Princess Warrior Ellie’s smile brings out the best in everyone around her

Ellie's family poses for a photo

Four-year-old Ellie Baird runs toward strangers. She’ll greet you at her door, ask your name and why you’re there and show you every accessory in her Barbie Dream House. All with her wide, full-face smile.

Her parents, Meagan and Dustin Baird, remember only a handful of times when Ellie didn’t have that smile. Ellie was two and wasn’t eating like she used to. At first, her pediatrician thought it was constipation. Then Ellie started getting high fevers.

When Ellie pushed away a piece of cake in tears at her sister’s birthday party, Meagan and Dustin knew something wasn’t right. Ellie’s Papaw picked her up and noticed her stomach was protruding. They scheduled an appointment to figure out what was going on.

The color drained from the pediatrician’s face when they felt Ellie’s stomach. After an X-ray and an ultrasound, the family was sent straight to the emergency department at Dayton Children’s Hospital, where they found out Ellie had a Wilms tumor. More scans showed it had already destroyed one of her kidneys.

What came next would be the hardest nine months of their lives. But they wouldn’t go through it alone.

the people who showed up

Their first nurse in the emergency department was named Blythe. When Ellie screamed and fought against the IV and Meagan didn’t know how to help, Blythe was patient. She told Meagan exactly what to do: cuddle up next to Ellie and whisper in her ear that everything is okay.

Then there was Jordan Wright, MD, division chief of hematology oncology. He told Meagan and Dustin that he had a daughter Ellie’s age and that he’d care for her like his own.

“Childhood cancer moves fast,” he said. “We move faster.”

And he meant it. Ellie started treatment quickly. Dr. Wright was there for every step. He walked them through every test result, answered questions from all their family members and visited on days she wasn’t scheduled to see him.

Another consistent presence from the start was Cassidy, the family’s nurse navigator. “Cass was a blessing from day one,” Meagan says. “Every anxious call, every question, every fever — she handled them all.”

As Ellie’s surgery approached, they met her surgeon and the division chief of pediatric surgery, John Crow, MD. Meagan remembers sitting on the couch with her mom while Ellie played on the floor, talking with him the day before the operation.

Dr. Crow was straightforward: It would be the biggest Wilms tumor he had ever removed, but he was confident he could get it all.

“That felt reassuring,” Meagan says. “Being vulnerable about it, but still having that confidence.” Dr. Crow removed the tumor completely in a single surgery.

In the days that followed, Ellie stayed in the ICU surrounded by tubes and monitors. One night, while Meagan watched Love Island on her phone, a nurse came in and said, “Don’t tell me what happens tonight – I’m watching in the morning.” The two talked about the show. For Meagan, life felt almost normal again for a few minutes.

Meagan recalls another night, standing at the ICU window on a video call with her sister, known as Aunt Kitty. She assured Meagan that they’d get through this because Ellie was Aunt Kitty’s Princess Warrior. And Princess Warriors slay cancer.

Aunt Kitty made shirts and wristbands. The nickname stuck.

angels in scrubs

Early on in treatment, an oncology nurse named Paige overheard Meagan blaming herself for Ellie’s cancer. Meagan had been asking herself the same questions over and over: what had she done during pregnancy, what had she brought into the house?

Paige told her plainly that she had done nothing to cause this. Then she asked permission to share her own story of her father’s cancer and the guilt she had carried, wondering if she could have caught it sooner. That conversation helped Meagan finally let the guilt go.

Throughout chemotherapy, Paige painted pictures with Ellie, sat on the floor and played with stuffed animals and watched Ellie’s favorite videos. On the toughest days, Ellie would light up the moment she saw Paige. “The entire hematology/oncology team, from inpatient to infusion, was made up of angels in scrubs,” Meagan says.

Along with their Dayton Children’s care team, Meagan’s mom was there from the very first day of diagnosis, talking to doctors, writing down questions and sitting at her side. Meagan’s dad, Ellie’s Papaw, took off work so he wouldn’t miss any of her appointments. He drove them to her radiation treatment. Later, he retired so he could keep being there.

no more chemo

For 33 weeks of chemo and eight days of radiation, Ellie kept dancing to Taylor Swift, giggling about Minions and playing Moana on repeat. She kept being Ellie.

Then in March 2025, Princess Warrior Ellie rang the bell.

Her whole family was there, holding bells and singing “no more chemo” to the tune of Happy Birthday. Ellie was dressed head-to-toe in bright yellow, smiling as big as ever. Her older sister Gia didn’t hesitate when they asked if family members wanted to ring the bell, too.

Watching her Sissy walk down the hallway made Gia’s eyes light up.

“We were able to finally breathe again after nine months of feeling like we were suffocating,” Meagan says.

all better

Meagan and Dustin have some advice for other parents: Lean on your support. Don’t hide how you’re feeling. Hearing cancer doesn’t mean it’s over. “While each story is different, each type of cancer is different,” Meagan says, “there’s hope.”

Ellie is in remission now. She has a single, strong kidney and a scar she calls her owie. Ask her about it and she’ll say it’s “all better, all better.” When she sees old pictures of herself and asks about her hair, Dustin tells her that it went away, but it came back. Like magical princess hair.

Today, she’s getting ready to start preschool. And the family is planning a wish trip to Disney. Ellie has some fellow princesses to meet.