The Candace Anderson story and status update

May 3, 2002, as I stood by Candace’s bed at Emory Hospital, Candace said, “Mommy, I can’t feel my feet.” Five minutes later, “Mommy, I can’t feel my legs.” This numbness continued up her body until she finally said, “I can’t feel my face or mouth. What’s wrong with me?” She could not see or hear me, so I spelled the letters on her forehead “GOD IS IN CONTROL”. She then closed her eyes and has not spoken since.

Candace did not feel sorry for herself and it was evident in all she did and said. One Sunday in 2001, she delivered a motivational speech: “Do not look at the person in this wheelchair and feel sorry because I am in constant pain. Do not feel sad that I cannot walk on my own. But look at me as the girl who can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Candace, “You WILL live and not die and declare the works of the Most High!”

People both near and far have helped with prayer, monetary donations, given gifts, as well as held events in her name to raise funds. Others have simply asked what else they could do to help! The CAMI Scholarship is our way of honoring Candace and saying “thank you” to all of those who have helped.

‘The State Has Abandoned Her’

DATE: January 18, 2004
PUBLICATION: Atlanta Journal-Constitution, The (GA)
EDITION: Home; The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
SECTION: Metro News

Inside her family’s sun-soaked living room, a once independent woman depends on others to do everything for her.
Dab her lips with Vaseline. Suction her breathing tube. Give her shots to prevent blood clots. Make sure her feeding tube isn’t clogged. Change her diaper.
Sometimes Candace buries her face in her mother’s chest and sobs. “It’ll be OK,” Sarah Anderson says as she rubs her daughter’s shoulders. “I’m here.”
Candace — who cannot see, hear, sit up or speak — doesn’t know how precarious her life at home is.

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Candace’s Unexplained Illness Bio

The uneXplained Videos

Candace Bio


DeKalb Offers New Aid to Deaf Students

BYLINE: Patti Ghezzi; Staff
DATE: January 22, 2001
PUBLICATION: The Atlanta Journal and The Atlanta Constitution
The Atlanta Constitution SECTION: News

Candace Anderson walks through the crowded hallway at Columbia High School, her books clutched to her chest as she makes her way to second period. Lockers slam shut. Shrieks of laughter drown out the announcements crackling over the intercom as students call out to each other: “Hey girl!”

Candace hears only muffled noise.

For reasons that doctors cannot definitively explain, Candace’s brain has stopped processing noise into meaningful language and sounds.

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© 2007-2012 CAMI Foundation - The Candace Anderson Mystery Illness Foundation
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