St. Jude cancer survivor Scott stands as proof of what’s possible

Scott Hinshelwood was giving a tour of St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital when a mom pushing her little girl in a wheelchair asked where she could buy the T-shirt he was wearing. 

The mom introduced herself, Jamie, and then her daughter, Bridget, just 6 and newly diagnosed with osteosarcoma in the tibia of her right leg. It was their first day at St. Jude. 

“I was a patient here myself,” Scott told them. Same diagnosis, different leg. 

He knew what Bridget faced because he’d been through it. “If you have any questions or if you need anything, I’m happy to help,” Scott said. 

Jamie knew there was a chance her daughter might lose her leg. Tentatively, she asked Scott, “Did you…?” She couldn’t tell by his walk.

Scott knew what Jamie wanted to know. He pulled up his pant leg to show her his prosthetic leg.

It was the first time Jamie had met someone else with osteosarcoma, and she was captivated. This man, married to his high school sweetheart, a father of three, working at a job he obviously loved, just radiated life.

Jamie never let herself think that Bridget might die. “I refused to believe it,” she said. Meeting this kind, healthy man without even a hitch in his step was confirmation. 

“It gave me hope that my child was going to make it.”

The T-shirt Scott was wearing that day is given to people who become a St. Jude Partner in Hope by donating monthly. On the front, it says, “This shirt saves lives.”

He’s proof of that. 

Worse than a break

Scott was 15, playing forward on the freshman basketball team, when his left ankle started bothering him. The teenager iced it at night and wore an ankle brace to school and practice. No big deal. 

It was a big deal to his mom. Months later, in May 1990, when Scott’s ankle wasn’t any better, she insisted he get an X-ray.

At the doctor’s office, listening to Young MC on his Walkman, the worst Scott could imagine was a break. Maybe he’d need a cast, which wouldn’t be bad. He’d get out of class early; his friends would carry his books.

But when Scott saw the look on his doctor’s face, he thought, “Well, that ain’t good.”

The X-ray had revealed a tumor. The doctor referred Scott to St. Jude and made an appointment for the very next morning. Worse than a break.

At St. Jude, Scott was diagnosed with osteosarcoma, a bone cancer. His medical team matter-of-factly explained the treatment plan. Their confidence was contagious.

Scott wasn’t scared. Not even weeks into chemotherapy when he learned he would lose part of his leg. His medical team assured him that with a prosthetic leg, he could play basketball — and anything else he wanted to do.

Fun and friendship

Just as Scott started treatment, he met a boy about his age with the same diagnosis who was finishing treatment. “It was nice to have someone to talk to,” Scott said. Someone to laugh with. Someone who had been through it — and confirmation Scott could survive.

Instead of wearing a ballcap to hide his bald head, Scott donned a multi-colored clown wig. He joked with the nurses, waging a campaign of water fights using saline-filled syringes. He was notorious for making prank calls. 

Scott got as good as he gave, including once during chemotherapy when he woke in the medicine room to find his big toe bright red and medical staff feigning concern he’d contracted “Red Toe Syndrome.” (The paint wore off five days later.)

When Scott finished chemotherapy, he tapped the pilfered code into the intercom and played Steppenwolf’s “Born to Be Wild” on his boombox, broadcasting it hospital wide. As medical staff pushed him in a wheelchair along the hallways, Scott threw confetti.

‘Be who you want to be’

To prevent Scott’s cancer from spreading with the hope of saving his life, his left leg was amputated below the knee on June 27, 1990. He woke from surgery with a cast where his lower leg had been.

When his physical therapist coaxed Scott out of bed the first time, she was kind but firm, taking no excuses.

“Looking back,” Scott said, “I needed her brashness and her like, ‘Hey, teenage boy, you can be as smart aleck as you want to be, but you’ve got to get up and do this if you're going to be who you want to be.” He got up.

When his cast was changed out a week later, he felt the missing weight of his leg for the first time. “I don’t know how to describe it, just a weird feeling of not having the rest of your leg,” Scott said. Sometimes, he still could feel it, itching or burning even though it wasn’t there.

In physical therapy, Scott took baby steps and then bigger ones, using parallel bars to balance and then walking on a balance beam. He started out on crutches and then used a cane.

One day at school, when the bell rang for lunch, Scott thought, “I can do this without the cane.” He walked to the cafeteria without it. No one noticed, but he congratulated himself, “That was kind of bad ass.”

Making his brain believe

Running was tougher. “When you’re running, an all-out sprint, you have to throw that leg out, and your brain has to know that there’s going to be a foot there when it touches,” Scott said. His brain didn’t believe it. 

Scott’s prosthetist, who made and maintained his prosthesis, understood. He’d lost his leg in a motorcycle accident. 

He took Scott to a baseball field and, side-by-side, they started out jogging. “Let’s step it up,” the prosthetist told Scott. Together, they sprinted. 

“It really was what I needed,” Scott said. Someone who understood how he felt. Someone who could help him believe.

Scott returned to high school more outgoing than before. “Once you have a robot leg and a bald head, everybody stares at you anyway,” Scott said. He played recreational basketball. His senior year, he was voted “Most Friendly.”

Scott graduated from University of Tennessee at Martin with a public relations degree in May 1997, and a month later, he married his high school sweetheart, Leigh. They have three children: Caroline, 24, a pediatric nurse; Ashlyn, 22, who just graduated from college with a business degree; and Kevin, 19, a welding student.

In July that same year, Scott was hired at ALSAC, the fundraising and awareness organization for St. Jude. Now, as director of ALSAC’s Music and Audio Team, Scott helps radio stations nationwide raise about $70 million annually for St. Jude.

“There’s nothing like waking up in the morning and knowing you're working with the place that saved your life,” Scott said. “I mean, even on those days where you've worked long hours or you had kind of a bad day, because something didn't go right or whatever, you know why you're doing it.”

He’s seen the campus grow, dramatic improvements in treatment and survival rates, and patients grow up. Patients like Bridget.

Answering every call

“As somebody who’s been through it, you are part of a club that you’d never choose to join, but you’re in it,” Scott said. He helps others with limb loss because the people who helped him on his journey meant so much to him.

Patients know Scott understands because he’s been through it, too. For their parents, he represents hope. Scott understands how important that is because his younger daughter was treated at St. Jude for a blood clotting disorder. 

So, any time a parent calls with questions, Scott answers his phone. Jamie said she had plenty. Over the years, they met for lunch and saw each other at St. Jude events. 

Scott always made Bridget laugh, even in tough times. He helped her see the bright side when chemotherapy caused her long hair to fall out. “No more knots!” Bridget told Scott.

Now 13, Bridget teases Scott, who’s 49, about being bald. He jokingly threatens to pull her hair, long again now. 

“For us,” Jamie said, “meeting Scott was a sense of comfort.”

What’s possible

Every year, Scott celebrates “Scott Leg Week” to mark the anniversary of his amputation, eating chicken legs and asking people on social media to do the same and post pictures. June will mark 35 years. 

Scott shares information on social media about what it is like to live as an amputee. He didn’t intentionally set out to raise awareness but to answer people’s questions.

Yes, he wears his prosthetic leg almost all the time. “It’s a part of me,” Scott said. He takes it off to shower and sleep, but if he has to get up in the night to let the dog out, he pulls it back on.

He’s challenged people to get in and out of the shower on only one leg — “Please be careful,” he cautioned — and demonstrated how his prosthesis works. He explained how he still gets phantom pains, maybe a dozen times a year. It feels like a stabbing in his long-gone foot or a tingling in his stump that keeps him awake all night. 

No, he doesn’t consider himself disabled, because he can do everything he wants to do.

Scott could keep quiet about it all. People can know him for months before they realize he has a prosthetic leg. He takes pride in that.

But when Scott gives tours of St. Jude or speaks at St. Jude events, he shares his story and pulls up his pant leg to show his prosthesis. He wants people to know what St. Jude makes possible.

“St. Jude gave me the chance to have a life,” Scott said. He’s grateful for every day. St. Jude also gave him a career and a purpose. 

“Because of the work I do and the money I raise, more and more kids at St. Jude are given a chance to live,” he said. “I’m proud to be a part of that.”