Our journey with the medical reality of a pediatric brain tumor started in Charlottesville, VA. Doctors at the University of Virginia told us that Jessica would be just fine. She had a benign tumor in her left lateral ventricle … they would “pop it out” surgically and then we could all get on with our lives.
The day of surgery came and went and our lives would never, ever be the same. Jessica’s tumor was not benign. In fact, it was almost the worst brain tumor one (adult OR child) could have: Anaplastic Astrocytoma (grade 3 glioma). When the pathology came back, on June 10, 2006, her neurosurgeon told us that she more than likely had about 12 months to live. Of course we didn’t believe him … how could we? Unfortunately, we couldn’t have known then just how prophetic he was. Jessica passed away here at home June 9, 2007 … nearly 12 months to the day we heard those words.
Midway through her treatment we were told that we needed to seek other alternatives. That is how we ended up at Children’s National Medical Center, under the care of Dr. Roger Packer. He and his team gave us a renewed hope for Jessica, and for that I will be forever thankful. It wasn’t a false hope, though. We knew the risks, and we knew the statistics. But the confident, professional, and knowledgeable team, headed by Dr. Packer, gave us peace in knowing we were doing all that we could for our dear daughter.
There is one moment, in particular, I will never forget.
We had decided to enroll Jessica in a clinical study involving Irinotecan and Avastin. Jessica had undergone a series of pre-treatment studies, including a spinal MRI. We were told that there was a new lesion on her spine and we were devastated. We were assured, however, that this didn’t change their recommendations for treatment.
Jessica was in a bad place, emotionally, at that time and her father and I decided it would be best to wait for a better moment to give her this news. We contacted the entire team at CNMC, but were unable to personally get a hold of Dr. Packer because he was out of town. Several told us they’d get him the message but unfortunately it never got through.
We were in the infusion room at CNMC, awaiting Jessica’s first Irinotecan/Avastin treatment when Dr. Packer came by to see us. After Dr. Packer greeted us, he spoke directly to Jessica.
He asked her, “Do you have any questions about the new spot on your spine?”
The whole room went silent (well, it felt that way to me, anyway). Jessica’s face got incredibly long, and almost immediately Dr. Packer realized she had no idea of the new area of cancer.
Perhaps this isn’t appropriate to say in these circumstances, but I’m nothing if not honest … Dr. Packer is first and foremost a highly trained, highly skilled neurologist and I would expect nothing less. If given the choice of smarmy, mushy good feelings vs. honesty and brilliance, I’d take the latter.
Well, let me tell you … not many have seen it, but that smarmy, mushy-gushy Dr. Packer does exist. He knelt down before Jessica, and placed both his hands around hers in her lap. I didn’t hear all of what he said to her, but I saw her smile a time or two. When he rose up, his face was drawn and his eyes were wet.
He spoke to me out in the hall afterwards, and he was visibly shaken. He apologized, and I could feel his sincerity. Dr. Packer, if I would’ve had the guts, I would’ve given you a big hug.
This doctor, this man, cares. He cares deeply and I can’t even imagine what it must be like to come to work every day knowing full-well that there’s a good chance the patients he sees that day may not come back the next month. That’s got to be draining, but he persists. He persists because he believes; he persists because he cares.
Thank you, Dr. Packer. Thank you for not giving up on even the most dismal cases. Thank you for offering hope. Thank you for believing in a future for our kids.
~Heide Randall, mother of Jessica Catherine Randall ~ Forever 17 ~ 6/6/90 – 6/9/07
