One hundred-fifty tarnished, copper pennies lay scattered on our worn coffee table. Each representing the happy, healthy months I had been alive. I sat in my mom’s lap, as she wiped the tears off my cheek with the sleeve of her shirt, looking at the coins. After several minutes, she separated six of the pennies from the group and placed them in front of me. She gently explained, “This small pile of pennies represents how many months you will have to endure treatment and all of its painful side effects. Try to keep this experience in perspective.” As I thought about it, six months out of my life, compared to the one hundred fifty I had already lived, seemed tolerable. I could get through it.

Sitting in the examination room at the hospital, fidgeting with the crinkled tissue paper that covered the table, heart pounding, my mother, father and I waited nervously for the doctor to return with the biopsy results. The light knock on the door made me feel sick to my stomach. The doctor entered with a grave, serious look on his face rather than his usual goofy, enthusiastic smile. My eyes blurred with tears. I already knew what he was going to say. The tests were positive: I had Lymphoma.

During the many procedures I had to go through during those six months, I often had the same “pit of the stomach” feeling I had in the room where I was first diagnosed with cancer. One of the thoughts that kept me going through these tough procedures, however, was the thought of Andrea’s closet. The kids on my floor loved to peek at all of the toys piled to the ceiling, a rainbow of colors and sounds that filled that little corner of the hallway. After realizing how happy that simple closet full of toys made me, I thought about all the other kids who were in my position. How they too must look forward to Andrea’s closet when going through something hard. I wanted to give back. About six months after I finished treatment I finally saved up enough money to go to Toys R Us and buy some toys to take to Andrea’s closet. I wanted to help brighten a child’s day just like someone else had brightened mine. Seeing the smiles on their faces was all I needed to feel satisfied.

One of the smiles I saw many times while in the hospital was that of another patient named Rowan. I befriended her during my stay. She had been there much longer than I and was not doing well. About the same time I finished my treatment, she passed away. This experience changed the way I looked at life. That could have been me. This taught me to value every minute of my life and never take it for granted. Ever. Those stupid fights I get into with my brother over the last slice of pizza, or the lazy days by the pool with my “BFFs” are so very special to me. At my school being a good student isn’t considered “cool,” yet I push myself to rise above that mentality by doing my best each day, simply because I can. I’ve grown to treasure every moment I get to share with my family and friends.

I am looking forward to my college experience, and making the most out of every opportunity that comes my way while on campus. I can’t wait to have my first taste of a college exam, or meet new friends, or go to my first football game. I realize I am extremely lucky to even have the chance to apply for college, so why waste a single second of it? I have defeated cancer; nothing can stop me from reaching my goals. No matter how many copper pennies I come across, I will consider each one a precious gift.