Picture perseverance.  What do you see?  Is it Helen Keller graduating from Radcliffe, or Sir Edmund Hillary summiting Everest?  When I was young, I witnessed someone’s perseverance first-hand which forever shaped my perception of the concept.  In fact, it literally saved my life.  This will be the first time I tell this story.

I was a curious, carefree, skinny little dreamer.  My passion for painting, swimming, and riding bikes, together with a loving family, brought a childhood most would envy… until everything changed.  

Over several months, I mysteriously became “swollen.”  I was a big eater, but so was my brother, and he was built like a spaghetti noodle.  I then became increasingly exhausted and even lost my will to paint.  

Lab tests revealed low plasma protein which caused fluid to leak from my blood vessels and into my tissues.  My hemoglobin dropped so low that it diminished the ability of my red blood cells to carry oxygen.  

So, I was sent to a hematologist who ordered me to eat plenty of protein while he analyzed my situation.  It was eggs with breakfast, chicken with lunch, and beef with dinner. 

Unfortunately, a week into my protein extravaganza, I lost consciousness and crashed while riding my bike.  I was rushed to the hospital and subsequently medevaced to a trauma center where I remained in a coma.  One of my clotting factors, also a protein, was so low that it facilitated a brain bleed.  Thankfully, after several days of transfusions, I woke up surprisingly normal. 

Throughout the next year, my condition declined, bringing multiple emergencies, surgeries, and extended hospitalizations.

But, wait!  This story is not about me.

During this time, something primal awakened within my mother Kim.  Most humans have limits to the lengths they will go before they frustrate, fatigue, and become hopeless.  Even though our lives had imploded, and the bills were bankrupting us, Kim took it upon herself to solve the problem.  For nearly a year, she only slept a couple of hours each day.  She tirelessly sought experts and incessantly studied.  She encountered endless setbacks and dead ends yet refused to be stumped.  There was no distance she wouldn’t travel.  No stone was left unturned.  She even purchased immunology and hematology textbooks which she and my father learned as new languages.   

When I was home, I spent countless nights listless on her pillow resting next to my father.  I remember listening to the clicks of her keyboard and mouse.  For her, it was a race against the clock.  For me, the clicks were her calming lullaby singing, I will figure this out… You will be okay… We will be okay.

We were a year into the ordeal when the clicking abruptly stopped.  Mom sprang from her desk and yanked my father from bed.  They then feverishly rifled through piles of files, notes, and books as if they had just broken a cold case.

By morning, she had us boarding a flight to meet with a team of specialists.  Her discovery was confirmed.  Epstein Barr, the insidious virus which commonly infects the lymph system, had secretly damaged my duodenum.  Ironically, all the animal proteins I had been devouring were leaking into my bloodstream, sparking an immunological cascade of chaos.

From that point forward, my treatment became surprisingly simple.  I just ate fruits and veggies.  I have not had another bite of eggs, chicken, pork, or beef since.

Eventually, my gut healed, and my blood levels returned to normal.  Mom’s grit took me from balancing on a tightrope back to balancing on my bike.  Sure, I have some scars to show for it, but I also gained benefits.  Most importantly…she helped me walk away.  Hospital life told many sad stories of kids who were not so lucky.

Confucius once said, “The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.”  I now attack life with ambitious aspirations and plan to use the power of Mom’s perseverance to help others.  You never know, maybe I could save a life.

Some say we are only born once, but that night, after a year in labor, my mother gave birth to me for a second time. The memory of her relentless drive is forever seared into my being.  I have since had the pleasure of witnessing her resolve on more recent endeavors.   I have also come to realize her tenacity resides deep within me.  I take comfort in knowing that dirty work and setbacks are the stepping-stones to perseverance.

The crowd watches the flyer fall like a feather in my arms; her sparkling blue uniform catching the light effortlessly to match the steady smile spread across her glowing face. Her form is perfect as she successfully returns safely to the ground, leaving nothing left awry not even her satin bow. The landing looks soft and silent, as everyone intently watches. The crowd erupts, ecstatic with cheerful remarks and joyful faces, oblivious to what lies behind the bow.

The bow. The infamous token granted only to cheerleaders. A mandatory part of the uniform, the one piece that ties everything together. Most are unaware that they have been earned through summer practices in the Florida heat and weekly video submissions. The audience’s judgements are built upon our outside appearances. Our uniforms are mere shells used to make us easily identifiable and a distinct unit when together. Our bows are no more than folds of fabric and glitter placed in our hair. Our smiles are forced projections of performance. They do not see the girls underneath, battling through their own walks of life.

I met Coach Joy when I began my cheerleading journey this year. Nothing could prepare me for everything that is cheerleading. My lack of experience was no excuse for my coaches. If anything, it motivated them to push me even more. The art of stunting was something I never imagined myself being able to do. The idea of supporting a human being and throwing them in the air with my own hands was intangible and wildly out of reach. I was my own worst enemy when it came to overthinking and limiting myself. Coach Joy didn’t let me overthink. She simply would tell me I was joining a stunt. I quickly learned that whenever the coach said, “Let’s put this up one more time”, it was never just one more time. It was exhausting. My thoughts intruded, “Why are we doing this again? What’s the point?”, but she simply stood, focused in her stance, with a blue ribbon bow proudly perched upon her ponytail. She knew we were tired, but she also knew that determination was the only way we would ever improve.

For someone who knew so little about me, Coach Joy always had my best interest in mind. It was a drive home from a basketball game where I saw her in an entirely different light. Previously, we had only conversed over crowded gym bleachers or dewy grass fields, but this was different.

She spoke and flashed back to April of 2010 when she was diagnosed with Stage 2 Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. Her eyes flickered as they traced the road before us. There she was back in that restaurant with her daughter and cheer coaches when she heard the results. She told me that her initial thought was to get through it. At the time, she was coaching a cheer team of very young girls looking up to her at every second. She spoke –  her voice rich with the fortitude and passion only a survivor can know. Coaching with cancer had a significant impact on Coach Joy; enough of an impact to lead her to writing her own article documenting her journey.

While she is considered to be a survivor to me, she has done far more than survive. She has thrived in such a way I can only aspire. Through my eyes, she exceeds the traditional duties of a coach. She has instilled the concept of perseverance in our team as well as its purpose in all aspects of life. It is waking up with a cold and running the New York Marathon. It is starting a 192 mile bike ride in five hours of pouring rain and pedaling through the storm. It is hitting the mat after a fall and standing back up – ready to do it all over again. It is bruises, tears, and bandages. It is everything my coach stands for. She tells our team that perseverance is “a combination of grit and resilience”. It is not instant gratification. It is not a new uniform or even a shimmering bow. It is putting in the work and pushing through every obstacle. It is all behind her bow.