At the Heart of Pegasus
by Karla Joyce
Snapshot of a Community
The dictionary defines community as a feeling of fellowship with others, as a result of sharing common attitudes, interests, and goals. This mayor may not include friendship. Typically, these two pages of the Pegasus Magazine feature a collection of stories about individuals in our community that — together — say who we are. The portraits that follow are different, however. They are not separate. They don’t celebrate individualism, personal achievement, or quiet dedication. Instead, they bear witness to the intense friendship that bubbles below the surface of the Pegasus community. This is the heart of Pegasus.
Olivia’s Story
E
arly last spring, Olivia Barkhordar was bouncing along the blacktop in a pack of fourth grade girls, happy as ever. Nobody would have noticed the enlarged lymph node the size of a marble in her neck; in fact, she had to crane significantly to bring it out. Her teacher, Jennifer Green, was one of the first to spot it. Lisa Arangua, Olivia’s mother, rushed her to the pediatrician, but really, they would say now, it was unclear, asymptomatic. And the doctors concurred, associating it with Olivia’s waning sore throat. Olivia quietly asked: “Do I have cancer?” No, said the experts, after myriad tests for lymphoma failed. But the lymph node and Arangua persisted. When — a whole month later — an ultrasound came back stamped urgent and a biopsy followed, Olivia’s fear was confirmed: she had papillary thyroid cancer. During spring break, UCLA surgeons removed 100 cancerous nodes from her neck. The disease was ultimately identified as a very rare variant called diffuse sclerosing papillary carcinoma (DSPC), and Olivia endured radiation, days in isolation and a whole host of demons that kept her painfully awake for months.
“I Feel Protected” It had been Olivia’s idea to go public. Days after the diagnosis Karen Hurst, the Pegasus nurse, sat Olivia down like a daughter and said, frankly: let’s talk. How did she want to manage this? Should they tell her classmates? Nobody would expect communicating cancer to be easy at any age; at age 10, it seemed inconceivable. But Olivia insisted. Hurst orchestrated a grade-wide sit-down with Olivia and Arangua facing sixty kids and their teachers, all rapt and unmistakably compassionate. They described the disease, the procedures, treatments and prognosis, answered questions, shared fears, and yes, cried. In general, there is a mystery to cancer. But when a fourth-grade brain wraps itself around the concept, facts jumble, distortion spreads. Stopping it, like a bodyguard, was Robby Keilch, fellow fourth grader. Robby and Olivia had been fast friends since preschool, always classmates but more: they were in sync. If Olivia was hurt, he was there. He ran interference, dismissed chatter, and delivered news as it happened on a need-to-know basis. He visited her in the hospital and joined her in isolation, via Skype. There was tremendous peer support and a devoted ring of friends, but Robby was there. Post-surgery, Dr. Shreeti Patel, Pegasus parent, took a knee to ask Olivia face-to-face just how she felt. Olivia thought first, then answered: “I feel protected.” 6
THE PEGASUS SCHOOL
The Army of Angels Patel is just one of a group of adults who, from the outset, supported Olivia and her parents with tenacity. Extended family and close personal friends were in this camp, as well as a collection of Pegasus parents and teachers so armed with compassion and purpose that Arangua dubbed them her Army of Angels. Fellow Pegasus parents and longtime friends, Lisa Argyros and Angie Karahalios, carried Arangua emotionally, calling her daily. Karen Hurst was the back-up mom, and Kelly Townsend, parent, the mobilizer. Second-grade teacher, Sharon Goldhamer, donated a laptop for the Skype sessions during isolation and third-grade teacher, Vicki Olivadoti, visited regularly. And, fifthgrade teacher and friend, Keri Gorsage, monitored Olivia’s seamless return to campus.