The first thing I ever heard about Mia is that she sings like a mermaid. I don’t remember who told me that, but they were right. When my ballerina-shoe clad foot stepped off of the bus for my first day of sixth grade at a brand-new school, I was feeling pretty uneasy. I had to somehow break through an already tight-knit group of kids, since I was one of maybe seven new students to a group of fifty who, for the most part, had known each other since kindergarten. When I met Mia in Mrs. Lara’s advisory, she smiled and held my hand and sang me a song from The Little Mermaid.
Mia’s reassuring alto has carried me through the hardest times in my life from my parents’ divorce, to my worst breakup, to the tumultuous transition from childhood to adulthood. She saw me through my brown eyeliner and bell-bottom jeans, and I saw her through her Skechers Shape-Ups phase. The funny thing is, I don’t even call her when I’m in need; she calls me. She just knows.
Taken in Summer 2018, before Mia’s diagnosis.
Last summer I had just returned to Davis to take summer session classes when Mia sent me a gruesome picture. The pain in her right knee that we thought was caused by stressing tissue during her frequent pilates classes turned out to be a grade IIA case of osteosarcoma, or cancer of the bone.
Osteosarcoma is only measured on a scale of I-III rather than the typical I-IV scale for other cancers, and Mia’s IIA rating meant that she had a high-grade, localized tumor. The tumor had begun to break through her bone and she was going to need surgery to replace her entire knee and a segment of her upper tibia. Luckily, doctors found that it had not spread to other commonly affected organs within her body. Unluckily, she would have to miss her sophomore year at the University of Washington in order to undergo fifteen rounds of chemotherapy.
I felt extremely helpless and overwhelmed because I was far from Los Angeles, where we both live and where she is currently undergoing treatment. All I wanted was to be with my best friend, to hold her and make her laugh through the toughest fight of her life. Mia is now going through her seventh round of chemotherapy ─ she only has eight rounds left!
If you or a close friend of yours is going through a similar situation, here are some pieces of advice that I can share from my experiences these past few months.
1. Do your research.
When I learned of Mia’s diagnosis, I scoured the internet for every bit of information I could digest. Researching her condition, whether through the American Cancer Society or personal cancer blogs, was extremely helpful for both medical information and personal information. I did extensive research on what to do when she lost her hair, and since the blogs that I read were written by women who had gone bald, the information was extremely valuable to me. However, do not rely on statistics. While researching osteosarcoma, I came across some extremely intense information that was not even relevant to Mia’s case. Every patient is different ─ do not freak yourself out.
2. Send her memes.
Chances are, all anyone is talking to her about is her cancer. Sending memes and screenshots of funny tweets can bring a tough day back into perspective and distract her from a dismal hospital room or painful sensation, if only for a moment.
3. Text her mom.
The bond between a best friend and a mother is extremely important, especially when the person both people love endlessly is in distress. I’m so lucky that Mia’s mom and I are in a texting relationship ─ this means that she can reach out to me if she needs me to make Mia laugh, and I can reach out to her to schedule a visit to come back home.
4. Give her a break.
Sending a sweet text message (or a barrage of sweet text messages) is sure to make your BFF smile, but receiving dozens of heartfelt messages a day can easily overwhelm someone who is in the hospital. Give her some breathing room by letting her know that a missed call is ok! What is most important is for her to rest and heal, and sometimes the healing process includes shutting off the phone and focusing elsewhere. She knows that you will be there when she needs you.
5. Be yourself!
While it’s good to know what’s going on with your friend, it’s also important to remember that she’s just that: your friend. She shares information with you that she’s comfortable sharing ─ you are not entitled to know about her medical condition or any information or procedures that she has coming up. You are not her doctor. Treat her the same way that you did before she was hospitalized; she’ll appreciate being treated as a person rather than a patient.
6. Share normal, quality time with her.
Over this past winter break, my friends from home and I were so fortunate that Mia was feeling healthy enough that we could continue our years-long habit of going to our favorite mall together. Mia was in a wheelchair, so we were able to run behind her and jump on the back of the chair. This was convenient since people seemed to clear out of our path pretty quickly. Being able to hang as friends reminds everyone that this circumstance is temporary, and ultimately strengthens what was already a strong bond between gal pals.
Obviously, everyone’s experience with cancer is drastically different. I’m extremely lucky that Mia is in a course of treatment that is meant to be preventative, and that she will likely go into remission this summer. There have been some pretty scary moments, but if there’s anyone I know that can handle this, it’s Mia Isabella Sandino.
Images provided by the author.