My name is Jordanna — this is my daughter Mackenzie, the little blonde warrior
My name is Jordanna, and I hope this story reaches you with a heart open to miracles, love, and resilience. This is the journey of my daughter, Mackenzie — the little blonde who has already known more in her short life than many of us will in decades.
A diagnosis no parent expects
When she was about 3.5 months old, we received the kind of news no parent ever wants to hear: retinoblastoma, a rare form of eye cancer. Suddenly, our world shifted. Questions tumbled over each other. “Why her? What can we do?” The fear was suffocating.
We sought out the best care we could find — and that led us to UCSF (University of California, San Francisco). From the first consultation to treatment planning, we steadied ourselves as much as we could.
The battle begins
Over the course of months, seven rounds of chemotherapy became her reality. There were days she cried, days she slept, days I wondered if we could make it. Every jab, every tear, every dark night felt like a test of faith. But through it all, I held her — whispered to her — tried to be her anchor in a world that suddenly felt so fragile.
She had surgeries, too — each one risky, emotional, full of uncertainty. But step by step, day by day, she pressed on.
A light in the darkness
Now — thanks to medical miracles, dedicated doctors, and our own tenacity — she is nearly one year cancer-free. That phrase still feels surreal. It’s a heavy word, “cancer-free.” But we’ve made it here, breathing, hopeful, still learning to trust the sunrise again.
A hospital room, two little souls
Today was an especially beautiful moment. We were waiting in pre-op — her tiny hand curled around my finger — when another little girl caught my eye. Her name is Akira, she’s 2 years old, and she is also battling retinoblastoma.
They met in that sterile waiting room — two children who have endured more than most ever will in a lifetime. But what they found in each other was something pure, something transcendent. They reached out, held hands, hugged, played — as if they had always known each other. No words, just connection.
Akira’s grandmother — “Mama” — watched with tears in her eyes. She whispered one sentence that stopped my breath:
“This is pure innocence.”
In a moment, all the fear, all the pain, all the sterile hallways and harsh lights were washed away by the simple, fragile magic of two children bonding. Two girls who have walked through unimaginable trials — finding solace in each other.
What this means to me
I want this story not because I seek pity, but because I believe in testimony. I want you to know there is space for hope even when the horizon looks darkest. I want you to believe that in hospitals, in disease, in brokenness — miracles still breathe.
I also want to believe this is only the beginning of a lifelong friendship — for Mackenzie and Akira — built on empathy, strength, shared battle scars, and innocent joy.
Thank you for reading, for holding a little space in your heart for us, for believing.
With love,
Jordanna