By MATT CHANDLER
mchandler@bizjournals.com | 716-541-1654

As we navigated the halls of Women & Children's Hospital last week, my daughter squeezing my hand with an urgency that made my heart ache, I wondered how I was going to make it through the next two hours.

We were there to have some medical testing done, and to say Dad wasn't prepared to have his little girl "put under" for an endoscopy and a biopsy would be an understatement. I was in full-on panic attack and, as we rode the elevator to the fourth floor, praying that I would find the strength to get through this without showing my Zoey how scared I was. We dads are supposed to be the brave ones, right?

A few moments later, we were ushered into a waiting room that, despite the bright pastels splashed on walls and the array of games scattered about, was possibly the most depressing place I have ever been. I sat down and almost immediately began to feel nauseous.

My heart began to race. Again, I closed my eyes and looked for help. Then I raised my head and came face-to-face with a young man who changed my circumstances in a way I never would have thought possible.

His name is D.J. and, as fate would have it, he and my daughter share the same doctor; his appointment was just ahead of hers.

What first drew me to D.J. was the giant smile he had on his face. The hospital's pediatric testing wing is not a place that is overly conducive to smiling, yet D.J. sat there with the biggest grin the entire time. I soon found out that David Kuras Jr. was far from your average 13-year-old.

For starters, I couldn't believe it when he told me his age. His tiny frame and stick-thin arms led me to put him around 10. He matter-of-factly explained that the disease he has been fighting for the last four years stopped his growth. It also led to a kidney transplant a year ago and a regimen that includes more than 30 pills every day as his body fights back against the illness that is ravaging it from the inside out.

As D.J. shared his life with me, I was speechless. I am a reporter and my job is to listen to people's stories and share them with our readers. I've been doing it for a long time and I never met any adult - much less a child - with such an incredibly calming self-awareness and optimism in the face of potentially life-threatening circumstances.

As we talked, he pulled up his shirt to show me the tubes that protrude from his rib cage as doctors work to save his new kidney. There are scars, too, but unless you ask, you would never know. With his mom, Cheryle, by his side and Uncle Eddie in tow, D.J. treks from the family's home in Eden to the city for doctor visits several times each week.

At one point, as he was explaining it all to me, he had to step away with a nurse. He returned, calmly reported his current stats, sat down and resumed talking - his smile still as bright as when he entered the waiting area.

While he was gone, Cheryle detailed the challenges the family faces with the astronomical costs of paying for her son's illness. The family has insurance, but to say that solves the problem is akin to saying that if you own a car, you can hit the track at Daytona and win a NASCAR race.

But with D.J., the conversation covers a range of topics including how he deals with bullies ("I don't back down. If I have to fight, I will."). He told me about one time when, upon returning to school after his transplant, a boy tried to hit him in his new kidney. We talked about his size and, like everything else, he deflected any sympathy.

"People can take me for who I am, or not," he told me. "I'm fine either way."

We talked about how he missed playing lacrosse and how he hopes to get back on the field in 2012. Really? I thought to myself. You have a failing kidney, a bad liver, tubes hanging out of you and more doctors' visits than many people will see in a lifetime. Do you really think you are getting back on the lacrosse field?

But that, I learned, is what makes D.J. so special. He does believe. At an age when the average, healthy teenager walks around with a victim mentalityfor one reason or another, here is a young man who has spent nearly a third of his life fighting an unnamed disease, refusing to see himself as a victim. Not only am I not counting him out, but I plan to be on the sidelines when he steps on the lacrosse field for the first time to resume doing what he loves.

One of my favorite novels is "A Prayer for Owen Meany." The protagonist is a young boy who was born undersized and spends his life fighting to fit in, refusing to be a victim to his circumstances. At one point in the novel, Owen declares, "There is no such thing as a coincidence." It has always been my favorite line from my favorite book.

Then I met D.J. and it all made sense. It was no accident that my daughter was scheduled for her appointment that day. It was no coincidence that we were in that room together. I needed a distraction, someone to help me gain some perspective on my own family's circumstances, and a young man with a heart and a perspective larger than life walked into the room and taught me a lesson.

After his testing, D.J. and his family stopped back in to see us. With all they were going through, they wanted to check in and see how Zoey was doing. I told D.J. I wanted to write about him, I told him briefly how amazed I was by not only what he has been through but how he manages to be so strong and positive. He smiled, shrugged his shoulders and said something that brought me my first tears of the day.

"I just think there are people who have it worse off than me," he said. "I have it easy and I'm not going to feel bad about it."

I met with him and his family a week after our encounter at the hospital. The tests that day did not go well; there are bigger problems and he may now have to travel to Pittsburgh to see a liver specialist. But when he walked into our offices, the smile was as big as ever. Anyone watching would have no idea of the battles my young friend is facing. And that, is exactly the way he wants it.

Matt Chandler: mchandler@bizjournals.com