UTI Symptoms
It all began last year, around the beginning of June. My teenage sister was staying with us at the time, and our mornings were busy ones. She was in and out of the bathroom getting ready for work, with my daughter Emma trailing close behind. Emma absolutely adores her aunt and wanted to be wherever she was.
When it was my turn to use the bathroom, I noticed blood in the toilet. I knew it wasn’t me, but I wasn’t sure if it was my sister. As women, we know that kind of thing can happen around that time of the month. I casually asked her, “Can you flush?”
She looked at me, confused, and said it wasn’t her time and that the blood didn’t come from her. That’s when little Emma spoke up in her sweet, innocent voice and said, “Mommy, I did that.”
My heart immediately dropped. I started asking her every question a mother’s mind races to in moments like that. Had she fallen and hurt herself? Had anyone touched her inappropriately? Each answer was a clear and firm no.
As the night went on, we followed our usual bedtime routine, which always included one last trip to the bathroom. Once again, Emma peed blood—this time with clots. That was all we needed to see. We rushed her straight to the ER.
At the hospital, they examined her and told us it appeared to be a really bad urinary tract infection. They gave her Tylenol and antibiotics and sent us home. Over the next few days, she still had blood in her urine off and on, but by Friday it seemed to have stopped completely.
That same day, we attended a birthday party. There was a bouncy house, lots of running, jumping, and laughter. Emma played like normal and seemed okay—maybe just a little tired, which we chalked up to all the excitement. She went to bed early that night, and we didn’t think much of it.
Hospital Visit
Sunday morning, I woke up to get ready for church and went to wake Emma. She was sweating, yet cold to the touch. Moments later, she began screaming and crying in pain. She was also running a fever. Without hesitation, we rushed her back to the ER.
We explained everything that had happened over the past week and told them she had just finished her antibiotics. When the doctor examined her stomach, I saw the concern on her face immediately.
She told us plainly, “Our ultrasound tech isn’t here. You have two options—drive her to Spartanburg or send her by ambulance. She needs an ultrasound as soon as possible.” That’s when things became terrifyingly real. Her dad and I looked at each other and said, “We’ll drive her.” We wanted to be together, right by her side.
The doctor quickly prepared the paperwork and called ahead to the other hospital to let them know we were coming.
Finding a Tumor
The wait for the ultrasound felt endless. When they finally took us back, I could sense that something wasn’t right, though I didn’t know what. Trying to lighten the moment, I joked with Emma and said, “Looks like you’ve got alien monsters in there.” She gave a small smile, and I held onto that.
Back in the room, we waited again for the doctor to read the results. Emma was still crying in pain, and as any parent knows, watching your child suffer hurts in a way words can’t explain. I was holding her when the doctor walked in and said the words that changed everything.
“We see something on the ultrasound—a mass. We need you to go to Greenville. We’re calling the doctor now and setting up an appointment.”
Because it was after hours, things moved slowly, but we eventually got an appointment for Tuesday morning. The ER doctor gave her pain medication to get her through until then. That’s when the whirlwind truly began.
Tuesday started with a CT scan. At lunch, Emma barely ate. My child who loved food suddenly had no appetite. Afterward, they took a urine sample, which still showed blood. We assumed it was leftover from the UTI, but the urologist quickly corrected us. He told us we needed to see an even more specialized doctor.
As we were walking out the door, another doctor called and told us to come in immediately. We followed him to the back, hearts pounding, still unsure of what was happening. That’s when they said it.
“Your daughter has something called a Wilms tumor. It needs to be removed. Right now, we don’t know if it’s cancerous.”
But deep down, we knew. And sadly, we were right.
Undergoing Surgery
We were told to go home and pack for at least a week. Surgery was scheduled for Friday morning. We started making calls to family and friends and posted an update on Facebook. The support came pouring in—calls, texts, visits—but we were numb. People asked how we were doing and what we needed, and we didn’t have answers.
Telling her brother was heartbreaking. He didn’t take the news well. As Friday approached, we worried about everything—where we would sleep, how we would eat, how we would survive this.
Family gathered at the hospital as Emma went into surgery. Letting your baby be wheeled into the operating room for major surgery is one of the hardest things a parent can face. I had to put on my strongest “super mom” face as she cried when they took her away.
The Ronald McDonald House was full, but our small town stepped up in the most incredible way. They had booked and paid for a hotel room near the hospital for us. Emma’s dad and I took turns staying there with our son and my sister. That week was brutal—little sleep, endless worry, and the heavy reality of what lay ahead.
Allergic to Antibiotics
Once we were finally home, we were able to breathe a little. The following week, Emma began chemotherapy along with antibiotics, which became a weekly routine. At first, she did okay, but with each treatment, she got sicker the following day, though she kept pushing through.
Every weekend after starting the antibiotics, she would spike a fever and end up back in the hospital. This went on for the first month. I started to notice a pattern. Her skin would turn red, her heart would race, and she’d develop a fever like clockwork.
Eventually, we got our answer—she was allergic to the antibiotics. Once they switched her to a different kind, those reactions finally stopped.
Losing Hair from Chemotherapy
At the beginning of the second month of chemo, her beautiful red curls started falling out as I brushed her hair. I broke down crying. She looked at me and said, “Mommy, it’s just hair. It will grow back.” In that moment, she was stronger than I was.
She started wearing floppy hats to cover her balding head and loved every one of them. Shopping for hats with her great-grandma became a special memory we’ll always cherish.
Recovery
Those months were incredibly hard. She was spoiled by everyone, and we wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. She missed so much—summer swimming, trick-or-treating, school—but she made up for it in cuddles.
On her good days, she could go out in public and do small things. She even did a few photo shoots and said she felt like a princess.
In December of 2018, she celebrated her birthday. She didn’t get a party, but she did get to ring the bell. Around that same time, we learned there were spots on her lungs. They continue to monitor them closely, and thankfully, they haven’t changed. Because of this, she has monthly scans and blood work instead of every three months.
Her most recent scans still look the same, which is a blessing. However, blood cells were found in her urine again, sending us straight into panic mode. We have another round of scans and tests coming up at the end of October, and we’ll take things one step at a time. Emma is currently in remission.
We still struggle emotionally. Anxiety and depression have hit me hard, but other medical families have helped carry us through. Every prayer has been felt and deeply appreciated. Emma has shown us what true bravery looks like—physically, mentally, and faithfully.
Childhood cancer is heartbreaking.
Childhood cancer is a monster.
Childhood cancer steals childhood.
If you’re able, please consider donating to local childhood cancer charities. These organizations support families like ours in ways that go far beyond money. They show up, they care deeply, and they walk this journey with us—every step of the way.
