When I was five years old, I was diagnosed with aplastic anemia (often called a blood cancer). On Mother's Day 2002, my parents were told that with or without a bone marrow transplant, I probably had four weeks to live. 

My family and I were scared, angry, helpless, and sometimes felt hopeless. I was bald before kindergarten. My immune system was so weak that I had to watch other kids' birthday parties out my window, never able to join them. I knew so few kids who were going through what I was. I would cry telling my parents, "I just want to be regular..."

And my younger sisters didn't get to feel "regular" either. One of them had to have her third birthday party in my hospital room because our home WAS the hospital at that time. All of us felt so alone.

That is -- until we found Gilda's Club. 18 years after my doctor said "four weeks," I'm still here, and I no longer feel alone because I've met other families like ours and other young adults like me. They've supported me through the challenges of my journey and I do everything I can to support them in return. To me, Gilda's Club is love, strength and community. It's laughter and joy, despite the sadness and fear that brings us together. It's resilience. Gilda's Club had to close its building during COVID-19 and still managed to grow its membership this year. That's how powerful it is for families living with cancer and for survivors, too. 

I want to go Over the Edge to celebrate my 19th survivorversary and to make sure that no other kid faces cancer alone.