Reprinted by permission of Taylor Suzanne Gettinger and Kathleen Gettinger. ©2009 Taylor Suzanne Gettinger and Kathleen Gettinger.

"Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Cancer Book"

"The truth is, if you asked me to choose between winning the Tour de France and cancer, I would choose cancer. Odd as it sounds, I would rather have the title of cancer survivor than winner of the Tour, because of what it has done for me as a human being, a man, a husband, a son, and a father." — Lance Armstrong

A young girl finds out she has a tumor.

Everybody has a moment when you know nothing is going to be the same ever again, when one part of your life ends and another begins. This is when you know that the changes, for better or worse, are going to be coming hard and fast. You're on a roller coaster, and all you can do is hope that your safety belt stays fastened and that you'll come out in one piece. These moments are what make us who we are, and I know I wouldn't be quite me without mine.

Growing up as the oldest of three children in Dwight, Ill., I had quite an uneventful childhood. My family was a huge part of my life. I had one or two close friends, and that's all I needed. I was healthy. If I had to describe myself, I would say carefree. I laughed a lot.

Then came the moment.

During spring break '07 I became plagued with horrible headaches. When we came home from vacation, I got terribly sick and was out of school for a few days. All was well for a few weeks, until I got sick again. I couldn't focus and was seeing double. My eye doctor ran different tests, and I really wasn't paying much attention because I just didn't want glasses. He explained that my optic nerve was swollen, which was causing my double vision. He told us that's normally caused by a tumor.

Stop.

Freeze.

Rewind.

Tumor?

As soon as the doctor left the room, I burst into tears. I didn't know what to do. A million things raced through my mind.

"Am I going to die? Do I have cancer? Can they fix it? Now what? O God, Kate, my best friend, is gonna freak out."

Eventually, I composed myself.

We were sent to get a CAT scan, which confirmed that I had a mass in my brain. We were shipped off to a hospital in Chicago. It was about one in the morning, and I had doctors surrounding me as I sat on a hospital bed. For six days, they gave me standard neurological exams and a billion other tests. Finally, I went home and waited to hear more.

They thought my tumor was a stage II and less aggressive, but recommended I go for a second opinion at a children's hospital that specializes in pediatric brain tumors. Those doctors considered it a stage III tumor, meaning more aggressive.

We chose the more aggressive treatment, but I figured that was just as well. I wanted to get that sucker out of there. I really didn't like calling it "the tumor" or worse, "my tumor," so I gave it a name. Gary. I think he got it worse than me. Gary was beaten down with daily radiation treatments and chemotherapy for six straight weeks. Not to mention the steroids I was on to ease the swelling he had caused in the first place.

I rested for a few weeks before starting maintenance chemo. It was a little harder, with a larger dose and another drug added to the mix, but it wasn't too incapacitating.

One of the worst parts was going to the hospital for checkups. Since I'm under 18, I'm cared for in pediatrics, with kids of all ages, shapes and colors. It's heartbreaking to see a tiny little girl, maybe 4 years old, with thinning wisps of hair on her head, looking swollen from steroids. Most of those kids are too young to even understand what's wrong with them, but they deal with the disease anyway.

Since all of this began, I feel like a light has been turned on for me. I realize now that no one has forever, and that we need to spend our time wisely, because you never know when you're going to get a swift kick in the butt to remind you of your own mortality.

I have discovered the power of positive thinking. It makes you feel better and people around you feel better, too.

I believe I will continue to grow as I encounter new experiences on this roller coaster. My safety belt is fastened, and while I don't have my hands thrown up in the air with the thrill of the ride, I'm definitely all right.

Everybody has a moment, and a lifetime to make the most of it.