When Everything Changes

Phoenix Children’s bears witness to life’s ups and downs every day. The joys and sorrows, the dark times and hopeful turns. These moments impact everyone, from patients and families to doctors, nurses and donors. And though the experiences differ from person to person, there’s one thing they all have in common—finding a path to healing.

My cancer diagnosis at 12 years old came as a shock.

 I was active in soccer and thought the pain in my leg was from shin splints. My mom thought so, too. We iced my leg and did stretches and even went to a doctor for X-rays, which didn’t show anything. Yet the pain persisted. I went from playing soccer to being completely immobilized. On vacation with my family, I could barely walk.

 I was sent to Phoenix Children’s right away. The pain in my leg turned out to be a growth, a rare form of bone cancer. The first days were just disbelief. I wondered: “How could this happen? How in a million years could this happen?”

Then the sadness came.

 At Phoenix Children's, my care team launched a plan right away. I love a plan. I thrive on a plan. In my hospital room, there was a whiteboard. Every day, I’d write my to-do list on it. Checking things off gave me a sense of accomplishment.

The plan included surgery and 24 rounds of chemo. The first few chemo sessions were tough. I had a really good team who helped me understand what was going on and took me through all the firsts, like accessing my port or receiving new medications. But it was scary. I didn’t really process what all this meant.

I was in a hard spot. My mental health took a turn for the worse. But my psychologist at Phoenix Children’s, Dr. Lindsay Anderson, is the best. She saved my life just as much as my oncologist did. She’s been part of my team since my diagnosis up to this very day. I wouldn’t be where I am without her.

And then, of course, there were the dogs.

I found out about Phoenix Children's animal-assisted therapy, a program funded by donors. When my care team scheduled this therapy for me, it changed everything—it was in this moment that I found hope.

There were days when I didn’t feel like sitting up, or I was too exhausted from chemo or nauseous. Then I’d hear a knock on my door: “Hello? It’s pet therapy. May we come in?” I’d spring right up and say: “Yes, please!”

There were so many dogs. Some climb on your bed. There was an Irish wolfhound named Ike. He was humongous, almost as big as me. There were Chihuahuas. There was one named Tilly who had one eye and was the cutest thing. I didn’t care what kind of dog it was; I wanted to meet them all.

I think hope is important to hold on to in hard times. Whether you’re a patient or sibling or parent, everybody needs hope. To me, hope can mean big things, like hoping your cancer gets cured. It can also mean small things, like hoping to see a dog while you’re in a hospital bed. I’m grateful to the donors who have made this program possible for patients like me.

If you don’t have hope right now, know that we’re all here for you. We know what it’s like. Believe me when I say: There will be a better day.

Molly is a Phoenix Children’s teen patient who served as the 2024 Ignite Hope honor patient.

I’ve always had an interest in cardiac surgery. During my general surgery training days, our call room was one floor above the cardiac unit. In my free time, I’d go down to see what was happening in the ICU. One day, I heard there would be a heart transplant happening. I knew I had to see it.

The donor was in the room adjacent to the recipient’s room, so I got to see the heart come out of the donor. I’ll never forget the wave of emotions and hope that overtook me when I saw the recipient reading the newspaper shortly after the transplant was complete, even though he was in heart failure not too long before.

To this day—and I’m going on 20 years of doing this—I still get emotional at that moment when we bring an organ back from a donor, implant it in the patient and hear that first heartbeat. The feeling that overcomes me is almost too much to put into words. After we allow blood flow back to the heart, that’s what I’m waiting for—that first beat.

When parents come in for a prenatal ultrasound, most are expecting the results to reveal a normal, healthy baby with a perfectly normal heart. Unfortunately, sometimes that’s not the case.

When it’s determined that a patient has a heart defect, parents meet with a team of specialists. I’m one of them.

As one of many specialists involved in a patient’s care, I’m lucky to be part of a team. From cardiologists to intensivists, support staff to nutritionists, pharmacists to nurse practitioners, we’re an army ready to help our young patients. Parents and families get to see that teamwork aligned in action even before the baby’s born.

It’s philanthropic efforts that keep this well-oiled machine humming. Over the decades, medical science has vastly improved—better techniques, better approaches and a better understanding of physiology, plus closer monitoring of patients between operations. Thanks to donors aiding our work at Phoenix Children’s, we can be on the frontlines of new technology and new information, moving forward as the field moves forward.

At the end of the day, I’m here to provide hope—to show parents that there’s light at the end of the tunnel. Hearing that first heartbeat is a privilege I take very, very seriously.

Daniel Velez, MD, is co-director of Phoenix Children’s Center for Heart Care, division chief of cardiothoracic surgery and the Joseph and Shawn Lampe Endowed Chair in Cardiothoracic Surgery.

Three years ago, my husband and I moved to Phoenix. I’d lived in California for 41 years working at an auction house—a job I love and still do, traveling back to my office in Beverly Hills a few days a month—but we wanted to be closer to grandchildren. I have a grown child of my own, two stepchildren, a wonderful daughter-in-law and four amazing grandkids.

In many ways, I feel so blessed. But I’ve had my challenges. My husband had a stroke within weeks of our arrival in Arizona. My sister, Janet, was terribly ill. For months, I spent every day at the hospital. I’d work from lobbies and hospital rooms. It was a difficult time. Little wins like finding a parking spot close to the hospital entrance made life manageable.

When my sister passed away, she left me a generous gift in her estate. I knew I wanted to do something to honor her and give back to this new community that had become my home. I just wasn’t sure how.

Janet and I grew up in a family that deeply believed in philanthropy. As a child, I remember my mother’s involvement in an organization for children with cerebral palsy. My sister and I were both blessed with healthy kids, and our grandkids have always been healthy and well-adjusted. But a lot of families don’t have this experience.

So when I attended an event co-hosted by Phoenix Children’s Foundation and Arizona Charitable Gift Planners, a nonprofit that supports the state’s charitable gift planning professionals, I discovered how to leave a lasting legacy—one that would be meaningful not only to my sister but also to our whole family. That was the moment I knew how I wanted to give back to my new community.

Impressed by the mission of the hospital and having experienced firsthand what compassionate care can—and should—be, I decided to contribute to Phoenix Children’s through a donor-advised fund (DAF).

I set up the DAF in 2024. A DAF is an investment account created for the sole purpose of supporting a charitable organization. I love knowing the funds directly benefit Phoenix Children’s, but there are other benefits, too.

For one, you get an immediate tax deduction. The funds in the DAF are invested for tax-free growth, meaning the money grows while in the DAF—thus, the final gift to Phoenix Children’s may be even greater than my original investment.

But it really came down to my heartfelt belief that this donation will truly make a difference in people’s lives. The families that arrive at Phoenix Children’s have an urgent need—one that I want to support.

As for how Phoenix Children’s uses my gift, I have no preference. Wherever it’s most helpful. If that’s a new parking lot close to the hospital entrance—well, that’s just fine by me.

Carolyn Mani is building a living legacy at Phoenix Children’s. Her donor-advised fund is just the start of her impact as she explores options for investing in the health of future generations, such as an estate gift.

I studied psychology in college, but after my mother told me about Child Life, I geared my education to focus on that. Upon graduation, I began work as a Child Life specialist, doing so for more than 10 years before deciding to retire and raise my family.

When my daughter was a teenager, she got sick very unexpectedly. Doctors found a tumor and moved her immediately to Phoenix Children’s for care.

Her outcome was the best we could have hoped for, thank goodness—with surgery, she healed. But our experience as a patient family brought it home for me—it was in that moment that I saw just how valuable the services I had provided years ago as a Child Life specialist really are for parents and patients.

The goal of Child Life is to help children feel comfortable, to bring normalcy to hospitalization. We do that in many ways, much of it through play. When parents have had their world turned upside down, and the child doesn’t know what’s going on, everything feels new and terrifying for them.

Then they enter our playroom. Things look safe; things look normal. They recognize the toys, they find their favorite video games, they dive into familiar activities like arts and crafts. We see relief wash over the family, and we watch the anxiety of the unknown melt from their faces.

That’s one goal—easing fears for parents and patients—but it’s also educating children on what to expect. Kids learn through play, so everything we do in Child Life looks like play. But it’s actually teaching them what goes on in the hospital and prepping them for what they’ll experience, and in a language they understand.

Everybody’s experience at Phoenix Children’s is unique. Collectively, we want to make it the best it can be. I saw that firsthand when we were here with my daughter. I noticed it right away, in fact, in the elevator! Everybody smiled, offered to help us find our way, cared for us at every turn. I knew I had to return to the job.

As a Child Life assistant today, I love the impact I have on families. Kids who are here for long treatments can get sad and become withdrawn, so it brings joy to see them return to play and show interest in activities they used to love.

Our jobs in Child Life are funded by generous donors like you, and I couldn’t be more grateful for the support of this community that lets me do this work. It’s where my heart is.

Lisa Ramirez is a Child Life assistant at Phoenix Children’s.