Spotlight on Nursing Leader Dr. Lindsay Jibb: Pediatric Oncology Research Trailblazer
Dr. Lindsay Jibb’s work is grounded in real-world challenges witnessed firsthand at the bedside. Currently, she leads research in several key areas: improving pain outcomes for children with cancer, supporting parents managing their child’s care at home, and addressing the psychosocial needs of children with cancer and their families. At the core of it all is a strong commitment to patient- and family-centred research.
Every study includes patients, survivors, or family members as research partners — not just as participants.
“It’s not even an option anymore to exclude those voices,” says Dr. Jibb. “They are integral to generating meaningful questions, ensuring the research is practical, and helping us share results in ways that matter.” This dedication to patient-and-family-centred research is now being integrated into my own doctoral work, which looks at parent perspectives of decision-making about enrollment in clinical trials.
For Dr. Jibb, research has always been a central passion — one that has evolved into a dynamic and impactful career at SickKids and the University of Toronto, where she’s leading transformative work in pediatric oncology nursing.
Dr. Jibb’s path to research began as she completed her undergraduate degree in biology, which gave her early exposure to research through a thesis project. That experience sparked a love for scientific inquiry, leading to the pursuit of her master’s degree in biochemistry though her heart always remained in healthcare. When she later entered nursing school, she knew she wanted to blend her clinical training with her research background.
“I always knew I would involve research somehow,” she explains. “It was a chance to take all the learning we do as nurses — clinical, theoretical, and practical — and use it to directly improve care for patients and families.”
When Dr. Jibb was offered the opportunity to pursue her doctoral degree with Dr. Jennifer Stinson, she jumped, and has been leading innovative pediatric oncology nursing research since.
Unlike her earlier experiences in lab-based science, Dr. Jibb found nursing research to be deeply collaborative and community-oriented.
“As a PhD student, I felt so supported by the nurses, managers, and colleagues on the unit. It felt like we were all working together, and that sense of shared purpose really stuck with me.” As an educator and mentor, Dr. Jibb is passionate about building a pipeline for future nurse researchers. She is an incredible role model, actively demonstrating how nurses can take their bedside experience and employ it in a scientist role to improve experience and outcomes for patients.
“I always say, ‘my door is open,’” she laughs. “If you’re a nurse interested in research, I’ll review your CV, talk about school, or help you find a way in.” Looking ahead, Dr. Jibb is excited about the growing recognition of nursing research in Canada. “It’s an exciting time. Organizations like POGO are investing in this work, and the next generation of nurse researchers is full of energy and fresh ideas.”
For Dr. Jibb, the reward from her research is clear. “When a patient or parent comes back and says, ‘thank you,’ to know that the work we’re doing matters to those people that we’re doing it for makes it all worth it.”
This story was written for the fall 2025 issue of The RePORTer, POGO’s Nursing Newsletter by: Rachel Hamilton, RN, MN, PhD(s), PhD Student and RN – 8A Inpatient Haematology/Oncology at SickKids
Nominated by Rachel, Dr. Jibb is the winner of the 2025 POGO Nursing Leadership Award. Rachel considers it a privilege to work under Dr. Jibb’s mentorship. From their first meeting, Dr. Jibb’s passion for research and dedication to improving patient care stood out. Her warmth, intelligence, and commitment to nurturing emerging nurse researchers create an exceptional training environment. Bridging clinical practice and scientific inquiry, Dr. Jibb serves as a role model for students like Rachel. This spotlight draws from Rachel’s interview with Dr. Jibb, highlighting her inspiring journey, impactful research, and contributions to pediatric oncology nursing. Her story is both motivating and enlightening, offering a glimpse into the dedication and passion required to transform patient care through nursing research.
Homeward Bound: Building Pediatric Palliative Care Capacity in Northern Ontario
For many years, our team at the POGO Satellite Clinic in Sudbury, located at Northeast Cancer Centre, Health Sciences North (Health Sciences North), has recognized a significant gap in the number of healthcare providers with experience, knowledge, competency and confidence in caring for children with life-limiting illnesses, who are medically fragile or have complex care needs. As a result, many Northern Ontario families do not feel confident bringing their children home from children’s hospitals when they are receiving palliative or end-of-life care, due to limited expertise and support closer to home. This gap has placed a physical, emotional and financial burden on families who must remain far from their communities for extended periods. It also adds pressure to the pediatric palliative care facilities in Ottawa and Toronto.
We’ve long known that as oncology nurses and physicians, we have the skills and experience to care for medically fragile children who live nearby. However, children living in more remote Northern communities often lack access to the same level of care and support.
In my role as the Sudbury POGO Interlink Nurse until recently, the only one serving all of Northern Ontario—I’ve had the privilege of building relationships with healthcare providers across the region. While we’ve offered case-by-case support, I’ve always dreamed of creating a more formal and consistent way to strengthen pediatric palliative care across the North.
That dream became a reality with support from POGO staff and a Kindred Cares Grant from the Kindred Foundation. This funding allowed us to deliver pediatric palliative care education to providers in key Northern Ontario communities, including Thunder Bay, Sault Ste. Marie, Sudbury, Timmins, and North Bay.
Before receiving the grant, I became a certified Pallium LEAP facilitator, which enabled me to share my knowledge and lived experience as a Northern provider familiar with the challenges of limited resources and services.
The education sessions funded by the Kindred Grant were delivered through two models:
- A 2-hour in-person community information session to share knowledge and foster open discussion.
- Two Pallium LEAP Pediatric courses, with funded spots for participants to engage deeply, share experiences, and learn collaboratively.
In total, 67 healthcare professionals from various disciplines participated in these sessions. Together, we explored challenges, brainstormed solutions, and shared both successes and setbacks in a supportive and inclusive environment.
As a result of this initiative, I have since established an online community of practice with providers across the North to help support sustained capacity building. Most importantly, this work has enabled more children and their families to return home for palliative and end-of-life care. There is still a lot work to be done, but I am optimistic about where we are headed.
This story was written for the fall 2025 issue of The RePORTer, POGO’s Nursing Newsletter by: Vicky Wilton, RN, POGO Interlink Nurse, Health Science North.
Reflections on Advances in Pediatric Oncology Survivorship and AfterCare
Eleanor Hendershot is an experienced pediatric oncology nurse at McMaster Children’s Hospital, whose career spans over 30 years, including roles at SickKids and Princess Margaret Cancer Centre. She is deeply focused on survivorship and AfterCare and is a dedicated advocate for evidence-based compassionate follow-up care for childhood cancer survivors.
In reflecting on my last three decades working in pediatric oncology nursing, it’s evident that the field has undergone remarkable transformation. In particular, with my focus on AfterCare for the past 13 years, with experience across leading institutions, I’ve witnessed how advances in therapy, supportive care, and clinical research have significantly improved outcomes.
The majority of children are not only surviving cancer but also living long and productive lives. This progress has shifted attention toward survivorship, with increasing emphasis on the long-term health and well-being of pediatric cancer survivors.
Within survivorship care, the Children’s Oncology Group has developed evidence-based guidelines (www.survivorshipguidelines.org) to support routine screening for late effects of cancer and its treatment. These late effects are influenced by the type of disease and individual treatment exposures (chemotherapy, radiotherapy, surgery), and may include second malignancies, organ dysfunction (cardiovascular, auditory, bony, renal, pulmonary, endocrine, neurocognitive, etc.), and psychosocial concerns. Importantly, late effects may emerge years or even decades after therapy ends, making survivorship care an essential component of comprehensive oncology practice.
One of the most significant recent advances in this field is the refinement of late-effects screening based on new evidence, research and expert consensus. A key example is the monitoring of cardiomyopathy (disease of the heart muscle) in survivors treated with anthracyclines (a type of chemotherapy used to treat certain types of cancer such as leukemia and lymphoma). Until recently, guidelines recommended lifelong echocardiograms for all survivors, regardless of cumulative anthracycline dose. New evidence, however, has demonstrated that survivors who received less than 100 mg/m² are not at increased risk of cardiomyopathy and therefore do not require lifelong routine echocardiographic surveillance.
Although this adjustment may appear modest, its impact is profound. Survivors of leukemia, the largest survivor population, typically receive low cumulative anthracycline doses. For these patients and their families, lifelong counselling and repeated cardiac screening created unnecessary anxiety and reinforced the sense of living under ongoing medical surveillance. From a cost-benefit perspective, routine echocardiography in low-risk patients carried significant cost and resource implications without measurable benefit.
As part of the updated guidelines, ongoing heart monitoring is no longer required, allowing leukemia survivors, in some instances, to be discharged from follow-up care once they are ten years post-therapy and have reached the age of 18 or if they are a teenager when diagnosed until both criteria are met.
The benefits of this targeted approach extend well beyond medical outcomes. By reducing unnecessary tests and clinic visits, survivors and families gain greater peace of mind and some relief from the intensity of lifelong surveillance, while healthcare systems benefit from more efficient use of resources. Just as importantly, minimizing disruptions to education, employment, and social development allows survivors to move forward in their lives with greater confidence. This balance—protecting long-term health while recognizing that not all survivors carry the same risks—has become central to modern, individualized survivorship care.
In reflecting on the evolution of pediatric oncology nursing and survivorship care, it’s clear that our field has made tremendous strides—not only in improving survival rates but also in refining how we support survivors long-term. The shift toward individualized care, such as updated cardiac screening guidelines, has reduced unnecessary interventions and empowered survivors to live with greater confidence.
Since 2001, POGO has been a cornerstone in supporting survivors of childhood cancer through its AfterCare Clinic Program network. Today, eight POGO AfterCare Clinics across Ontario serve more than 5,000 survivors, helping ensure that children, adolescents and young adult survivors of childhood cancer receive the essential follow-up care they need to lead healthy, fulfilling lives.
This contribution to “Reflective Practice Corner” was written for the fall 2025 issue of the RePORTer by Eleanor Hendershot, MN, BScN, RN, Pediatric Nurse Practitioner, McMaster Children’s Hospital.
Reflective Practice Corner, a standing section in The RePORTer—POGO’s Nursing Newsletter—features reflections from nurses across the province, offering insight into their experiences. It also invites readers to pause and consider the questions posed.
Delivering Nursing Education in Thunder Bay, Ontario: A Perspective of Learning and Connection
As pediatric oncology nurses working across Ontario, we share a deep commitment to advancing care for children with cancer. Representing three distinct institutions, we bring together a blend of clinical expertise, Satellite clinic experience, and case management insight. In March 2025, we had the opportunity to travel to Thunder Bay Regional Health Sciences Centre (TBRHSC) to deliver nursing education, including the Association of Pediatric Hematology/Oncology Nurses (APHON) Pediatric Chemotherapy and Biotherapy Provider course, in preparation for the launch of the POGO Satellite Clinic and POGO Interlink program.
The teaching experience itself was rewarding on many levels. As instructors, it was a chance not only to teach but also to learn from one another. Each of us brought unique perspectives: Kirsty shared a wealth of clinical expertise and knowledge of Satellite care; Kyt contributed deep insights from his extensive background across nearly every pediatric oncology nursing role; and Diana represented one of Thunder Bay’s main referring centres. Observing each other’s teaching styles highlighted both the common ground we share and the distinct approaches that shape our practice.
In addition to the Chemotherapy/Biotherapy course, we delivered two full days of targeted education, to four enthusiastic clinic nurses, on key pediatric oncology topics, including bone marrow suppression, treatment side effect management, fever/neutropenia and sepsis, supportive care, and oncologic emergencies. Some of these topics were identified by the Thunder Bay team (Amy Halvorsen, Manager of Pediatrics, and Nicole Zuefle, POGO Interlink Nurse and Satellite Nurse Coordinator) as areas where additional education was needed. Hands-on learning in central venous line care, port accessing, and closed-system transfer device use provided valuable practical experience. The strong attendance from nurses, physicians, and learners reflected the Thunder Bay team’s dedication and commitment to advancing care.
The trip also offered perspective. Experiencing the distance firsthand underscored the challenges families face when traveling for treatment. The POGO Satellite Clinic at TBRHSC will help ease that burden, allowing children and families to receive care closer to home. This reinforced an important truth: across the province, dedicated pediatric oncology nurses provide specialized care every day. Each individual effort contributes to something greater — a shared commitment to supporting children and families facing cancer.
It was a privilege to meet the TBRHSC nurses and welcome them officially to the POGO family. Their enthusiasm, expertise, and pride in their space were inspiring. Having connected with them in person, it feels especially meaningful when we now send patients their way.
Outside of work, we had time to explore Thunder Bay together. We visited the Terry Fox monument, Kakabeka Falls (“the Falls of the North”), the Sleeping Giant, and enjoyed local cuisine. Weather delays stretched our trip by an extra day — yet another reminder of how travel challenges can impact families seeking treatment. And, from the moment we arrived, it was clear that the local Indigenous culture was thoughtfully woven into the hospital environment. Parking lots were named after animals of spiritual significance, and we learned about the hospital’s Spiritual Care Team, which offers patients and families traditional practices such as smudging. This integration of culture into care was both meaningful and inspiring to see.
The TBRHSC nurses sent us off with a sweet farewell: a box of their famous Persian doughnuts. It was the perfect ending to a trip filled with learning, connection, and shared purpose.
This story was written for the fall 2025 issue of The RePORTer, POGO’s Nursing Newsletter by: Diana Masse, RN, Nurse Case Manager Children’s Hospital, London Health Sciences Centre, Kirsty Morelli, NP, Satellite Nurse Coordinator, Scarborough Health Network, Kaniska Young-Tai (Kyt), RN, Satellite Nurse Coordinator SickKids
Ryley’s Superman Journey: From Diagnosis to Daycare
When I was pregnant, everything looked perfect. My wife Jessica and I had gone through insemination, every test came back clear, and we felt reassured. At our anatomy ultrasound, they mentioned Ryley’s kidneys looked slightly enlarged, but said not to worry, that it was common in boys and usually resolved after birth. So we didn’t worry.
Ryley was born via C-section on May 5, 2023. Before we were discharged, we were sent for a routine ultrasound. That’s when everything changed. A pediatrician walked into our room, sat down, and handed us a report. At the bottom it read, “possible cancer.” In one breath, I went from holding my newborn to wondering if he would survive the night.
We were told he needed to be transferred to the children’s hospital in Toronto. They said it could wait until Monday, but I couldn’t bear the thought of sitting in limbo. Jessica and I packed what we could and drove through the night.
Once we arrived, everything blurred together: ultrasounds, bloodwork, catheters, and more. On May 11, Ryley had his biopsy. He struggled to wake up afterward and was sent to intensive care. Days later, we heard the words I had been bracing myself for: rhabdomyosarcoma, a rare type of cancer that starts as a growth of cells in soft tissue. Our oncologist explained that Ryley would need 14 rounds of chemotherapy. I did the math. He’d be nearly two years old when it ended. His entire babyhood would be spent in treatment.
As a nurse, I sometimes slipped into professional mode when discussing tests or procedures. But most of the time, I was just scared, exhausted, and trying to keep it together—for Ryley and for Jessica.
Chemo began just four days later. While we started treatment in Toronto, Ryley’s care quickly became a split between SickKids Hospital and the POGO Satellite Clinic in Sudbury. He got sick often—dangerously sick.
We took multiple emergency flights, including helicopter rides, back to Toronto when his condition worsened. In that first year alone, we travelled over 50,000 kilometers. Our lives became a blur of hospital rooms, highway stretches, and moments that tested every ounce of strength we had.
When we first came home to Sudbury, Vicky, our POGO Interlink Nurse, became a lifeline. We had drained our savings and were trying to stay afloat. She helped us find and access every bit of support available, including financial assistance from POGO, the POGO hotel program for trips back and forth to Toronto, and even other community resources when the costs began to pile up. Vicky made sure we were never completely on our own.
Still, the road was far from easy. Ryley faced multiple infections, sepsis, allergic reactions, and dangerous fevers that would spike in minutes. Surgery was the next big step. The plan was to remove his bladder entirely, but after twelve agonizing hours in the waiting room, the surgeon told us he had managed to save part of it and reconstruct it.
That felt like the best day of our lives.
The weeks after surgery were brutal. Catheter blockages led to kidney injury. Ryley’s incision split, and I found myself holding his bowel in my hands, shouting for help. He was rushed back into surgery. Later, there was a suspected bowel obstruction and another emergency operation. And then the Code Blue I will never forget. Ryley was limp in my arms with a 42+ degree fever and unresponsive. Jessica and I thought we’d lost him, but somehow, he made it through.
And then, again, another best day of our lives.
Through it all, Ryley amazed everyone. Even as a tiny baby, he smiled at nurses, watched every procedure with curiosity, and charmed entire teams. We started calling him Superman. We had shirts made, and to this day, he still wears his superhero gear proudly.
Ryley finished chemo in October 2024. For six months after, he was still considered immunocompromised. Only this past spring did he finally receive his vaccinations. By summer 2025, he was ready for daycare. Watching him walk into that room healthy, strong, and ready to play felt like the return of the life we had dreamed of since the day he was born.
And through it all, the Sudbury POGO Satellite Clinic was our anchor. I don’t know how we would have managed without it. The clinic became our second family. Ryley adored the nurses, and they adored him. Being close to home meant we had family support and a sense of normal when nothing felt normal. Those nurses watched him grow, celebrated his milestones, advocated for us, and even visited his daycare to help staff understand what he’d been through.
Ryley is two now. He still has challenges ahead, but he is here, laughing, growing, and living his little boy life. And every day, we are grateful for the care that carried us through the darkest moments and gave us this chance to look forward.
By Danika Bergeron
Even superheroes need help. Be the sidekick every superhero needs: Donate Today
“Cancer has been a thief in our lives”: A Mother’s Story
When Jordan’s son Kian was diagnosed with leukemia, her family’s world shifted overnight. With four young boys and a dairy farm to run, life in their small Ontario community was already busy—but nothing could have prepared them for what came next. Through months of hospital stays, setbacks, and small triumphs, the POGO Satellite Clinic in Kitchener-Waterloo became their lifeline. Here, Jordan shares her family’s story.
My name is Jordan, and I’m the proud mom of four boys: Arian, who’s nine; Tias, who’s six; Kian, who’s five, and little Taren, who’s three.
Before cancer, our days were filled with school runs, speed skating, and helping my husband on our dairy farm. It was a full, happy, chaotic life.
Then Kian started spiking fevers and complaining of tummy pain. After two weeks, my nursing instincts told me something wasn’t right. I pushed for tests. The bloodwork came back abnormal, and before we knew it, we were being transferred to the Children’s Hospital more than 100 km away in Hamilton.
At first, doctors suspected infection or sepsis. Leukemia wasn’t obvious because there were no bruises or the usual signs. But then came the words no parent ever expects to hear: your child has cancer.
From that day forward, everything changed.
Kian’s treatment was filled with complications. He needed a rare blood transfusion flown in from BC because of unusual antibodies. He developed an infection at his bone marrow site. And he had to have an NG tube—a thin tube through his nose into his stomach—for both chemo and feeding. The adhesive from the tube caused painful skin infections, and his blood counts were painfully slow to recover.
We expected to be at hospital for a week but ended up living there for two months. The high-dose steroids brought a whole other set of challenges: a puffy face, weight gain, mood swings, and hunger that made him “hangry.”
But the physical part was only half of it.
Cancer has been a thief in our lives.
My husband is a dairy farmer, and you can’t just take time off when you own the farm. So, I left my nursing job (eventually giving up my license) to manage Kian’s care full-time. Cancer didn’t just bring financial strain; it stole time, attention, and energy from our whole family. It changed who we are, how we parent, and who remains in our lives.
It stole bonding time with my youngest son, time I’ll never get back. It left my older kids wrestling with anxiety and feeling invisible. My eldest, Arian, once wrote that “everyone is always concerned about Kian, but forget that we exist.” Hearing that as a mom breaks you.
Coming home after long hospital stays was hard. Kian looked like a different child. He was bloated from steroids, a tube taped to his face, unable to walk steadily. Sometimes he crawled; sometimes his brothers had to help him move. Watching your child lose basic abilities is devastating.
But there were moments of grace. Once, when all Kian wanted was dill pickles, a friend showed up with a jar—peeled and cut small enough not to irritate his feeding tube. To anyone else, it might have looked like a jar of pickles. To me, it was survival.
And then, there was POGO.
I can’t describe what a gift it is to have some piece of normalcy when everything else has been torn apart.
The POGO Satellite Clinic in Kitchener-Waterloo became our lifeline. Instead of driving hours to Hamilton, Kian could get expert care close to home. That meant less time on the road, more time with his brothers, and a chance for all of us to feel normal again.
I can’t describe what a gift it is to have some piece of normalcy when everything else has been torn apart.
Beyond care, the clinic gave us something just as important: community. The staff knew us by name. They understood the ups and downs of treatment and made us feel seen. Through POGO, we learned that we were never alone in this.
Today, Kian is strong, funny, and creative. He’s even started making videos to help other kids understand what cancer treatment is like. That’s who he is: a little boy who turns something painful into something that helps someone else.
When I look at Kian, I see how far he’s come, but I also see how far we’ve come as a family. My husband and I have weathered storms we never imagined. Arian, Tias, and Taren have learned resilience no child should need to. And I’ve learned that asking for help—and accepting it—is not weakness. It’s survival.
– By Jordan Vanstee
For Childhood Cancer Awareness Month, the Vanstee family hosted the second annual Kian’s Skate for Childhood Cancer to raise awareness and funds for POGO. The event surpassed its goal, raising nearly $6,400 in support of care for children with cancer and their families.
The 2025 POGO Awards Honour Excellence in Childhood Cancer Care
On Friday, November 7, the Pediatric Oncology Group of Ontario (POGO) proudly celebrated the recipients of the 2025 POGO Awards. Since their inception in 1999, these awards have recognized the outstanding contributions of individuals across Ontario who are advancing childhood cancer care both within the province and beyond. Through their work in POGO partner hospitals, this year’s honourees embody POGO’s core values of partnership, collaboration, and excellence, and continue to make a meaningful impact in the lives of children, youth, families, and the broader pediatric oncology community.
Congratulations to the 2025 POGO Recognition Awards recipients: Lillian Sung, MD, PhD, FRCPC Champion Award (not pictured) Sumit Gupta, MD, PhD, FRCPC and Sue Zupanec, MN, NP Visionary Award (Team – Tie); Alisha Kassam, MD, MPH, FRCPC and the Southlake AYA Oncology Program Visionary Award (Team – Tie); Rebecca Mackenzie Community Partner Impact Award; Emma King BA, CHYS Early Career Professional; Lindsay Jibb, RN, PhD, CPHON Nursing Leadership Award. They are joined (centre) by POGO CEO Lauren Ettin and POGO Medical Director Donna Johnston.
POGO Champion Award
Lillian Sung, MD, PhD, FRCPC
In tribute to a career of seminal research, visionary leadership, and unwavering dedication that has improved childhood cancer care across Ontario and propelled progress worldwide.
POGO Visionary Award – Team (Tie)
Sumit Gupta, MD, PhD, FRCPC and Sue Zupanec MN NP
In acknowledgement of their trailblazing contributions that have transformed lives and shaped the future of pediatric leukemia treatment in Ontario and beyond.
POGO Visionary Award – Team (Tie)
Alisha Kassam, MD, MPH, FRCPC and the Southlake AYA Oncology Program
For their commitment to equitable, age-appropriate cancer care for adolescents and young adults in Ontario that has inspired system-wide change.
POGO Nursing Leadership Award
Lindsay Jibb, RN, PhD, CPHON
In recognition of her groundbreaking innovations that have contributed to advancing pediatric oncology nursing in Ontario and beyond.
POGO Early Career Professional Award
Emma King, BA CHYS
In recognition of her patient-centred approach and dedication to adolescents and young adults diagnosed with cancer.
POGO Community Partner Impact Award
Rebecca McKenzie
In honour of her impact through fundraising, partnership building, and generous support that has powerfully advanced POGO’s mission and serves as an inspiration to others across the province.
Learn more about the POGO Recognition Awards Program
POGO Internship Wrap-Up: Michael’s Journey with First Avenue
This summer, First Avenue Investment Counsel proudly hosted Michael Ciaramitaro as a summer intern as part of their ongoing partnership with the Pediatric Oncology Group of Ontario (POGO). For Michael, who benefits from POGO’s Aftercare Program, the opportunity to intern with a firm deeply committed to the cause was more than just a learning experience, it was a full-circle moment.
From day one, Michael immersed himself in the world of wealth management and life in the big city. One of his most rewarding projects was presenting multiple investment ideas to the public equities team. What began as curiosity quickly evolved into a full-blown research project, where Michael refined his equity research and presentation skills under the mentorship of Brian Madden, Ian Chong and Ethan Cummings.
Reflecting on his challenges, Michael acknowledged that stepping into the unfamiliar world of public equities and learning to navigate the Bloomberg Terminal pushed him outside of his comfort zone. Through curiosity, persistence, and a willingness to ask questions, he gained valuable insights from seasoned professionals at the firm. “I was able to soak up every ounce of knowledge I could, just by listening and watching,” he shared.
The internship also reaffirmed Michael’s career goals. With a strong interest in becoming a financial advisor, he found his passion for client service and community-focused work further validated through this experience. His time with First Avenue highlighted the importance not only of technical skills but also of relationships, teamwork, and giving back. Michael spoke warmly about the culture of the firm, describing it as a “work hard, play hard family.” Whether in team meetings or team socials, he saw firsthand how collaboration and camaraderie are woven into the workplace.
Perhaps most meaningful to Michael was the chance to see the impact of community partnerships from a new perspective. Having relied on POGO’s support himself, he was able to contribute to the fundraising and advocacy efforts that support children, youth and families impacted by childhood cancer. “Being on this side of the relationship was eye-opening for me,” he said. “It reinforced my commitment to staying actively involved in supporting these missions as I grow in my career.”
Leah Boyd, President of First Avenue Investment Counsel, reflected on the importance of hosting interns like Michael:
“Our partnership with POGO is about more than fundraising, it’s about investing in the next generation. With this internship program, our goal is to provide childhood cancer survivors with the tangible skills and confidence they need to thrive in any professional setting. Michael brought passion, positivity, and a unique perspective to our team, and we’re proud to have been part of his journey. His story reminds us why community partnerships matter and how they shape not just careers, but lives.”
As Michael looks ahead, he plans to continue giving back to causes like POGO through advocacy, professional contributions, and perhaps one day serving on a board. For now, he leaves his internship with new skills, lasting relationships, and memories that include everything from pitching investment ideas to team socials.
About The Author:
First Avenue Investment Counsel Inc. (First Avenue) is a Canadian firm specializing in investment management and multi-family office services. The firm’s pension-style investment approach, inclusive of equities, fixed income, and proprietary alternatives, is designed to help clients achieve their unique financial goals. Acting as trusted partners and investing alongside their clients, First Avenue aligns financial success with individual values and long-term aspirations. Committed to excellence and a personalized approach, the firm provides guidance with clarity and confidence throughout the wealth planning journey. First Avenue also fosters a collaborative environment where employees are empowered to pursue their ambitions and make a positive impact on the communities they serve.
Plushies, Photography and a Story
Authors: Hailey Millard, Varun Sayal and Natasia Vernon
Author: Hailey Millard
Hi! My name is Hailey Millard, and I’m 20 years old. I had just turned three when I was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. It was a very long and hard battle that I fought. This November, I will be 15 years in remission!
I started knitting when I was 10. I picked up crocheting this past year and began trying to sell my creations on Shopify. I love to make stuffies! It’s my absolutely favourite thing to do.
I’ve struggled with anxiety my whole life, and knitting and crochet are two of the few things that quiet my brain. I also love helping people and putting smiles on their faces. So, when I give or sell my work, it makes me really happy that I can make someone smile or even help them through whatever struggle they’re facing.
Some of my favourite pieces that I have made include octopuses, turtles (big and small), pickles, T. rexes, brontosaurs, and even a snowman! I hope that whoever is reading this smiles at the pictures of my stuffies.
Author: Varun Sayal
Age of diagnosis: 17
Diagnosis: Ependymoma. Fortunately, it was benign. Most of the tumour was removed surgically, and the rest through radiation therapy.
Photography has not only become a creative outlet, but it has also served as my reminder to continue exploring. To continue pushing myself to my limits. To keep learning. But of course, reality kicks in, and health issues can challenge my ability to stay consistent. If there is one thing I have learned, as a photographer and through this whole journey, it is to make the best of whatever is in front of me.
Whether I am standing around and photographing a beautiful sunset sky with little to no effort or sitting down and placing the camera on my foot to get a better image of Lake Louise, this "playing the cards you have been dealt" approach certainly applies to my art.
Author: Natasia Vernon
Diagnosis: Neuroblastoma
Age of diagnosis: 10 weeks
Trigger Warning: Difficult themes mentioned
Our Monster
There’s a monster in my belly. It caught hold of the inside of a body, tainted me a greyish hue of sick and made itself at home. Gripped so tight, the monster built a whole future for me out of my blood and bones. It’s happy here, settled in its infant form and whispered in the night, my voice so new to both of us; we only knew to cry.
It took up an insurmountable amount of space; the loudest, the biggest, the strongest. Until it met my mother. She held grief in her heart already, met a monster of a similar breed not long before and watched it pave its war path. When she held me, she could feel the weight of the monster, hear the shadows creeping from my skin, see icky green and poisoned cells; her child, now possessed. Her screams ripped through the hospital, cut right to the core of the monster and made it known. Our voices battling in the white walls of a sterile room, the monster forced to an uncertain hush.
At four years old and one bus ride away, a sister is waiting in a house I can’t remember. She hides behind closed doors, listening to the sound of fighting parents or to the claustrophobic quiet of our home. The same home where the father invited in strangers to fill a void that spread by way of viscous sorrow. My sister releases every last drop of salt from her body; she fills the entire house with enough tears to drown.
In a future that will feel a lifetime away, she will lock the door behind her and teach herself to swim. My father’s pain will disperse into the summer wind. My mother will bury her grief in a garden, and her screams will melt down to a prideful melody. The monster will have freed me. I'll live the life it paved for me, learning to grow flowers from my scars.
Here, living in the empty room I share with the monster, my dad takes me from our crib. He holds me gently in his arms and listens as my heartbeat stills. My mother screams at the doctor that something is wrong. My sister plays with dolls, where she learns to translate life and death into make-believe. My dad grips tighter. My mom begs for flowers; discovers them sprouting from an old wound. Slowly. Steady. My heart.
Post-Treatment Path
Author: Emily Burtwistle
Diagnosis: Ganglioglioma (at age 7)
My name is Emily Burtwistle, and I am a recent graduate of the Child Studies program at the University of Guelph, and I will be starting at Western University to pursue my Bachelor of Education. While I am not a poet, I felt passionate about sharing this poem I wrote to shed light on some post-treatment struggles that may resonate with others.
I was diagnosed with my tumour at the age of seven, and I’ve been in “remission” since 2012. I cannot stress enough how grateful I am to be in remission, and how sad I am that some friends are no longer here to celebrate that milestone themselves. That said, “survivorship” has brought many unforeseen challenges that I have had to adapt to—from insecurity and anxiety to depression over not feeling like a “normal” teen. Each MRI and follow-up appointment, and each academic or accessibility issue (for example, I have a special waiver from the Ministry of Transportation that allows me to drive with reduced vision), reminds me that I am still on this journey.
The world expects I now should fly—
But most days, I’m just getting by.
The reason that I decided to share this vulnerable poem is to spread awareness that the journeys of childhood cancer patients are not over when treatment ends. Each with our own battles, we continue on our post-treatment paths, working through various challenges. Finally, I would like to dedicate this poem to my parents, who stood painstakingly beside me through every step of this journey, and try to understand how I am feeling as I navigate life after cancer treatment.
Post-Treatment Path
They supported me through and cheered me loud,
Called me a fighter, brave and proud.
The war was won, or so they say,
But battles still wake me every day.
I walk through new doors with shadowed feet,
Despite happier times, the echoes meet.
Yes, joy now blooms in daily things—
A nature hike, the way hope sings.
Yet underneath each golden hue,
Are silent fears I can't undo.
A body “healed” is not a whole,
When scars still tremble in the soul.
I chase each new horizon with eager wings,
Bound by unseen, aching strings.
The world expects I now should fly—
But most days, I’m just getting by.
This shell that looks like "doing well"
Still houses storms I cannot tell.
My limbs may move, my smile may stay,
But pain and panic cloud the way.
A “simple” task can feel like war,
A crowded road, a locking door.
Anxiety—a ghost I knew—
Now paints the present in its hue.
It whispers, “Don’t. You might break again.”
And leaves me frozen, trapped within.
And when the fear is much too loud,
It pulls me under towards the ground.
From trembling nerves to aching chest,
Depression drapes me into rest.
The ones I love—they often miss
The cracks behind the hopeful kiss.
They see my light, not how it fades
Behind a smile that masquerades.
My family dreams I’ll soar so high—
But never ask just how hard I try.
They mean it well, but don’t quite see
The weight of their hopes crushing me.
Anxiety from work, relationships, or school,
Somehow, I always seem to fool—
All those around me who could help,
This grieving soul to find herself.
Each “You can do it” stings my skin
When they don’t know the state I’m in.
I want to live, to leap, to dare—
But I still limp despite my prayers.
Yet in this ache, a truth remains:
That growth still blooms in hidden pains.
The joy I feel is real and bright,
But coexists with quiet fright.
So hear me not as weak or small,
I’ve risen, yes—but still I crawl.
The post-treatment path is feeling long,
A melody of grief and song.
But every step, no matter how slow,
Is proof I strive, is proof I grow.
