POV: Young Alumni Voices ‘My Journey Felt Less Like a Weight and More Like a Credential’ Having survived pediatric cancer, I’m channeling my experiences into advocacy—urging new treatments for tomorrow’s patients “POV” comprises brief first-person essays by young alumni. Do you have a topic in mind? Email us at cornellians@cornell.edu! By Camille Brady ’26, BS ’25 When you’re 12 years old and diagnosed with cancer, nobody asks if you’re up for it. You just do what the doctors say, show up to your appointments, and get through it. That’s the job. When I was diagnosed with Ewing sarcoma in my pelvis, that job became mine. For 10 months, I treated chemotherapy and radiation like shifts to get through, knowing that eventually I’d clock out and get back to my life. Luckily, by my 13th birthday, I was cancer-free and ready to do exactly that. I thought I’d retired from that job for good. But during my senior year of high school, a routine scan picked up a new tumor. This time, it was “radiation-induced” osteosarcoma—a secondary cancer caused by the very treatments that had saved my life. So I went back to work. Another year of chemotherapy followed, accompanied by a major hip surgery that has left me unable to walk without a crutch or foot brace. During my senior year of high school, a routine scan picked up a new tumor. This time, it was ‘radiation-induced’ osteosarcoma—a secondary cancer caused by the very treatments that had saved my life. What I didn’t expect was that surviving cancer would become an entirely new job. I had to learn how to navigate life with a disability and figure out how I could make college work. I deferred my acceptance to Cornell for a year to recover from surgery. When I finally arrived on campus, I threw myself into every facet of the college experience. I immersed myself in classes, formed friendships, and tried to figure out who I wanted to become. I found lifelong friends and incredible mentors, and graduated with a stronger sense of who I was. The author during treatment for Ewing sarcoma, and battling cancer again as a high schooler. But I had to confront the reality that my body had permanently changed. Learning to live with a disability became a full-time commitment that required patience and adaptation. Over time, though, adaptation alone stopped feeling like enough. I had spent so long focusing on getting through things—treatment, surgery, recovery—that I hadn’t stopped to think whether there was a way to turn what I’d been through into something that could make an impact beyond myself. Learning to live with a disability became a full-time commitment that required patience and adaptation. Over time, though, adaptation alone stopped feeling like enough. At MIB Agents Osteosarcoma Alliance, I met students with the same diagnosis—and the same post-treatment reality—but a completely different relationship to it from mine. They weren’t defined by what they’d been through. They were using it, deliberately and effectively, as the foundation for work that actually mattered. For the first time, my journey battling—and recovering from—cancer felt less like a weight and more like a credential. Advocacy went from feeling like an expectation or even a chore to feeling like an intentional choice, and one that I—to my surprise—became extremely passionate about. On Capitol Hill for meetings with lawmakers. That passion led me straight to Capitol Hill, where I joined survivors, patients, siblings, and friends to fight for the Mikaela Naylon Give Kids a Chance Act. For nearly 50 years, standard cancer treatments for children have remained virtually unchanged because pharmaceutical companies have little incentive to develop novel therapies for such small patient populations. For nearly 50 years, standard cancer treatments for children have remained virtually unchanged because pharmaceutical companies have little incentive to develop novel therapies for such small patient populations. The act changes that. It reinstates a program that rewards companies that invest in pediatric drug development with expedited approval of an adult drug, and gives the FDA authority to request combination drug therapies in children—a treatment method already proving successful in adults. The result will be safer, more targeted treatments that finally meet children where they are. In advocating for this bill, what struck me most was how natural it felt. It was effortless. Raising awareness on behalf of the MIB Agents Osteosarcoma Alliance. At Cornell, I’d learned how important it is in politics to listen to those with lived experience. As we sat with Congressional staffers and told our stories in plain language, without polish or performance, I witnessed the power of vulnerability firsthand. They didn’t listen to us because we had the most sophisticated argument, but because we were the argument. At Cornell, I’d learned how important it is in politics to listen to those with lived experience. There’s a particular kind of authority that comes from lived experience, and being surrounded by people who carry the same story made that authority feel collective. We made people listen. Watching the bill pass the House was one of the most meaningful moments of my life. I sat in the gallery above the chamber, and when members looked up toward me and my fellow advocates, it felt like they truly saw the people behind the policy, and that our presence really mattered. It had taken nearly five years, but the pediatric cancer community had refused to stay silent—and Congress was finally listening. On the Slope. Then, in the Senate, I got my first real lesson in the complexity of politics. A single senator—Bernie Sanders, whom I deeply admire—opposed the bill, not out of indifference to supporting children with cancer, but in pursuit of a separate healthcare agenda. I understood his reasoning, but it stung. This bill deserved its shining moment. In February 2026, the bill passed quietly with the new fiscal year’s healthcare appropriations, marking a major bipartisan win in one of the most gridlocked eras in Congressional history—yet almost no one noticed. This outcome made it clear to me that even the most meaningful legislation can get lost in the noise, and that passing a bill is only half the battle. The other half is ensuring that people know it exists and understand what’s now possible because of it. Awareness, education, and continued advocacy are what will transform a presidential signature into real change for kids with cancer. That’s how I know my job isn’t done. In fact, it’s just beginning—and I’m the best person for it. A native of Warren, NJ, Camille Brady ’26, BS ’25, works at the Nuclear Energy Institute in Washington, DC. On the Hill, she majored in policy analysis and management in the Brooks School and was actively engaged in extracurriculars and research. She frequently finds herself back in Ithaca to visit her grandparents, Jean Springer Cottrell ’63 and Walt Cottrell ’61, BME ’62, MBA ’63. (All images provided.) Published April 22, 2026 Comments James Sy, Class of 2025 22 Apr, 2026 So inspirational 🦍💯 Reply Gary Cottrell, Class of 1972 26 Apr, 2026 Beautiful article, Camille! -Gary (your great uncle!) Reply Karen Kaplan, Class of 1975 28 Apr, 2026 Very moving! Thank you for sharing. I am a pediatrician, and understanding the experiences of patients and families is important to me. Reply Lorena Alvarez Thompson, Class of 2008 29 Apr, 2026 Love this. At age 11 I had cancer too, Stage 4 NonHodgkin Lymphoma. I’m 41 now. Still, I think of how many children had to stay forever children as a result of cancer. I remember their faces and their parents and loved ones that would take them to their appointments. Thank you for work. Reply Leave a Comment Cancel replyOnce your comment is approved, your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *Comment * Name * Class Year Email * Save my name, email, and class year in this browser for the next time I comment. Δ Other stories You may like Quizzes & Puzzles Warm Up a Chilly Day with Big Red Winter Trivia! Cornelliana Far Beyond a Quonset Hut: Fascinating Facts about ILR Alumni Alums’ Installation at the Venice Biennale Evokes Rising Seas