Megan Leydon, 40, Rose Park, SA
Stifling a giggle, I watched my little girl, Jemima, five, dance. With her head of flame-red curls, she made a very cute ballerina. 'You did well today,' I told her after the class.
'Ms Barbie said my pointes were spot-on,' she said.
Helping me buckle her little brother Noah, three, into his car seat, she was all smiles. But only a couple of minutes into the drive, I noticed she was unusually quiet. 'My tummy hurts,' she frowned.
Again? I thought. She'd been complaining of a sore tummy for the past week, but I had put it down to nerves about starting school.
'I'll rub it for you when we get home,' I promised.
Checking her stomach that night, it seemed a bit round. But what five year old's didn't?
'You'll feel better soon,' I said.
A few nights later Jemima complained again.
'Where does it hurt?' I asked, touching her belly. 'Here?'
Prodding her tummy, I froze. There was a hard lump that hadn't been there before.
Trying to stay calm, I asked my husband Gavin to look.
'I'm sure it's nothing serious,' he said after touching the lump.
But I had a niggling feeling something was wrong.
'I'll ask Emma to come around,' I said. Our neighbour Emma was a GP. Leading her into the lounge room, I explained what was wrong.
'It doesn't feel normal,' Emma frowned, gently feeling Jemima's stomach. This wasn't what I had wanted to hear.
'What do you think it is?' I asked. 'I can't be sure, but I'll arrange an ultrasound for her tomorrow morning,' she said.
Showing Emma out, I was in a state as the worst scenarios played through my mind. Please don't let it be serious, I prayed.
'We can't get ahead of ourselves,' Gavin said. 'Let's see what the ultrasound shows.'
The next day, after dropping Noah at my mum's, we took Jemima to the Adelaide Women's and Children's Hospital. I nervously held her hand through the ultrasound.
'It appears Jemima has two tumours,' the paediatric surgeon said. 'The first is quite significant and it's situated around her right ovary. The second has developed on an adjoining lymph node.'
I felt as though I'd had the breath knocked out of me.
I didn't want to ask any questions in front of Jemima. And I wasn't sure if I could keep it together anyway. But in the doctor's office five minutes later, Gavin and I fired questions at him.
'Will she be able to have children?' I asked, terrified by the tumour around her ovary.
'We need to focus on the now,' he said. 'I'd like to book her in for exploratory surgery this afternoon.'
Looking at Gavin, I wondered how we'd got here. Yesterday it had been a sore tummy. Today it was surgery and dodging questions about the future.
'The surgery should go for 30 minutes,' we were told.
After pacing the hospital halls for three hours, Gavin and I knew something was wrong. Finally, the paediatric surgeon came to see us. He looked exhausted.
'There's good news and bad news,' he said. 'The good news is that Jemima survived surgery. Unfortunately that's where the good news ends.'
'What?' I stammered.
'I'm sorry, but Jemima has ovarian cancer,' he went on. 'The tumours were more problematic than I'd thought, but I do feel confident we got all the cancer.'
'Is it fatal?' I choked, in tears.
'We need to do tests to determine the kind of ovarian cancer. We'll be able to give you more answers then,' he said.
Walking out, Gavin and I were gutted. 'This is the worst day of my life,' I sobbed. I knew Gavin felt the same.
After half an hour we were allowed to see Jemima. Watching her as she slept in her little blue hospital gown, I tried to blink back tears. I'd never imagined my little ballerina like this.
'You were so brave,' I told her. 'And now the doctors know what's wrong, we can stop your tummy hurting.'
She nodded groggily.
Three days later, the results were back. They confirmed Jemima had a germ-cell tumour.
'It's the best cancer we could have hoped for,' the oncologist told us. 'It's the least life threatening.' I smiled for what felt like the first time in days.
'None of us have ever heard of ovarian cancer happening in children before, so we're treading new ground, but we feel her prognosis is good,' she went on.
'What do you mean?' I asked.
'Typically, ovarian cancer affects women of 50 and over,' she said. 'For Jemima to have it at five is extremely rare.'
'So do you know why she got it?' Gavin asked, shocked.
'No,' she said. 'But we would like to start treatment right away. She'll need four cycles of chemotherapy over four months.'
I couldn't believe our little girl had been so unlucky. Why did this have to happen to her? I wondered, fighting back tears.
Find out more about ovarian cancer - click here.
'Will she lose her hair?' I asked, knowing how important it was to Jemima. 'I'm not sure,' she said. 'Children react to chemo in different ways.'
Gavin and I waited until that night to explain things to Jemima. 'You're going to need some medicine to keep your tummy ache away.' I told her. 'But the medicine might make your hair fall out.'
Looking into Jemima's big brown eyes, I could see her determination. 'I won't let it fall out,' she said seriously.
She started her first round of chemo later that week and took it well. During the five hours she had to stay still on the bed, she'd do puzzles and paint pictures.
Her favourite time was when Noah would visit. They'd play games on the bed and he'd always make her smile.
On the third day of chemo, Jemima ran her fingers through her hair. I watched in horror as a clump fell out.
'Oops,' she said, looking at the hair in her hand. 'It'll grow back sweetie,' I soothed.
Jemima took it in her stride and I gave her a proud cuddle.
After her second cycle of chemo all her hair had fallen out, so she wore bandanas and hats.
Trying to keep some normality in her life, Jemima went back to school for a week in between cycles. She was thrilled to see all her friends again.
Picking her up after class one day I was surprised to see her little bald head in the crowd.
'What happened to your hat?' I asked, worried she'd be upset. 'It got too hot,' she shrugged.
I was amazed by her courage.
Jemima was tested after her last round of chemo in March 2007, and the results came back clear. She was tested again three months later, and once more the results were clear.
Today, it's been three years since Jemima's diagnosis and she's still going strong. The cancer hasn't grown back and that's something we're grateful for every single day.
Her oncologist is confident she should still be able to have children, and her future is bright.
We'll never know why Jemima was struck with ovarian cancer at such a young age, but every time I brush my little ballerina's curly red hair, I know just how lucky we are to have her.
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