Childhood cancer awareness means remembering that behind every diagnosis is a child who still wants to be a kid.

For me, that became real when I was just ten years old and diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Before cancer, my life was filled with ballet, school and playing with my little sister Georgia. One November morning everything changed. My school and ballet studio were replaced by oncology rooms and clinic visits. My teachers were replaced with doctors, and my dance partner became an IV pole we named Baryshnikov. My childhood became something I had to fight to hold onto.

When you're a kid, you don’t always realize just how much you're losing until you look back. Cancer steals birthdays at school, dance recitals, sleepovers, and ordinary days with friends. It robs you of the comfort of your own bedroom and the ability to walk without pain. I played in the Ronald McDonald room with other patients where we worked hard to remain children. We all had different diagnoses, different numbers, and different outcomes. We still found moments to laugh, make slime, and cause a little trouble. We longed to be mischievous, even though we sometimes were held to a higher standard.

There is another part of childhood cancer that people don’t always see. Children with cancer should not have to be heroes. People often told me I was brave and strong. I never felt like a hero. I was a scared, exhausted ten-year-old who had no choice but to keep going. What was the alternative? Despite not wanting to be heroes, we naturally became them. Other children gave me strength when I needed it, and I learned that sometimes strength does not belong to the person carrying it. Sometimes you lend it to someone else without even knowing you gave anything away.

Awareness is more than calling someone a hero. I was fortunate that years of research had created a gold standard treatment plan for my type of leukemia. Funding allowed that treatment to be researched, tested, changed, and perfected. I am here today because someone before me believed that children with cancer deserve a future. We need to make sure every child has the opportunity I was given. It means funding research, supporting families, giving kids permission to be kids, and giving hope to parents who are waiting for a number that will change everything.

I am not defined by cancer, but I am shaped by it. I was given the gift of life, and I believe the best way to honor that gift is to help give other children their tomorrow, too.
 
About Lizzy Fluck 
Lizzy Fluck is a big sister, ballet dancer, childhood cancer survivor, and advocate. Diagnosed with leukemia at age 10, Lizzy spent years receiving treatment at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. Today she uses her experiences to raise awareness and support other families facing their own cancer journeys. This year she is looking forward to graduating from high school and studying healthcare in college. She continues to use her voice to raise awareness and give back to the community that helped her through her cancer journey.