By Roman Soto
Lying in the paper-thin sheets and craggy mattress of an unfamiliar Stanford Children’s Hospital bed, a distressed look on my parents’ faces seized their demeanor as they impatiently tapped their feet, awaiting the doctor’s answers to their question: “Does our son have cancer?”. Gazing upon the intricate cartoon figures lined up against the uppermost ceiling region, I mentally generated imaginary scenarios relating to the playful banner. Knock Knock—interrupted by the doctor’s dreaded return, my parents jolt off the face of the seat with a hopeful gleam in their glassy eyes. Closing the door behind her, the lead doctor delivers the news dejectedly. As the doctors exited the room, despite the brisk hospital air, the comforting warmth brought by my parents’ presence suppressed the devastation, and our decisive battle with cancer began.
When I was sixteen months old, after a pattern of unhealthy behaviors over a relatively short period, doctors at Stanford’s Children’s Hospital diagnosed me with leukemia. For those unfamiliar with the term leukemia, let me briefly educate you on what it is. Also known as blood cancer, leukemia distinguishes itself through the rapid growth of unusual blood cells in areas like the bone marrow. Immediately, my parents presumed “death” since before my diagnosis, they suffered multiple family losses to cancer’s rancor. But with reassurance on behalf of Stanford’s experienced medical staff, my parents were mildly relieved to hear that there were options available. Some of those options included intense treatment to suppress the cancer’s spread.
After three arduous years of lumbar punctures, steroids, and chemotherapy, my loss of hair or chubbiness was not the only physical toll on my body. On days when I was free from the hospital’s confinement, simple childhood activities such as playing at the park became difficult because of the clear difference between other children’s lush, newly grown hair and my exposed scalp. Bullying became constant. Shrewd looks came from children and adults alike as I wondered why they stared at me. While wandering the lonely playground, children giggled and ran away; thankfully, my mother heroically watched over me. Soon after, we learned of the voluntary health organization, the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS), formed to fight blood cancer worldwide.
In January 2014, the doctors gave my family and me the all-clear. From then on, I was a normal little boy. The following year, LLS offered me the opportunity to be the 2015 “Boy of the Year.”
From speaking in front of thousands to sharing the spotlight in the biggest halls around the Bay Area with the “Girl of the Year,” Aubrey Weed, the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, encouraged us to tell our story to raise money for the campaign. Fifteen brave candidates devote their entire lives for eight months to a campaign to raise funds for a cure to blood cancer. The female and male candidate who raise the most money becomes Man and Woman of the Year accompanied by the Boy and Girl of the Year. I felt proud to show who I was and express myself. Being unique was encouraged. Recently, in June of 2024, Aubrey and I spoke in front of yet another driven crowd; I was immediately reminded of how genuinely motivated this organization was.
Through the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, I cultivated lifelong bonds while contributing to a noble cause. Though cancer tried to bring us down, the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society exemplifies a community bound by tragedy yet driven to find a cure. Through my experience with leukemia, I learned that support from others is imperative which is why you can make a difference and contribute to someone’s opportunity to see a child thrive in life. Below is a link to the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society’s donation page.
Donation Link: