Dancing in the Rain

Farmington fifth grader Kelly Ray was one of the winners of an annual essay contest sponsored by the Farmington Rotary Club in collaboration with West Woods Upper Elementary School. Read her essay, "Dancing in the Rain" below. 

By Kelly Ray

On July 20th, in the middle of my second sailing regatta, I was T-boned by another sailor. During the crash my shin hit an upright board in my boat and I went flying. My shin started swelling, something was definitely wrong - I didn’t hit it that hard…… My life flashed before my eyes. Picture this; feeling like the luckiest kid on earth, like nothing could bring you down. You’re sailing.  It’s a beautiful sunny day with a full breeze. Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, a massive thunder and lightning storm appears. You try to contain your fear and fight back at the storm.  Finally, after a long and difficult journey through rough water, the sun starts peeking through the clouds and the breeze gently brings you home. I’m the kid fighting the storm, making my way through rough water.  This is my story.

 On August 29th, 2012 my life changed forever. That day I went under anesthesia for a biopsy. (I had no idea what that was at the time.) I had had an x-ray on August 27th that made my mom and all of the other doctors very nervous. The biopsy was a surgery to look for cancer in my left shin. Waking up in Connecticut Children’s Medical Center (CCMC) post anesthesia care unit (PACU) was the most frightening occasion of my life. My eyes opened. Before me were one nurse, two surgeons, two anesthesiologists and my parents all looking at me with the same face. Their eyes darted around the room, as they all seemed to be biting the insides of their lower lips. Mom was red-faced and shaking, so I knew something was really wrong. Nervously, I asked them if we knew what it was. My mom came and sat in the chair next to me and took my hand.  She took a deep breath. Then she spoke, ending with the two worst words I had ever heard, “It’s cancer.” My eyes burned. I was too angry, confused and terrified to say anything. The surgeons, the nurse and the anesthesiologists left and drew the curtain. This year was going to be tougher than I thought, much tougher.  My worst fears had just been confirmed. I had osteosarcoma, cancer of the bone, in my left tibia.

My first chemotherapy on September 4th messed with my mind and made me nauseous. I would look at my hospital bracelet and think, “Who is Kelly Ray?” Oh, wait, that’s me. On my ride home, I couldn’t stop scratching my head. I was convinced I had crackers in my hair. My sleep cycle had been interrupted every three hours so the nurses could check my vitals. I was exhausted and the treatment was only beginning. But, deep down inside I knew that if I believed in myself, I could do anything.

Just when I thought it could not get any worse, on September 24th, I found out I was going to be an amputee. Words cannot begin to describe how I felt. My parents and I met with one of the most renowned experts at Memorial Sloane Kettering Cancer Center.  In the middle of our visit, I was to go with my aunt to get a CD of my X-rays. When we re-entered the room, my mom was red and shaking again. This was not going to be good. First, the doctor showed me two x-rays of girls with osteosarcoma and said, “In one girl, we used a metal plate and cadaver bone to reconstruct her tibia after the cancer was removed. The other girl had the tumor removed by cutting the leg off at her knee. What would be safest and most straightforward for you would be the amputation.” I wanted to run out of there and go home. But, I was in New York City.  I couldn’t.  I felt like she had just ripped my heart out.  But, I was going to overcome this. No matter how hard I had to work for it, I was as ready as one could be.

On November 26th, I woke up at 5:00 AM and clung to the sheets of my bed for as long as I could, then realized I couldn’t hide forever. I got up and marched down the stairs for the last time on my own two feet, climbed in the car and was driven to the hospital. The last step I took was in the operating room. I laid down on the table and let the anesthesia put me to sleep. When I woke up, I felt like my amputated leg was in a giant hole and my right was not.  My leg was gone. Nothing could change this. However, my tumor was gone too. That sailing accident saved my life. Before that, we had no idea the cancer was silently growing.   Shortly after, up in my hospital bed my dad said something I’ll never forget, “You can’t direct the wind, but you can always adjust your sails.”

Although I am not done with my treatment, I am more than halfway through the process. As difficult as it has been, this journey has taught me to always try to look at the bright side of things. There is a Chinese proverb that says; “You can only walk halfway into the darkest woods, because after that you are already walking out.” Earlier today, I took my first steps on my new leg. As I started learning to walk on my prosthesis, I was reminded of another saying that has changed the way I see the world. “Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain.” Today, I start with walking, then I will run, and just wait, soon I will be dancing again! As my dad says, “A is for attitude, and P is for perspective.”  Sure, my life is not perfect, but to me, I’m still the luckiest kid on earth.