We move some of the furniture back into place (because I basically rearranged their whole living room for family pictures), and I settle down in a comfy leather chair to chat with Jordyn and Brandon, Copeland’s parents. I just adore their cozy home in Enterprise, Alabama. I imagine all the days Copeland and his brother, Wilder, have spent here playing, wrestling, singing, and snuggling.
Just as I’m about to ask about the boys’ relationship, Jordyn turns her head and says, “Hey Wilder, please don’t drag Copeland by his leg.” Ha. Brothers.
I realize that I have truly just made myself at home as I’m snuggled up with my legs folded in my lap, but surely they expected this when they made their home so warm and inviting! Jordyn begins telling me about the days and weeks leading up to Copeland’s diagnosis.
Otherwise healthy, Copeland began vomiting randomly in November of 2018, the month of his first birthday. His pediatrician administered some nausea medicine, which seemed to do the trick for a while. Just a stomach bug, everyone thought. No big deal.
Soon, Copeland developed some drainage in his right eye and his right ear that just would not go away. Just a little infection, everyone thought. The pediatrician prescribed antibiotics. But his parents did wonder…
Copeland wasn’t walking yet at a year old, but babies develop so uniquely! The way he would lose his balance when crawling admittedly confused his parents a bit, sure, but he seemed healthy and happy.
After weekly visits to the pediatrician for all of November, December, and half of January, trying to deal with the persistent vomiting and drainage, Jordyn and Brandon noticed that Copeland was using the right side of his face less, and he looked like he was smirking a bit when he smiled. His pediatrician recommended a CT scan.
Jordyn says she wasn’t particularly worried about the scan. “I’m a nurse,” she tells me, “but my mind still doesn’t go to ‘cancer,’ especially when it comes to my kids.”
“Our lives literally changed in a matter of minutes.”
On January 17th, however, cancer made a grand entrance into her mind when the emergency room doctor came in with Copeland’s CT scan results. “Our lives literally changed in a matter of minutes. We didn’t know what it was yet, but we knew it was bad, and knowing something was wrong with him was enough. I immediately fell to the ground and broke down crying.”
Just after being told that Copeland had a large tumor on his cerebellum, Jordyn and Brandon had to kiss him goodbye as he flew to Children’s of Alabama, in Birmingham, while they made the three-hour drive by themselves.
“It was scary. We had just found out he had a brain tumor, and we had to send him off on an airplane without us.”
Three days later, on January 20th, Copeland had his first brain surgery. His doctors shared what they knew— the tumor was big, it was aggressive, and it was in a weird, tough spot. Copeland was diagnosed with Atypical Teratoid Rhabdoid Tumor (ATRT), which is a rare type of brain tumor that only accounts for 4% of pediatric cancers.
Copeland’s community immediately flooded his family with support. They received hundreds of messages, donations from friends and family, and even visits from strangers who came to pray for them. “It was truly amazing,” Jordyn says.
“Hey Mommy,” I hear from the hallway. Wilder walks in holding a cup with a lid and asks, “can we put a live cricket in here?” Oh, the life of a four-year-old! We giggle about the silliness of his question, but then Brandon hops up and fulfills the request. Their pet lizard can spare one cricket, I guess!
I can feel Jordyn’s joy as she watches her guys skip away down the hall, and I know that’s how she manages to carry the weight of her baby’s diagnosis— by finding joy in small things, like crickets and giggles.
Copeland endured in one short year an astonishing amount of treatment, and he handled it like a champion. Chemo, two surgeries, three stem cell transplants, over eighty days in the hospital, six weeks of radiation, and he continually blew everyone’s mind with how well he responded.
“Everyday, his doctors would come in and say they couldn’t believe how well he was doing,” Jordyn says through a grin. “This year was obviously a tragic year, but—”
“Whoa!” Brandon yells from Copeland’s bedroom. He sounds panicked. “I’m gonna need some backup in here!”
Jordyn leaps up and runs off yelling, “What is it?!”
I listen carefully to make sure everything is okay. Thankfully, I gather that this is a diaper emergency, not a brain or blood emergency. I hear them laughing down the hall as they try to clean up the blowout that once may have caused worry or even frustration, but these days only invokes laughter and provides a good team-building exercise for Mom and Dad.
After solving the diaper crisis, everyone settles back down on the couch. We have a good laugh and regroup again so I can hear the rest of the story.
“The journey has brought out so much love. It’s helped to bond our family. It’s really brought us together in a way.”
“So anyway…” Jordyn begins again, “this was tragic year, and we would never want our son to be diagnosed with cancer, but the journey has brought out so much love. It’s helped to bond our family. It’s really brought us together in a way. Of course we know that Copeland could be healed in Heaven, but we have been praying and believing from the beginning that he will be healed here on earth with us and that we’ll get to spend more time with him. This would be so much harder if we didn’t have our community to rely on and our faith to cling to.”
“You know,” Brandon chimes in, “the hardest thing for me is that I don’t like receiving things. I’m not very good at it. I’ve had to force myself to accept it this entire year. Sometimes you just have to let it go and accept help when you need it though.”
Jordyn and Brandon both agree that Copeland’s fight has forced them to look at life differently. Everyday, they practice letting go of the small things, letting their kids be kids, and remembering that every single day that Copeland wakes up is a gift. Every single day that they get to spend with their boys is a special day. Every moment matters, and they intend to enjoy each and every one.
Copeland has his first post-treatment scans this week on Friday. While his parents are a bit anxious because they know his cancer is aggressive, they are continuing to pray and believe that Copeland continues to defy the odds and thrive.
As I walk through this season of thankfulness, I continually think of Copeland. I am thankful for the days he has woken up and snuggled with Mommy, wrestled with Wilder, and giggled with Daddy. I’m thankful for his family’s support system and for the hope, prayers, and faith that have given them strength as they walk through the unknown. I’m thankful for their love, which makes every single day special. I will do anything to end childhood cancer because Copeland is worth it.
Until there’s a cure,
Kayla
