childhood cancer awareness month hereos
Jett Rose: Born to Roar
Before Jett Rose could walk, he could skateboard. A tiny thrill-seeker with a fearless heart, Jett was the kind of baby who met the world head-on—balanced, bold, and full of spirit. His mom jokes that he was on wheels before he had steady feet, and it wasn’t far from the truth. Life with Jett was fast-paced and full of laughter, the kind of joy only a healthy, energetic toddler could bring. But at just 17 months old, life took a sharp and unexpected turn.
For weeks, Jett had been spiking fevers each night. His mother followed her instincts, taking him to the doctor multiple times. Each visit ended with the same advice: give him Tylenol, monitor his temperature. But mothers know when something isn’t right. One day, a look from Jett said everything—his eyes pleading, “Mom, help me. I’m not okay.”
That moment changed everything.
She brought him back to the doctor, and this time, they ran bloodwork. What came next will forever be etched in her memory. The doctor looked at her and said carefully, “Ma’am, I think your son may have leukemia.” His hemoglobin was at 3—dangerously low. Still, her mind clung to hope. Maybe it’s an infection, she told herself. It has to be.
But then came the tests. The sleepless night. The silent glances from nurses. And the quiet move to the third floor of Rady Children’s Hospital. That’s when reality began to settle in—they had been moved to the pediatric oncology unit.
Two days later, the words no parent should ever hear: “Your son has leukemia.”
Jett had Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (ALL)—a form of blood cancer. Their healthy, perfect little boy was about to begin the fight of his life.
The journey was long and full of fear, but Jett proved to be every bit the warrior his mom believed him to be. Through hospital stays, treatments, and the unknown, he held onto strength—sometimes his own, sometimes his parents’, sometimes something higher. His parents clung to every heartbeat, every breath. So much so that Jett slept in their bed until just a year ago. His mom needed to feel his skin, always checking for fevers, always watching for the worst.
And yet—Jett kept growing.
Now 11 years old, he’s traded skateboards for sneakers and is absolutely obsessed with basketball. His mom beams with pride when she watches him on the court, claiming (with just a touch of bias) that he’s the fastest, strongest, and most coordinated 11-year-old out there. And she might not be wrong. He’s thriving in his new project-based school in Escondido, where he’s gained confidence, self-awareness—and yes—even a girlfriend. Three months strong. Elementary school serious.
But cancer leaves echoes, even in survivorship. Jett now battles fears of death and a very serious phobia of bees. He’s been diagnosed with learning delays that affect his memory, focus, and comprehension. He struggles with reading and math. And every time he gets sick, the fear resurfaces—for him and for his parents. The trauma lingers, but so does their strength.
Because in all the ways cancer tried to break their family, it also bonded them deeper. They treasure each other differently now. Their love is louder. Their hugs are longer. Their appreciation for life—immeasurable.
Jett knows he’s a survivor. He walks with pride, carrying the image his mom instilled in him since he was a toddler: a lion. It’s in his DNA, she reminds him. And whenever the fear creeps in, she tells him again: You were born to roar.
