Last year, the day after Christmas, we received news no parent is ever prepared to hear. Our 2-year-old son, Kannon, had cancer.
In the weeks leading up to the holidays, nothing quite added up. Kannon had one illness after another. Daily high fevers that sometimes climbed over 105 degrees, vomiting, breathing trouble and a growing exhaustion. It wasn’t like him. We went from doctor to doctor, hearing everything from viral infections to pneumonia, but nothing seemed to help.
There were little things we tried to explain away. His belly seemed bigger, but Kannon had always been our “chunky” baby lovingly nicknamed Tubby. Lethargy. Nausea. We knew something was wrong, but never expected the news we got.
On Christmas night, during bath time, I felt a lump in his abdomen. I instantly knew something was wrong; it wasn’t normal. The next morning, we went straight to our local hospital, a place I knew and trusted, a place I worked. One test led to another. An ultrasound, a CT scan and then, the devastating diagnosis, it was cancer. We were swiftly transferred to Rady Children’s Hospital San Diego and they acted immediately.
That’s where we received the diagnosis: Stage IV Wilms tumor, a rare kidney cancer that had spread to his abdomen and lungs. I’m a nurse, and in some ways that helped. In other ways, it made everything heavier. I knew what this diagnosis could mean but I also was able to advocate for him.
We were terrified.
Kannon was admitted on December 26. The very next day, he had surgery to place a port and undergo a biopsy. When early results were unclear, his care team moved quickly, starting chemotherapy to ensure no time was lost. Under the care of his oncologist, Dr. Megan Paul, Kannon began treatment on New Year’s Day.
The months that followed were hard. Chemotherapy, radiation, hospital stays, procedures and more surgeries. Things we never imagined our toddler would face. But through it all, we were surrounded by people who treated Kannon like he was their own.
The nurses. The Child Life specialists. The volunteers. They knew him. They made him laugh. They played with him. They supported me through my pregnancy. They made the hospital feel safe, a home away from home.
Today, Kannon is in remission. Strong, joyful and full of life, he reminds us every day of just how precious ordinary moments are. His bravery and resilience leave us in awe of him every day. For me, the fear never fully goes away, but gratitude has taken its place. Every laugh, milestone and ordinary day now feels like a gift we don’t take for granted.