Maryland Trek
with Justin Berk
Age: 8
Type of Cancer: B-cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (ALL)
Treatment Status: In treatment; more than a year of treatment remaining
It started with a virus that wouldn't quite let go—then two weeks of nights spent crying over arm pain, deeply unlike Lydia, the joyful, spirited kid who keeps up with two older brothers and pops right back up from every fall. Tests came back negative and an X-ray found no fracture, but her parents, Daria and Don, kept pushing for answers. In the ER, an MRI showed her arm was in fact broken—and her bloodwork was abnormal.
Still, the diagnosis took weeks. Her counts kept worsening but showed no blasts, and specialists first suspected a blood disorder. Only after Lydia refused to walk did a bone marrow biopsy reveal the truth: B-cell acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Daria—a nurse practitioner with years of pediatric experience at Hopkins—was in disbelief, wanting to see the very cells under the microscope. “That's how badly I did not believe them.” But once treatment began, denial gave way to fierce advocacy. Daria had spent her career caring for other people's children—and after developing a chronic illness of her own, she wondered why she had suffered. Then a stranger in the oncology unit's family kitchen told her: “Everything up until this point in your life has been preparing you to care for Lydia on this journey.” Something clicked, and it hasn't come loose since.
Lydia's leukemia is classified as standard risk, but there has been nothing standard about her road. She has been hospitalized more than ten times in the past year—toxicities, infections, malnutrition, kidney injury. She has since been diagnosed with avascular necrosis in both knees, is currently being fed through a tube, and still has more than a year of treatment ahead.
The lowest point came during a two-week hospitalization with severe mucositis, when Lydia couldn't speak or swallow and needed a pain pump around the clock. When the pain was finally controlled and she could form words again, she looked at her mom—mouth full of sores—and delivered a line from her favorite meme: “I like turtles.” There's our girl, Daria thought. She's back. “She could barely move her mouth, but she said a joke. You are just an amazing little girl.”
That's Lydia: the family comedian. (Why did the dinosaur cross the road? Because it was the chicken's day off.) Her big brothers Graham, 12, and Carter, 11—her power sibs—can get laughs out of her like nobody else, and the family savors every ordinary dinner they get to share at the same table. “The worry about who you're not with is so intense,” Daria said of the constant separations. “So when you're all together, you look around and think: this is the best. Just an ordinary moment—and I love you guys so much.”
Lydia says the hardest part of cancer is being in the hospital, so as a Power Kid, she wants other kids to have moments of happiness there. Her favorite: hospital bingo, where every kid wins a prize. Her nana and pop-pop even ran a toy drive to stock the prize table. She just turned eight, and her birthday wish was simple: a party with her family.
Just In Power Kids has been there through it all—parking vouchers for those two-week stays, Clean Cuisine meals delivered to the door, and Bethany's steady check-ins. “Anytime I would text her, she would text back: What do you guys need? What are you going through?” Daria said. “We are so grateful.” Don added: “You get decision fatigue. Taking the load off—the parking, the meals, the emotional support—it's a marathon, and they get that.”
Daria’s advice to other parents: “You know your child best, and because of that, you can do this. Don't ever doubt yourself. You are the best person to care for your child on this journey.” And when her own fear creeps in, she borrows courage from her daughter: “The strongest person I know is Lydia. There were times I was so scared for what was ahead in the day. But she wasn't scared. So I would pull myself together and say: I'm going to be brave like Lydia.”
