Life after cancer presents questions as complex and perplexing as those in the thick of the fight – the greatest of which is: “What now God? You saved me for a reason. What’s my purpose?” For me, the answer is now clear. Use my voice.
There is no doubt that it is my responsibility to tell the story of a foster child named Quinnasha. Many readers who are also regular 24-Hour News 8 viewers may already be familiar with her plight. I met Quinnasha in the lobby of my oncologist’s office on Tuesday, Nov. 16, 2010. I was really lost that day. I had just learned I had triple negative breast cancer four days earlier.
As I waited to see my oncologist, I chatted with her foster mother. She told me a childhood cancer called osteosarcoma was attacking Quinnasha with such virulence, the child’s arm and shoulder had to be amputated, leaving the remaining clavicle so severely misshapen she can’t be fitted with a prosthesis. Paulette cried as she told me about this sweet little girl in her care who was so traumatized by the experience she woke up screaming at night and refused to be left alone.
And then I met her. Thirteen-year-old Quinnasha emerged from the bathroom, head down, a hood covering her bald head, the left arm of her jacket hanging loosely from what was left of the absent shoulder. She never made eye contact, but what I could see beneath her hood made my heart hurt. Her face was the picture of pain – emotional, heart-wrenching pain a child should never know. Her dark eyes brimmed with tears that spilled down her round brown cheeks.
I told her that I had been eight years older than she when I was first diagnosed with cancer. I told her how lonely it is to fight cancer when you’re young. Your friends are preoccupied with clothes, school and boys as you fight for your life. The isolation is suffocating. And that’s when she finally looked up at me. I saw in those eyes a shared understanding, that feeling that makes the hairs on the nape of your neck stand up when someone who doesn’t know you – knows you.
I held her tightly and told her she had a friend in the fight. Together we’d both beat cancer and live to testify about the goodness of God. I gave her mother a number of resources in the cancer patient support community; we exchanged numbers, and promised to stay in touch. And we have. Over the last year and a half, I’ve watched Quinnasha grow physically and emotionally. When the cancer was finally in remission, she summoned the courage to run for cheerleader and made the squad – her proudest accomplishment.
But in January, Quinnasha learned that the cancer was back, attacking both lungs and threatening her heart. Without chemo, death was certain. But because she’s a ward of the state, any treatment would first have to be approved by a judge. Three weeks later, a judge in Fort Wayne did approve her chemotherapy treatments. But Quinnasha feels shackled by a system that she believes does not move with the speed the situation warrants. And she felt deeply that no one listens to the voice of a foster child.
I realize now that’s why I met this little girl in my oncologist’s office. American journalist and humorist Peter Finley Dunn once said the job of the journalist is to “comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.” We’ve failed in our responsibility as reporters if we don’t speak for the voiceless – investigating and holding our government accountable. I don’t believe in coincidences. I never would have met this family if I hadn’t had cancer – if I hadn’t been in that lobby, in that chair, at that time. And being in that place and space presented the opportunity and responsibility to tell her story.
That’s the amazing glory of God. He uses our circumstances, our trials, our hardships to lead us to our purpose. And that’s my challenge to all my sisters during this, Women’s History Month. Let your trials prepare you for your purpose. Three cancer battles have taught me the deep abiding truth of Romans 8:28. All things do work together for our good.
I know my purpose is to use my voice, but it’s not easy. My investigations of everything from the Department of Workforce Development to the Department of Child Services have been grueling, tedious and often heart-wrenching. All have been hard and controversial and have won me few friends in high places. But while living, walking, and breathing your purpose isn’t easy, life is far too short to do anything less.
And so it is. I’ll never say I’m grateful for my trials, but I’ll be forever thankful for what I’ve learned from them – my raison d’être, my mission, my purpose. And that makes the trial worthwhile.
Deanna Dewberry is a news anchor at WISH-TV (Channel 8).
