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Kaelyn Thimons
Ms. Thomson
AP English Language and Composition
27 October, 2017

Lifeline: Breaking the Silence

Fifteen percent chance of survival, heightened mortality rate, oblivion, forlornness, and

desperation all hit me like a MAC truck speeding at 70 miles per hour on the turnpike. One day I

was practicing basketball, tennis, and playing club volleyball preparing for an upcoming

tournament. The next day I’m at my pediatrician’s office and she tells me she can’t hear my heart

beating, when in all reality, it was beating rapidly and abnormally. Next thing I know, I was

rushed to Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh, or CHIP, as I like to call it, and two weeks later I

wake up in a hospital bed hearing I have a near to incurable and extremely fatal form of cancer.

January 22, 2013 is the day that changed my life forever and 2017 is the year I break the silence

by telling my story.

At the age of 12 my primary concerns were my friends, sports and the average middle

school crushes. It all started around October, in the year 2012. While participating in sports, I

began to notice I became short of breath much quicker than normal and experienced excruciating

pain in my spine. Fevers arose very commonly, receiving them about two to three times a month.

In November of that year my parents sent me to the pediatrician thinking I had bronchitis. The

pediatrician was very sure of herself when she said it was “just a bug” and she prescribed me

medication thinking the problems would significantly decrease in the next week or two. I shoved

my illness all the way back to my hippocampus. In doing so, the pain in my back and in my

spine, became more noticeable preventing me from performing average daily tasks. I went to see

a chiropractor thinking my spine needed realignment. How they did not catch a tumor that

covered two major vertebrae of the spine; that I will never know. The chiropractor gave me strict
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instruction to disengage myself from physical activity for a week and to “take it easy”. I waited

more than a week to see if the discomfort would disappear and still I could not properly breathe

or operate correctly.

On January 22, 2013 I woke up, put my school uniform on and went to school expecting

an average day of sixth grade at Saint Kilian Parish School. I vividly remember I had an early

dismissal after lunch while all of my friends were at recess to yet again visit the pediatrician. I

walked into my classroom to gather my belongings and talk to my teacher, Mrs.Smith, about

what I would be missing in the remainder of the day. She asked me if everything was okay and I

began to tell her that I was feeling a little under the weather lately and that I would be back to

school tomorrow. Little did she know that I did not come back to that school for not just that day,

but for the rest of the school year; she also for sure was not expecting a video two weeks later

from me, that was later shared with my classmates, that explained my diagnosis. My step-mom,

Amy, picked me up from school and we were on our way to the doctor’s office. I sat on the table

as I did when I was five years old when my biggest issue was getting a flu shot. I began to tell

Dr. Cowden my symptoms and she began the examination process. She spent an abnormally long

amount of time listening to my breath sounds with her stethoscope. She hesitantly spurted out

that she could not year my heart beat and that we needed to go to another facility to get blood

drawn and an x-ray. The technicians at the facility sent us home and they said they would review

the imaging and the results as soon as humanly possible and call with the results as soon as they

were received. Before we could even get home to my dad’s house in Gibsonia, Pennsylvania,

they called saying that it was mandatory that I was to be at Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh that

very night. I tried to keep my composure as best as I could and I went home and packed an
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overnight bag thinking it would be one, singular stay in the hospital. I sat on the couch in my

family room waiting for my dad to get home to take me to the hospital.

When he entered the door, he came over to where I was sitting. At the very instance we

locked eyes, a shadow of fear cast over me and tears began to trickle down my face. My dad

embraced me and assured me everything was going to be okay. We got in the car and drove a

short five minutes to my mom’s house, picked her up, and were on our way to the hospital. I

never had been hospitalized before so that was another aspect of fear. I looked out the window of

the car amazed and astonished about how beautiful the Pittsburgh skyline looks at night. My

mind was racing and my heart was pounding; but the second I laid eyes on my city, my mind was

clear and my heart felt weightless.

Once we had arrived at the hospital we were directed to the emergency center. I knew at

that moment it had to have been bad because they had been awaiting my arrival. I

instantaneously became overwhelmed: nurses poking and prodding me getting blood and putting

in IV’s, doctors asking me about my symptoms and my past medical history, and technicians

arguing over which scan they needed to run me through first. I had always dreamed of people

fighting over me, especially if it was the Jonas Brothers, but that fantasy was quickly

extinguished. After the chaos that surrounded my room a man in a pristine, white lab coat and

Batman socks walked into my sector of the ER. His name was Dr. Robins, a man I would grow

to know the rest of my journey. He was in his final year in the pediatric oncology fellowship

program. Dr. Robins walked me to my scans and treated me as if I were hospital royalty. For my

MRI, I was sedated and next thing I knew I was being rolled and admitted into a room with a

light up, pink, fuzzy heart shaped pillow laying on the bed; little did I know I was admitted in the

oncology wing on the ninth floor; my home for the next ten months.
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After that night, I received many forms of pain medication through my IV. The next

week and a half were a blur until they started weaning me off of medication due to the fact I had

a biopsy scheduled. Just imagine being asleep for a week and a half straight; and those few times

I did wake up the only visual seen was an empty room or parents outside the hospital room

speaking to numerous different types of people within the hospital; social workers, nurses, and

doctors. The day after my left lung and bone marrow biopsy, they were able detect that I had a

mass that encompassed my entire left lung that stretched up into the left region of my neck. The

medical professionals were unable to detect what the mass was, so I was sent into more imaging.

This imaging detected not only that mass, but masses in the T12-L1 region of my spine, in my

femur and pelvis, along with the right side of my skull. This news devastated my parents, but had

not reached my ears yet due to the fact they didn’t know what type of cancer had taken over my

body.

Before all of the results from scans and biopsies came back they predicted I had non-

Hodgkin’s lymphoma; but boy were they wrong. The testing came back and it became apparent

that I was diagnosed with Ewing’s Sarcoma. Ewing’s Sarcoma is a rare form of cancer, within

itself, and generally starts in bone and travels into tissue and organs My case was more difficult.

The cancer that was invading my body was in a reversed form. It started in tissue, which in my

case was my left lung, and then traveled to other bone segments in my body. Fifteen percent

chance of survival is what they told my parents. At the time, I had no clue it was this severe. My

parents one day sat at the edge of my elevated hospital bed and very calmly told me I was

diagnosed with cancer, but left out how severe it was and all that I would eventually undergo.

Before I knew it I was started on a regimen of two different types of chemotherapy. The

first kind was infused into my body over the course of five days and was less severe. After those
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five days and nights spent in the hospital, I was admitted to go home for a week, if I was lucky.

When that week was up, I was admitted back into the hospital for two days to receive an

extremely harsh and more severe type of chemotherapy. Chemo took a huge toll on my body. My

weight had significantly dropped almost 30 pounds; my lowest weight being 82 pounds. My

white blood count had dropped to 0.0, and my platelet, red blood cell count, and other counts had

dropped drastically. My dad is a physician and he said himself he has never seen someone’s

counts drop so low. Many blood and platelet transfusions were to come in my future.

There have been three doctors that stuck with me through the highs and lowss of my

journey. There was Dr. Robins, the fellow with the Batman socks, Dr. Scott, a.k.a. Scotty, who

was a “softie” and Dr. Andrews, my primary oncologist. At about a month into treatment, I was

only able to recognize Scotty due to his personal and eccentric bedside manner and how

emotional and attached he was to my case, myself, and my family. He only deals with the

“sickest of the sick patients” as he liked to say, so when I started getting better he slowly

vanished into the dust. My last memory of Dr. Scott was when my dad was staying with me in

the hospital and he entered the room to review my scans and to see if I was progressing

throughout the course of treatment. He pulled up my scans on the screen and miraculously, the

mass in my neck and chest was about half the size it initially was. This was a miracle in itself.

Scotty and my dad began tearing up. Due to the fact I was oblivious of the severity of my

disease, I was in complete and utter shock when they displayed this much emotion.

There were whispers around my room and the hospital about a man named Dr. Michael

Andrews. At this point I had seen so many specialists and doctors I could only pick out a few. I

kept asking my mom, “Who’s Dr. Andrews?” She would reply, “Kae he’s your doctor and he’s

been in here before!” The name didn’t ring a bell in the slightest. In the first visit I was able to
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remember Dr. Andrews. I was able to recall that he ordered that I start radiation treatment and

that I should see an ears, nose, and throat doctor immediately before my vocal cord snapped from

the cancerous pressure. On top of my already existent and routine chemotherapy, I had radiation

treatments five of the seven days a week. Dr. Andrews, although not easily distinguishable at

first, developed such a close relationship with my family and I. He was there for my transfusions,

PORT placement, PICC line removal, treatments, and my life in remission thus far.

As for the social life of a pediatric cancer patient, it was non-existent. I partially believe

that my parents sheltered me from having a social life and communicating with my friends. The

reasoning behind this was due to my low blood counts and bald scalp. I was allowed out of the

house and had to constantly wear a mask. If I were to catch something as simple as a common

cold, it could potentially become fatal. By not communicating much with my friends, I didn’t

have to worry about missing out on sports, school dances, and social gatherings because I simply

did not know about them.

After my first round of radiation came to an end, I had about three months off of it until I

had to repeat the cycle again. I was so excited because I was able to go on summer vacation with

my family and at least pretend to be a normal kid for a small period of time. That thought did not

last for long. I developed esophagitis which made it extremely painful to eat or drink. I sat crying

and in pain anytime I would swallow, with burning sensations in my left lung and throat. I had to

return home and be admitted into the hospital, this time for two weeks. Some may say that these

were a good two weeks in the hospital because I did not receive chemo or radiation, but I can

assure that it was not. I was in excruciating pain. Not only that, but the reasoning for delaying

my therapy was simply because my body was too weak to handle it as I was being threatened

with feeding tubes. The thing that I hated the most was feeling weak, helpless, and pitied and this
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moment made me feel frustrated more than anything. I could take the pain and isolation, but

feeling as if I was anything less than the Kaelyn Thimons seen pre-cancer was personally

intolerable.

Fast forward to November of 2013. This was the month of my last round of

chemotherapy. After chemo ended I was enrolled back into school for part of my seventh grade

year. Going back to school was hard for me missing out on so much of my education, not to

mention wearing a wig to school everyday. Starting in late November, I started up radiation yet

again. I would go to work with my mom in the morning while she rounded on patients, went to

the hospital and received radiation therapy, and then went to school. Most days I would go to

school with constant nausea and aching all over my body. It was very tiresome but I came so far

in my journey, I was not going to let one obstacle from stopping me from getting my life back.

This experience really made my family grow closer. At this point in my life my parents

had been divorced from quite sometime and my brother and I thought our family was lost

forever. My sickness not only gave me new life, but breathed new life into the Thimons family.

In 2016 when I made a near full recovery, I came to know that I would forever never

fully recover. Many specialist meetings and appointments later I came to find that I had a very

slim chance of becoming fertile, had a compression fracture in my spine, suffered from “chemo

brain” and had severe damage to my lung tissue deteriorating the majority of my left lung. I

thought to myself, “If I was still suffering from my disease, it had to have been more severe than

what my parents told me.” In September 2017, I sat down with my mom and I asked for her

honest and uncensored story about my disease. She began to tell me that I had a fifteen percent

chance of survival and the severity of the Ewing’s Sarcoma that controlled my body was

classified as Stage 4. I was shocked, speechless at least. If that wasn’t enough, my mom told me
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another option weighing on their minds. They could not bear to see their baby girl so sick and

helpless. An option that weighed on their minds was not letting me suffer and letting me pass

peacefully. I thank the Lord every day for overruling that decision and taking me under his wing,

giving me perseverance to survive and overcome the odds.

After unburying the truth, I really pondered what my purpose was here on earth and

questions poured into my mind like the rushing current of the great Niagara Falls. Why did God

choose to save me when I was basically a walking corpse? Why was I saved over all the other

children suffering in the world? Am I destined for greatness? Is my purpose to empower and

inspire others? Can my story and experience influence or speak to others? These will all be

revealed in due time. The “side-effects” and scars from Stage 4 Ewing’s Sarcoma will last

forever, as will my spirit and ability to persevere. I was told I could not so I challenged it and

proved my doubters wrong. Here I stand: breaking the silence of the life of a child with a fatal

disease; just hoping to touch, empower, encourage, and inspire others to make life worthwhile

while still breathing on earth. Take risks, enjoy life, visit places thought to be unimaginable,

work hard and make it meaningful. Do everything with a purpose because living on earth is a

privilege many cannot go back and experience, so take advantage of it.

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Memoir Characteristics:

 Purpose

o The purpose of a memoir is to take the author’s personal experience and leave

“food for thought” for their reader. Through the authors message, they can choose

the purpose, or what the reader can take away from their experience. In Frederick

Douglass’ memoir, his purpose was to show the brutality and malevolent nature

of slavery in the United States in that time period. Everything he wrote about

referred back to his purpose.

 Narrative Structure

o In a memoir, the author has the power to organize the information of their own

story however they choose. It can include flash backs and jump around in terms of

time period. In my memoir, I include a flash back. My parents were divorced

years before I was diagnosed with Ewing’s Sarcoma, yet I included it towards the

end of my paper, rather than starting it with that. The focal point I wanted to focus

in on was my experience with cancer. I used a flash back to show the effect

cancer on my family life. I also used flash backs in dialogue for imagery. As for

the climax and resolution of a memoir, the author can choose where they want to

start and end their memoir. For example, My story started with the climax, and

then I began with the rising action to explain what led up to the climax. Then after

the rising action, I explained in detail about the climax, and then ended with a

resolution and self-reflection.

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 Point of View

o The point of view in a memoir is always written in the first person. In an excerpt

from Augusten Burroughs’ book, Running With Scissors, he talks about his

experience with an absentee mother. He tells his “side of the story”. If this

instance was to be told from his mother’s point of view, the story may be very

different. Point of view is all about perspective.

 Themes

o Themes within the story help better explain what the memoir is about. In the

Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, some themes portrayed are slavery,

dehumanization, suffrage, freedom, the value of education, and religion. These

themes make up the memoir itself. Frederick Douglass uses anecdotes and

examples to go into further detail about the themes which encompass the memoir.

 Audience

o As for the audience, the memoirist chooses to whom their memoir appeals to. In

Michelle Obama’s Convention Speech in 2012, her audience was the American

voters, more specifically those of the Democratic Party. She speaks to the

audience to help her husband, President Barak Obama’s chances of being re-

elected into office for his second term of President of the United States of

America. The audience is who the author hopes to influence and convey their

message to.

 Style

o Stylistic devices help bring a story to life by including a variety of types of

figurative language. In Running with Scissors, by Augusten Burroughs, he uses

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this simile to talk about how he didn’t want his mother to leave him; “The blow

dryer continues to tick like a clock, counting down the seconds. Burroughs also

uses an allusion by referring to Jean Nati when describing his mother. These help

keep the reader engaged and to paint a picture of the scenario in the reader’s

mind.

 Scope

o In a memoir, scope refers to highlighting a particular amount of time in the

memoirist’s life. For example, in The Narrative of the Life of Fredrick Douglass,

Frederick Douglass focused on what he felt the most influential moment in his life

was which was his life as a slave on a southern plantation, instead of writing

about his birth, life as a slave, and life as a man free from slavery (post-slavery).

 Similarities/differences of a memoir and an autobiography

o A memoir if written in the first person by the owner of the story. It uses scope and

focuses on a particular life changing or influential event in the authors life. They

don’t tell the story from birth to the end of their life, like an autobiography does,

but write their memoir in a time frame, usually on a few years. For example, a

memoir we analyzed in class is The Narrative of the Life of Fredrick Douglass,

written by himself, Frederick Douglass. Instead of writing about his birth, life as a

slave, and life as a man free from slavery, he dialed in on what he felt the most

influential moment in his life, life as a slave on a southern plantation. An example

of an autobiography is I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, by Maya Angelou.

This autobiography is classified by a “coming of age story”. It starts when Maya

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Angelou was three years old and goes all through her life, which covers a vast

amount of time.

Reflection:

 In my memoir, I highlighted and touched on all of the characteristics of a memoir listed

above. The purpose of my memoir was to touch the audience and tell the life of a child

with a fatal disease. I wanted to inspire my readers and open their eyes to the “nitty

gritty” information that usually is unknown and untold. As for narrative structure, I start

in the introduction with the climax which was life while I was sick. The memoir then

falls into the rising action, which was the events leading to the climax, which is described

in further detail. Next falls the falling action which flows into the resolution. In my

resolution, I left my readers with a sense of closure, though there is no complete

resolution to the topic of my memoir and the experience itself. For point of view, I told

my story through my eyes and how I felt suffering through cancer. If one of my parents

were to write about it, they could tell how it felt to see their child go through such a

difficult moment, but they could never speak on behalf of my physical appearance and

emotional state. Some themes within my essay are perseverance, relationships with

friends and medical staff, loss of a social life, desperation, oblivion, and family life.

Those all relate to the general topic of my memoir, life as a pediatric cancer patient. I

wanted the audience to be everyone. I feel as if everyone can benefit from this story.

Many people can try to put their feet in my shoes but ultimately fail not going through

my specific journey. My audience should feel touched, motivated, and inspired after
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reading Lifeline: Breaking the Silence. Multiple types of figurative language were

included to convey style throughout the memoir. For example I used a simile within the

first sentence of my introduction; “Fifteen percent chance of survival, heightened

mortality rate, oblivion, forlornness, and desperation all hit me like a MAC truck

speeding at 70 miles per hour on the turnpike.” This was used to help paint an picture in

the mind of my readers. This piece is classified as a memoir because I wrote it myself and

used scope to dial in on the most influential moment in my life thus far.