Jim hugs Carver Faull, a previous patient, as Carver’s family looks on.
The day I met Violet and her parents, I first stood outside the door at the hospital and took some deep breaths. I swallowed hard, choked back some tears, and couldn’t go in. I took a walk around the hospital so that I could gather myself to be strong for them. I did not know what they looked like, whether I would be able to understand Violet’s speech, or how they would take the news. Over the past 22 years, I have faced the scenario too many times of walking into a room to meet a family, knowing that we would begin a journey that would last only part of a year.
I dream that before I retire, I will be able to walk into the room of a child with newly diagnosed brainstem glioma and tell them that there is hope for survival. I don’t care whether the advances come from our team or someone else — but I think we have the intellectual power, fortitude, strategic mindset and motivation to contend for the honor of finding a way to dampen the rage of this cancer.