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And I knew that in certain ways I was very lucky. I felt reassured because I knew I was at a place near home, where people cared about me even though they just met me, a place where I was included in decisions being made even though I was only 14, a place where I had complete belief in my doctors and nurses because I knew that they had my best interests at heart. This makes me eternally grateful to each person who helped me.
But even surrounded by everyone at the hospital, I somehow felt alone in my battle. There was never a point in my five months in the hospital that I wasn't in contact with another person, yet I was fighting in solitude. This is because the enemy was myself; I had to fight something that was intrinsically a part of me, and no one else could help me fight me. This added to the challenge but also weighed me down. At times the pain became too much, and if I was only going through this ordeal just for myself, I thought quitting might be a better option than experiencing the pain. It was then that I realized that I might be fighting alone, but I was definitely not fighting for only myself. I was fighting for the kids in the hospital rooms next to me, I was fighting for the doctors and nurses and everyone who was part of the cancer center, I was fighting for my friends, for my grandparents, for my brother, and for my parents. That's when I knew that along with survivorship comes responsibility. I was suddenly strongly connected to other people in the cancer community.
After treatment, my first year back to school for tenth grade was a real physical struggle. I was still bald and had to use the elevator. My teachers and friends could see that I needed tremendous support while I tried my best to be a regular kid. Then I would go home and go directly to bed until the next morning. I was still working hard to get through each day. By eleventh grade, I was looking and acting like my old self, but on the inside I was completely new. My thinking had changed, my dreams had changed, and I just couldn't make sense of why the details of school were important — even though throughout my treatment my main goal was to get well so that I could start school in the fall with my class. Because I was confused and had trouble sleeping, I also had trouble getting up and I began to miss classes, which added to my stress and further reduced my ability to sleep. Schoolwork seemed much harder. I had trouble focusing on what I was reading, made lots of careless errors in math, wasn't able to plan or organize my work and often brought home the wrong books for my assignments.
I didn't want to talk to anyone about it, but my parents asked me to write down my thoughts as a way to move forward. Actually, I don't remember too much about this time period, as I also have short term memory loss as a result of chemo (which I guess in this case is a good thing). I soon learned there was a name for what I was going through, and it was called post traumatic stress disorder. It can be one of the major challenges for childhood cancer survivors. I do remember that I resisted talking to a therapist because this type of treatment was not part of my original roadmap and I didn't want anything "extra." I've heard that many kids feel this way.
My story is representative of most, although I have been fortunate thus far to suffer fewer late effects than many other children. I now know that as I age, the drugs I took may affect my heart, my liver, and many other organs. Even though my treatment ended four years ago, I still get tired easily, rarely feel hungry, and seem to get a cold every time someone sneezes. I think it would be helpful to offer both a roadmap during treatment as well as a roadmap after treatment so that late effects during survivorship can be minimized. I also think that survivorship programs give everyone a more positive outlook. Doctors and nurses see that the kids they helped save are continuing to get the best care and current patients see survivors who have their hair and energy back, thus acting as visual signs of hope.
I know that I benefited from the experiences of children who were treated before me, because my protocol was the result of clinical trials that other children enrolled in. As a way to honor those children and help others in the future, I am trying to raise awareness and funds for childhood cancer research, for cures and less toxic treatments, and for survivorship programs. That is why I go to Washington to speak with representatives from Tennessee, that is why I share strategies that worked for me with other teens, and that is why I am sharing my story here.
After having cancer, I now realize what is important to me and what is not and when I am being true to myself and when I am not. Although it may seem that sometimes we are given too many choices and sometimes we are given too few, for me it is the understanding that it is not only the choices I am given, but the ones I create on my own that will mold who I am and who I become. 
Editor's Note: Jarrett Stein is now 19 and in his sophomore year of college at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia. His 22-year-old brother BJ recently graduated from the same school and offered a support system away from home when follow-up appointments were needed. Jarrett is working on a book about his cancer experience called "Bald or Shaved." When he's not writing, Jarrett enjoys challenging his big brother in a game of hoops. Jarrett also has a passion for food and creating new dishes that began during treatment, when he was too sick to enjoy certain foods. His latest attempts in the kitchen focus on perfecting the art of sandwich making by adding a modern flair, and the aspiring restaurateur plans to open a sandwich shop at Penn. When he's not away at school Jarrett enjoys time at home with his father, Roland, and his mother, Jennifer Louis, who are actively involved in the cancer community and advocacy at the state and federal level.
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