Lily

In 1984 my father Jim & mother Bette, unwed and suddenly pregnant, were initially estranged. But with word from the doctor that their six-month-old daughter had retinoblastoma, Bette notified Jim as she thought it best he know. The diagnosis necessitated the enucleation of my left eye. Moved by the gravity of the situation, Jim returned to Bette's side, now ready to fill his role as a father - and in some months, as a husband. My parents, each other's best friend, are celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary in January.

In high school I considered joining the Marines. I thought of it as an opportunity to serve our country, to travel and to gain discipline. My parents and I invited a recruiter to our home for coffee and cake to discuss this prospect. After an hour-long visit I was prepared to sign on the dotted line when my mother casually mentioned that I lack vision in one eye. I could see the recruiter's heart break as the sides of her mouth turned down. A week later she called to confirm that my singular vision makes me ineligible for all branches of service. I was devastated. Stupid retinoblastoma, keeping me from my full potential.

A month later, the Twin Towers were struck. And in May 2003, the month of my high school graduation, our nation invaded Iraq. This childhood disease had, by a twist of fate, saved me from the high probability of direct combat in a messy, complicated war.

So with increased perspective I went off to college: first studying forestry in East Texas and then literature at University of Texas at Austin. One idle Saturday I spotted a flyer on campus inviting students to join a cross-continent cycling tour to raise money for cancer research. Without hesitation I applied. One year later I had completed the longest charity bike ride in the world: Texas 4000, a grueling 10-week, 4,000-mile trip from Austin, Texas, to Anchorage, Alaska. The journey changed everything for me: I now know I can do anything I put my mind to; that we have a choice to suffer and brood or overcome and soar; and that retinoblastoma won't cripple me from accomplishing the goals God puts in front of me.

Since that summer I have spent time in Africa as a Peace Corps volunteer; now work as a community relationship manager for the American Cancer Society in Colorado Springs; and by this time in 2011 will be a certified Bikram yoga instructor. I share my story not to boast, but to encourage and inspire. To all the kiddos, and to all the parents of kiddos, facing retinoblastoma and its sour ramifications: Know that you are not alone. Know that the world is still your oyster. And know that your experience, bitter as it is, will shape you in mysterious, miraculous ways you cannot foresee.

Special thanks to my family, my friends and my gifted ocularist Randy Trawnik of Dallas, who has been there every step of the way.