A seismic upheaval, then spiritual strength

That, Hannah Aldrich said, was the moment it became real for her: The confusion, the sudden rush of fear and the ebbing anxiety afterward when the possibility of cancer was first raised, to say nothing of the proximity of death.

Then it came crashing down.

"I was just kind of sitting in my bed and I just realized, with all the tubes and stuff, I just thought, 'I have cancer, I'm sitting in a hospital bed,'" Aldrich said. "At that moment, I just burst out crying. I was just like, 'This isn't really happening to me.'"

Today, Aldrich is a 19-year-old first-year student at Central Lakes College. She's pursuing graphic arts, with plans to finish her general studies during the spring semester and graduate next year—taking classes at CLC while supplementing her income by babysitting on the side.

In her spare time, Aldrich is a musician and singer, currently working on material she's hoping to record soon. Whether that record is gospel or Christian music or indie-rock and alternative, it depends on her fancy, as long as it can incorporate the many instruments she likes to play.

These interests have remained much the same since her childhood growing up as a small town girl in McGregor, where her father works at Savanna Pallets. She comes from a devout Christian home, raised with three younger brothers aged 17, 15 and 10, all homeschooled by her mother.

When October 2016 rolled around, she was a high school senior taking college courses and participating in singing competitions—much as she does now, given the chance—when she discovered an odd bump on her collarbone. It was a firm little swelling, about the size of a golf ball, that would herald a seismic upheaval for her, her family and all the people who loved her.

"We went in and we're like, 'Oh, it just must be a swollen lymph node or a swollen gland,'" Aldrich said. "We didn't think too much of it. We weren't too worried about it."

Of course, as with the cautious nature of medicine, this seismic upheaval didn't come all at once.

It started with a quizzical look in the mirror, then a concerned trip to the local doctor's office. The first examination led to more examinations, then tests were introduced. One lump became two lumps—swollen lymph nodes, the second tucked away between her heart and lungs. Then a diagnosis was determined: The lymph nodes were cancerous, stage 2 Hodgkin's lymphoma.

One would expect thoughts of cancer—and the grim possibility that looms behind cancer, an untimely death—wouldn't be on the mind of a teenage girl, but Aldrich said she had given the topic a great deal of thought, even before the diagnosis.

"It has crossed my mind a lot. I have always wondered, like so many people are getting cancer nowadays and it's just so sad to see all the stories. I just felt like, 'Man, it would terrible if I were to have it,'" Aldrich said. "And I always had that fear in the back of my mind, if I were to get cancer, because I worry about everything."

What followed was a difficult stretch of time for Aldrich—bedridden for three months during which she weathered punishing chemotherapy treatments, unable to see her friends because of her compromised immune system.

Within three weeks she lost 20 pounds. When she attempted to walk—whether to go to the restroom or regain her strength—she found any movement exhausting to the point a small flight of stairs was insurmountable and it was impossible to open a plastic water bottle.

Nausea made it difficult to eat or drink, let alone keep anything down when she did make the effort. At the same time, the incisions in her collar-region—stitched wounds for the chemo port and a biopsy—came undone, leaving open wounds in her chest for much of the treatment.

Beyond physical ailments, the greatest struggle was battling the effects of treatments on the mind. Aldrich said chemotherapy would leave her listless and confused, unable to form coherent thoughts or read a text message and comprehend its meaning. This required a special arrangement with her teachers when she fell behind in coursework.

Thus, when she needed solace, she turned to faith. She listened to audio recordings of Bible scripture or lessons she could find while she was confined to her bed.

"It was really hard because when I was losing my physical mind, I decided, 'You know what, I'll strengthen my spiritual mind instead,'" she said. "It really helped a lot. I felt like I grew as a person, deeply. I found out more of who I was and who I wanted to become."

This spirituality sustained Aldrich through the deepest lows of her treatment—points when she was afraid she was going to die, or one incident when Aldrich's mother shook her awake because she thought her daughter was gone.

"The thought that ran through my mind, if I did die, I would just feel the sadness of everyone I know," Aldrich said. "I have made so many friends and I love my family and my friends. Throughout the years, the connections I've made, I feel I just didn't want to hurt them. And it was really hard for me because I felt like I was hurting them through the whole process."

There were moments of triumph as well. After revealing her diagnosis and performing a song on a video she uploaded to the internet, Aldrich said, the reaction was heartwarming and encouraging. This included Catholic school students from the Twin Cities who worked to raise funds to help with her family's medical bills. These students prayed for Aldrich every day over the intercom.

As she was a minor at the time, Aldrich was eligible for the Make-a-Wish Foundation that took her dreams of performing as a recording artist in a studio and made them a reality.

There were also the little things—how her mother checked on her periodically, every 30 minutes like clockwork, or the way her younger brothers tried to carry on like nothing was wrong. Aldrich said it was difficult to ask her siblings to be both open with their emotions, yet strong for her.

"That was the first thing I said, when I told my family, 'Listen, I know this is a big deal, but if you do feel like something's going on and you need to say something, express something, you can tell me, mom and dad,'" she said. "But, I want you to do your best to be happy so that I can be happy. It was a lot to ask, but I felt it helped me to act like it was a normal day."

For Aldrich—a self-admitted "mom" who naturally gravitates toward a caregiver role, whether as a babysitter, older sister or friend—the toughest and most profound realization was to accept herself as a dependent who needed and relied on others.

Then, in December 2016, after completing a further two rounds of chemotherapy as a precaution, doctors declared Aldrich cancer free and said the disease was unlikely to return—though she admits she's still terrified anytime she goes in for routine tests. It's been a little over a year of remission, a year filled with natural culture shocks and upheavals that always come with transitioning from high school to college and the real world beyond.

"I felt like—I was just happy to be over with it," Aldrich said, struggling to put her feelings on the matter into words. "There's nothing more to say."

Since her arrival to Central Lakes College, Aldrich said her story has served as a way to support other students she's met and interacted with—all of whom, she said, have their own struggles and trials she hopes her experiences can speak to.

"There are a lot of students around here who had similar situations or are still going through some difficult things," she said. "In a way, like, my story has a way to connect with them. It's difficult, but you can do it as long as you keep focusing and keep pushing."