Erin’s story is one of inspiration and true gratitude.  Erin is a board certified and licensed physician assistant, but Job #1 for her is being a mama to a cancer warrior. She hopes to raise awareness and improve treatment options for pediatric cancer. In the meantime, Erin and her son Jack celebrate and enjoy every day.

“The scan is showing ascites not stool like we initially thought” the pediatric ICU doc said as he sat at his desk looking at the CT scan on his computer screen. Suddenly a diagnosis of constipation became instantaneously more serious. “Ascites?!” I repeated, as my physician assistant brain searched back to medical knowledge I learned years ago in graduate school. “He doesn’t have liver issues, so are you telling me my son has a malignancy? Does my son have cancer?” I demanded. The doctor spun around in his chair and met my eyes, an obvious mix of pure sadness and sympathy, but also wonder at the diagnosis I had formulated in just a few minutes time. At this moment my life was over, I was beyond devastated. At nineteen-years-old I lost my mother to cancer and figured that my turn was over and I had suffered enough in this lifetime. Never in my wildest dreams, or worst nightmares, did I ever consider it even possible that my only child would be diagnosed with cancer. I wish I could say this was the worst moment of my life, but six months later, eight weeks after finishing his treatment “successfully”, I was told my son’s cancer had returned. This time I knew it, but I prayed for any other diagnosis except for this. Even a new and different cancer would be more acceptable versus a relapse. This time the prognosis was far more dismal and something I still can’t seem to wrap my head around.

My son is my only baby. I am divorced and aside from some alternate weekends, I largely raised him by myself. He is my true love and my absolute best friend. When I heard his little heart beating, and when I held him for the first time, the hole in my heart that my mother’s death left me with was instantly filled, patched, and painted over. Being a “mama” is the best privilege I’ve ever been given and helped me become the absolute best version of myself. To look in the mirror and be proud of who is looking back at you is a gift in its self.

Watching your child battle cancer, twice, is a really hard journey. I signed consents to procedures and treatments no mother should ever have to consider, and no child should ever have to endure. Today we both still suffer from anxiety that the cancer will return again, which is more than likely a death sentence. At the same time, everything that happened almost feels like a bad dream that isn’t really real, and maybe didn’t happen at all.

My son is now eight-years-old and ten months post salvage chemo, high dose chemo with stem cell transplant, and radiation therapy. I wake up every day grateful. I get to make him breakfast, get him ready for school, and scramble to get to work at a decent time. After a six-month leave of absence I love going to work now. I love fighting with him over what to wear to school while I try to make myself look acceptable at the same time.

Every moment with my son is a gift. Our day–to-day life is beautiful and I feel grateful to have any interaction with him, regardless of how mundane. Taking care of him and loving him is a privilege and frankly an honor. I was tasked to care for a sick child, and with my education and love of medicine prior to this, I know it was always my destiny.

Every night, once he falls asleep at night, after fighting with me over bedtime first of course, I check on him and pause for minute in complete awe. Every night I wonder how I was lucky enough to be chosen to have him. How despite his poor prognosis, I was allowed to keep him. There is no greater moment than this, no need to look to the future, or wish for anything more. This is a moment, every night that I could live in forever.