Port St. Lucie, FL

It was Thursday, September 19, 1996 when my mother-in-law called me at work to tell me that something was wrong with my son Jimmy

— his left side was drooping, and she thought he might have had a stroke. What I remember about that day was my son's face through the car window. He gave me this great big smile and at that very moment, my motherly intuition told me that my child had a brain tumor.

Within two hours, we were informed that our three and a half year old had a brain tumor, and that he needed to be treated immediately. Before the afternoon was out, Jimmy and I were on a private jet to Shands Hospital in Gainesville, Florida. We would spend the next two months of our lives there. Jimmy was treated with radiation and anesthesia twice daily, at 8:00am and 2:00pm. At 9:30, after the first treatment, we would go back to our rented apartment. Jimmy would cry for food, but he was not allowed to eat or drink anything before his second round of treatment.

In addition to daily treatments, Jimmy suffered from a horrible staph infection in his hip. He was rushed into surgery and for the next three weeks, we lived at the hospital. Not only that, his veins were burning and collapsing from repeated doses of anesthesia. Our three year old then had to have an Infusa Port inserted into his chest. He was on an unbelievable amount of medication for the staph infection, for thrush, and for so many things, I can't even remember. He had to take steroids four times a day because of the swelling in his brain. Not only did they make him hungry, they caused his weight to double.

During the course of his treatment, we were told that Jimmy was going to die, that the treatment was just to buy us some time. We were told it would be a miracle if he survived. Jimmy was discharged the first week of November, and we returned to Port St. Lucie, but his ordeal was not over. He had to wear a brace on his hand and leg. He had to go to Occupational and Physical Therapy three times a week. We were still praying for a miracle.

By Thanksgiving, my husband and I noticed a decline. We made an appointment at Shands on December 5, 1996. On the way to Gainesville, we took Jimmy to the Magic Kingdom and Sea World for the first and last time. The MRI showed that his tumor was smaller, but we knew that it was growing back. We returned home. At Christmas time, he was barely able to walk. After Christmas, Jimmy lost the ability to walk and talk. We would pull him in his wagon and he would point at things, but his steady decline continued.

On January 17, 1997, following another MRI at Shands, we received the awful news. The tumor had grown back larger than ever. Jimmy had a month to live. Three and a half weeks later, my husband and I were lying on the bed with Jimmy when he took his last breath. Jimmy's long ordeal and short life were over.

I resolved not to let our son die in vain. His life meant something, and so would his passing. With the help of a reporter from the Stuart News, I and some of the other mothers were able to tell our stories. I received calls from other parents in similar situations. I was astounded at the number of children in our hometown who had brain and neural system cancer.

As parents, we formed a foundation called Suffer the Children to find out what is affecting our children. It is the mission of Suffer the Children to conduct environmental testing, work as a clearinghouse for information from the State of Florida to the citizens, and from the citizens to state officials. As a result of our efforts, we were able to get the state to launch a full-scale, epidemiological study. We know of at least 42 children who have been diagnosed with brain and neural system cancer.

I have devoted my life to the Suffer the Children Foundation. Our organization has filed for nonprofit status, and is in the process of helping families of afflicted children financially, emotionally and spiritually.