Sophomore Justin Collins was only 8. Only 8 when the needles began poking and prodding. Only 8 when his immune system began to deteriorate. Only 8 when he became a survivor.

“No, I want to stay here,” Justin pleads in the conference room where his pregnant mother Tabatha Osburn, stepfather Chris Osburn and father Anthony Collins sit to discuss Justin’s diagnosis with Dr. Bowman of the hematology/oncology department at Cook Children’s Medical Center in Fort Worth. His request is denied. The door shuts behind him as he is led to the playroom across the hall.

Toys are sprawled out on the floor. Arts and crafts in one corner, video games in another. Machines snake out of children’s bodies, humming noisily while they play.

Minutes pass, and Justin is brought back in to see his parents. They break the news to him. He has been diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.

Cancer. But Justin doesn’t know what “cancer” means. He doesn’t feel sick.

“My mom said it was one of the very few times my stepdad has cried,” he said.

Months before, Justin’s primary doctor told him and his mother that the swollen lumps on his neck were caused by a virus and were temporary. But they never went away.

His mother kept persisting, and Justin was referred to an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist (ENT). After a biopsy, the cancer was confirmed.

“Around him, I tried to look strong and act like it was no big deal,” Tabatha said. “But outside of that it was scary.”

Soon after in 2004, came the chemotherapy at Cook Children’s Medical Center. Screams and shouts escaped Justin’s throat as he refused to allow the doctors to prick him with the needle.

Why me? What did I do? Justin thought.

“You’re going to get better,” Tabatha would assure.

Finally, he wore himself out and began playing with a game while the chemo took its course.

“A person can only cry so much, I guess,” Justin said.

***

The chemo weakened Justin’s immune system. As a third grader, he couldn’t go to school. He missed meeting new kids in his class, recess and field trips.

The first half of the school year was spent at home, learning seven hours of school in one hour from an LISD employee that delivered his work and tutored him daily.

Radiation therapy followed the chemo. Justin would lie down on a table, his head fastened to it with a net and a plastic mold of his head. The revolving machine circled around him, targeting swollen lymph nodes on his neck. He couldn’t move.

Around Christmas of that year, Justin went into remission, and around the same time, his mother had the baby. Justin then became an older brother to two little boys, Ryan the middle child and Jacob the baby.

“I’m not sure they ever understood,” Justin said. “To them it was just like ‘Brother’s sick, Brother’s not sick.’”

Justin returned to school for the second half of his third grade year. The monthly check-ups and scans turned into every two months, every three months and, eventually, every six months. Justin was in the clear.

“Once I found out I was a cancer survivor, I felt proud.”

***

The tree is up. Justin’s mom brings him into the room, and the two sit down. It is now 2007. Justin is 11 years old. The cancer is back.

“We’ll wait until after Christmas to start the treatment,” Tabatha tells him.

Justin looks at the Christmas tree. He thinks, let’s just hurry up and move on. Let’s fight. I did it once, I can do it again.

After a scan had identified cancerous activity in the middle of Justin’s sixth grade year, Justin had another biopsy and the results were confirmed. The Hodgkin’s Lymphoma had returned.

Chemotherapy began again, bringing with it a new load of sickness. Justin could not go to school. The doctors said he would not make it back before the end of the year.

This new term of illness led to new surgery. And new fear. Justin did not know what was ahead, what the procedures would do to him or when he would be back in school. But because of his mother’s optimism, Justin did know how to be positive.

“It didn’t take a lot to realize you don’t have control over the situation,” Tabatha said. “So the only thing you can do is try to make the most of what you have.”

Justin had a bone marrow transplant on March 21, 2008. The doctors told him he would not make it back to school until September. But Justin thought otherwise.

“I kept thinking, I can fight through this, I can do it,” Justin said.

During the surgery, the doctors removed stem cells, froze them and put them back into Justin’s system throughout the course of several months. Justin received a visit from one of his heroes. Troy Aikman, the former quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys, showed up to see him on the day that stem cells were pumped back into Justin’s system.

The transplant was followed by a blood transfusion and a series of shots to help boost Justin’s immune system.

“It was the final push for my health to go back up and things to go back to normal, although, nothing was normal.”

***

It’s the end of May 2008. Only three weeks of school are left. But Justin made it. He walks up the steps to Lamar Middle School and enters the building, a cancer survivor.

Some say that cancer is a battle between the sickness and the person. As for Justin, he believes a battle makes the situation sound like he is the main one fighting. This is not the case.

“I have to credit all of the doctors and advances in modern medicine,” Justin said. “It happened as it did. Chemo healed it. But I truly believe optimism made it run smoother.”

Justin now has a greater goal in his future because of what he has been through.

“I want to pursue something in radiology and medical imaging because it has affected me,” Justin said.

Now 15, Justin has spent the past three and a half years without cancer. When people find out Justin has had cancer, he typically receives an “I’m sorry” response.

“I almost laugh when I hear that because I think ‘why be sorry?’” Justin said. “I gained so much life experience, and that’s nothing to be sorry about.”