Here is the article Ashley wrote for the Sanford Herald. There might have been a few editorial changes made, but this is pretty close to the exact article.
On May 21, 2012, I
celebrated the 3 month anniversary of my kidney transplant. I know that a lot
of people in our community have kept up with my story, so I wanted to make a
public thank you to everyone who has supported me, whether through prayer, well
wishes or financially.
My family moved to
Lee County in 1985 from Harnett County. We were, in a lot of respects, in a
strange new land. My sisters and I had to start new schools and my mom, who was
already a student at CCTC, had to make friends in a new neighborhood. We didn’t
have any family here. Our closest relative was my aunt who lived in Bunnlevel.
For all the isolation we might have felt, we were greeted with welcome arms by
essentially everyone we encountered. It was not long before my mom had made
friends that were as close to her as sisters. My sisters were always going to a
friend’s house or going to the movies. I feared that my disease would keep
people from wanting to befriend me, but other than a few instances, that was
never the case. People saw me for who I was, not for what I had. I am not just
talking about other children; I am also talking about adults.
We lived in Sanford
for 5 years. While there, I attended Jonesboro and J. Glenn Edwards Elementary.
When I was 10, my mother bought a house in Broadway, so I had to switch schools
once again. By the time I entered East Lee Middle School, I had attended 4
elementary schools. Also, when I was 10,
I experienced my first exacerbation of Cystic Fibrosis. I had spent my life
doing breathing treatments, chest percussion and taking pills, but I never
understood what having this disease really meant… until one day, I was climbing
a dogwood tree in my front yard, and I felt something stabbing me in the chest.
I dropped to the ground in pain. My mother rushed me to the emergency room at
Duke and I was diagnosed with pneumonia. It was at that very moment that my
childhood ended. I was still the energetic, mischievous child I had always
been, but I understood something about the world that most children have the
privilege of never even thinking about – that life could be devastating. After
the doctors told us that I would have to be admitted, they left the room. I
crawled into my mom’s lap and cried while she rocked me and assured me I’d be
ok. In that moment, I only knew the comforting warmth of her embrace. Now, 21
years later, I shudder thinking about the fear she too must have felt and I am
amazed by the strength it took for her to never reveal that to me.
It was only a week
into my hospital stay when I received a package from Broadway Elementary
containing around 50 handmade cards from other students in my grade wishing me
well and telling me to hurry and get back to school. This is a story that would
repeat itself all the way up to my high school graduation. With every hospitalization, and honestly,
there were too many to count, came letters, cards, phone calls, and visits. Most
people who have been in a hospital will tell you that it is the last place to
go to get rest. This is the truth and for me it was not just because doctors
and nurses are coming in and out of your room 24 hours a day, but because
between visits, reading my mail, decorating my room with my cards or flowers,
and talking on the phone, there wasn’t any time to rest! My senior year of high school I spent 4 months
in the hospital, 3 at Duke and 1 at Baylor in Houston, Texas. During that time,
the combination of my disease and my medications caused me to drop to a
dangerously low weight and I even lost the ability to read. By the time I
returned to school, I had taught myself how to read again and worked my way
through a small part of Jack London’s Call
of the Wild. No one in my medical
community thought I would be able to graduate and even tried to talk my mom
into holding me back a year. But my mom never believed in holding me back from
anything. I graduated that year with the rest of my class. I remember on graduation
when my name was called out, everyone began cheering for me. After I had
crossed the staged, I collapsed into the arms of my guidance counselor, Mrs.
Kite. I was weak in the knees and sobbing uncontrollably. I had done it…I had
defied every diagnosis thrown my way, and I had achieved my goal of living long
enough to receive my high school diploma.
Graduation was 14
years ago, and I am still defying diagnoses. I will be 32 years old on August 1st
and my mother was originally told that I would never live to see 9 years old.
My fight for life hasn’t been easy and has involved numerous surgeries and
treatments, including a double lung transplant 11 years ago and my kidney
transplant in February of this year. This fight, however, has not been fought alone.
People have come out to my fundraisers in freezing cold, rainy weather. They
have donated, even when the expense was too much for them to bear. I have
received Facebook emails from children as young as 12 years old asking if they
can donate their kidney to me. I have been given prayer after prayer begging
God to heal me in some way, shape or form. People have even written letters to
our government asking them to help me be able to afford my medical care. I feel
as if my community has just as much stake in my health as I do or as my family
does. I am beyond ecstatic to tell them that now, over 3 months post
transplant, my kidney functions are the best they have been since I was in
pediatrics. I am happy to say that I now can go an entire month, working 7 days
a week, without needing a nap.
It is important to me
to share my life with those who have held me up and helped me maintain my
strength and dignity throughout my battle with Cystic Fibrosis. I want for
other families who have children with this disease to know my story and,
therefore, to know that their child has a fighting chance … but it is a fight
and you have to be a warrior. I tell my stories with such personal candor
because I feel they exemplify what the human spirit is capable of and because I
think they clearly demonstrate how we live in a community that is willing to
sacrifice for the good of another person, regardless of superficialities like
race, religion or politics. So, again, I say thank you to everyone out there
for going out of your way to not only ensure that I remain healthy, but also to
make sure I get to wake up every morning to a brand new day!
Readers can follow my
story at www.facebook.com/kidneycutie and by reading my
living donor’s blog at www.jeremy-kate.com.
Thank you,
Ashley Quinones
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