we both experience. Because of this experience, I have learned to decriminalize death, and I have learned that it is not something to fear because it is inevitable. I have faced my greatest fear of potentially losing my daughter to cancer, and I have witnessed my friends live those fears. One year before my daughter completed treatment, I became a CNA, and I am now working in hospice as a CNA while I work through school to get my nursing degree. I would like to continue working with hospice and advocating for the geriatric communities, as well as families who are grieving. I can be a strong container for grief, and my experiences in the world of pediatric oncology have expanded my levels of compassion and understanding. The dying process is a sacred rite of passage, and it is a privilege to be a part of this process. Along with my nursing degree, I also have an interest in becoming a death doula. I have been told often that people sense peace in death within me. I have the ability to stay calm in situations that are fearful for others. It is important for me to be able to provide gentle, loving, and compassionate care to individuals who are near death, as well as to family members who are experiencing anticipatory grief. Not only is providing exceptional end of life care important to me, but creating a life of financial stability for my daughter and myself is also important. I am a single mother of a cancer survivor. It has taken me many years to get as far as I have in my education because I have spent most of my adult life in survival mode as my daughter's primary caregiver. My daughter and I have lived with multiple family members over the years, as well as hotels, hospitals, and housing for oncology families. I have not been able to join the workforce until about a year ago, as my life has revolved around making sure my daughter stays alive. For many years we have lived off social security and financial donations from our local community. Now that my daughter is well and in school, I am able to press towards my long term goals of becoming a nurse, and providing a home of our own. Thank you for your consideration.