If you want to make this country great, imagine the strength of a nation whose children have been fought for and know they have been fought for.

Last month, my son reached two years in remission from a rare, malignant cancer that almost took his eye and his life. He is alive, well and enjoying 20/20 vision because of a groundbreaking treatment that was pioneered by National Institutes of Health researchers, among others, and funded by the government grants the Trump administration is blocking and threatening to cut. If the president continues on this course, children diagnosed during and after this administration will needlessly fare worse than those who came before.

My son Jack was diagnosed in 2022 with retinoblastoma, a malignant childhood cancer of the central nervous system that originates and grows in the eye. If left untreated, it typically migrates through the optic nerve to the brain, eventually metastasizing and taking the life of the child.

Because the cancer usually attacks children under the age of 3, its victims are often unable to report the symptoms of a mass blocking their vision until it’s too late to treat with procedures that can salvage the eye. That’s when enucleation — removal of the eye — is required.

This is why pediatricians developed standard screening for retinoblastoma starting at birth. This now-routine preventative care has enabled medical professionals to find and treat most cases without a loss of vision or life. Because of these developments and others, retinoblastoma has a very high survival rate in 21st century America.

Jack’s was one of very few documented diagnoses with retinoblastoma after the age of 8. His oncologist suggested his tumor had been hiding in a dark corner of his retina for years, out of his vision and that of physicians; other doctors thought it had “self-arrested” or presented late and grew rapidly. We discovered it only because it burst from the impact of a belly flop at the neighborhood pool, spewing cancer cells in a constellation of poison floating inside his still-intact eyeball, visible to Jack as spots that didn’t go away.

It took weeks for doctors to nail down the diagnosis. When we walked out of that appointment on a day that was so windy I had to hold onto my dress, I put Jack in the car, turned the radio on for him, closed the passenger door and walked about 30 feet away to scream in the parking lot. “My baby!” I wailed through the phone to my mother.

It was an advanced-stage tumor, complicated by the release of cancer cells inside his eye. They could now attach and grow anywhere within — including the optic nerve, with its direct connection to his brain — if we didn’t act quickly. We might have just days before it was too late.

“We could remove his eye,” our oncologist offered at first, “and even that might not be enough.”

Then he explained that we could try to save his eye with a highly advanced procedure called intra-arterial chemotherapy, or IAC. It involves threading a catheter through the thigh’s femoral artery, behind the heart through the carotid artery and into the skull. An interventional radiologist, guided by MRI, releases the chemotherapy agent directly into the artery feeding the retina. This allows doctors to deliver more aggressive and targeted medicine to the diseased cells and limit damage to the healthy ones.

Our oncologist explained that IAC is still a very new technology but one with extraordinary promise whose benefits far outweighed the risks for Jack.

My son underwent six rounds of intra-arterial chemotherapy and seven rounds of intravitreal chemotherapy, in which the medicine is injected directly into the eye. He went under anesthesia 13 times in six months, required monthly breathing treatments that made him spit gray foam, and lost most of the brow and all the lashes around the affected eye. His list of drugs included ketamine, propofol, hydromorphone, melphalan, fentanyl, topotecan, pentamidine, albuterol, prednisolone and aldosterone. At one point, he needed epinephrine because he nearly went into cardiac arrest. Toward the end of his treatment, he received cryotherapy to kill the base of the tumor and woke up from surgery in so much pain that he gritted his teeth to the point of cracking one.

At every turn, my family was reminded of our privilege — to live in a country that was scientifically advanced enough to have developed such miracle treatments, to live in a city (Denver) with such good hospitals, to have good health insurance through my husband’s employer. If we had lived without such access to care, in a country lacking our resources or just 15 years earlier, our story would have ended differently. Instead, nine months after his diagnosis, thanks to the advanced research our country has supported socially, academically and financially, my son’s cancer was in remission.

My family recently attended a gathering with other retinoblastoma survivors, from toddlers to adults who had conquered the disease decades earlier. As each survivor entered the conference, it became evident that this was once primarily a disease of blindness: The price of survival was generally a loss of sight and eyes. Some of the older survivors had facial abnormalities from radiation or enucleation. Some had canes or family members to guide them. When we told the group that Jack’s body, vision and dream of becoming a pilot were all still intact, many gasped in awe that the science had advanced so far.

But now the Trump administration’s lack of empathy threatens other children and families facing such horrific diagnoses. Continuing research on intra-arterial chemotherapy and other treatments at the University of Colorado’s Anschutz Medical Campus, where Jack was treated, is paid for by programs in the administration’s crosshairs. “These cuts to NIH funding jeopardize the foundation of our life-saving research,” a university spokeswoman told Chalkbeat Colorado. “Reduced research capacity means fewer scientific discoveries, job losses and delayed advancements on therapies and cures that could improve — and save — lives.”

I wonder whether our hospital will be able to continue offering groundbreaking treatments should Jack face a recurrence. And will the newly diagnosed have the same access to care that we did? What greatness can be celebrated when a mother fears she will lose her child’s access to lifesaving treatment?

My son’s recovery was a direct result of the greatness of our country and its past leaders, who had the foresight to pursue progress and excellence in science and refuse to accept losing children without a fight. Because of it, I believe my son will someday fly planes. And I can only hope the next child who faces a dire disease will get the same chance he did.

Dayna Copeland is a writer and teacher in Colorado.