This is my sister Jessica. At the start of August 2012, Jessica was diagnosed with breast cancer. This was a major shock to our family. Jessica was only 28 at the time, and she has Down Syndrome, which makes her six times less likely to have cancer as an adult than the regular population. Over the following year and a half, she would undergo a double mastectomy and chemotherapy.

Jessica requires help with a lot of the basic things in life, like showering, making food, and getting ready for work. She takes a lot of pride in her independence though, especially the little things. She enjoys going to work during the week and seeing her associates, and helping out around the house, like getting the mail and sorting it for everyone.

Everything moved so fast, and we all wondered how much Jessica understood of what was happening. Only three days after the diagnosis, the whole family was there to meet the surgeon, Dr. Heaton. Jessica's cancer was 'in situ' (non-invasive), so Dr. Heaton recommended we act quickly. He suggested we could arrange to remove both of her breasts as early as the following week. We decided to set the date a few weeks later and get a 2nd and 3rd opinion in the meantime.

This image is a metaphor for how we felt about Jessica when her experience with cancer began. In many ways, she is still like a child to us, innocent and vulnerable, and we saw cancer as this big, dark thing that scared us. We weren't able to protect her. We wondered how she would handle everything she now faced, since Jessica isn't able to articulate how she's feeling all the time.

Jessica has a special relationship with our parents. Her eternal youth means she's never too old to sit in your lap, or give you a loving hug. She has an unwavering and gentle happiness that she spreads to everyone she meets.

The day of the surgery was tense for all of us. The night before, we did our best to explain to Jessica what would happen in surgery, that her body would be different, but we still didn't know how she would react when it was over. We were also anxious to know if the cancer had spread.

Immediately after waking up in the recovery room, Jessica told the nurses, "Ok...I gotta get out of here!" Just like her regular self, she was ready to grab her clothes and go home to her routines. We calmed her down and told her she needed to rest there for the night. Mom and Dad would stay with her until morning, when we could all leave together.

In the next few days, we would begin to realize that we had been projecting our own fears on Jessica. Her child-like awareness was actually her strength, and it uniquely equipped her for dealing with something difficult like this. She doesn't dwell on the past, or worry about what this meant for her future. She lives in the present, and feels all her emotions without resistance. Moments like this one would pass just as quickly as it came, always coming back to the happiness at her core.

We also realized Jessica was caring for us during her recovery, just as much as we were caring for her. Should we give us affection, or say things to make us laugh when we worried or feeling down. Seeing Jessica's loving personality intact helped us all cope with the stress, and reassured us that should would get through this.

Unfortunately, during her surgery, the doctor had discovered a small amount of invasive cancer. It hadn't spread to the lymph nodes, but it was large enough that chemotherapy was now being discussed. The prospect of chemo brought on a new set of fears for us.

We took Jess to the Mayo Clinic for a 3rd opinion. It was with Dr. Haddad that decided to give Jessica Taxol in addition to Herceptin, a drug that would cause her to lose her hair and possibly feel ill. It's so much more difficult to make a decision like this for another person. Sensing the tension in the room, Jessica interjected with some of her goofiness and made everyone laugh.

At times, it would be frustrating for Jessica to miss work for chemo, but she took everything in stride and hardly complained. She knew these appointments were part of getting better, and she was committed to beating cancer. She enjoyed being home with all of us around her while she recovered.

We did our best to keep Jessica in excellent health while she was undergoing chemotherapy. We juiced fresh fruits and vegetables for her everyday, and took her to a great acupuncturist who adored Jessica. Chemo still takes its toll on the body though, and there was nothing we could do to keep her hair from falling out.

We took Jess to get fitted for a wig ("full cranial prosthesis") at It's Still Me, a wig studio focused on women facing chemo. Jan, the owner, is a breast-cancer survivor herself. She was amazingly sweet and helpful, and Jessica loved trying on all kinds of wigs and hats with her.

By Jessica's 29th birthday in March, the worst of it was over. We had a lot to celebrate. For the first time in our lives, this experience caused us to confront Jessica's mortality. It was a terrifying process for all of us. In the end, it's made our family even closer, and we have learned a great deal about Jessica in the process. She is way stronger than we ever imagined. Her spirit was never broken by any of the difficult things she experienced, so it's clear to us now that the term "disabled" is often misused with people like Jessica. She may need help brushing teeth before bed, but she is more capable of dealing with something as serious as cancer than anyone I've ever met.