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Living Scan to Scan with Follicular Lymphoma: Laura’s Experience with Watchful Waiting

Living Scan to Scan with Follicular Lymphoma: Laura’s Experience with Watchful Waiting & Treatment Decisions

When a routine hysterectomy revealed two tiny gumdrop-like tumors, Laura had no idea she was about to enter a stage 4 follicular lymphoma experience. She walked into her surgery follow-up appointment alone on her wedding anniversary, expecting a straightforward recovery discussion. Instead, she walked out with a blood cancer diagnosis that had never shown up in her labs or imaging and the surreal experience of calling her husband.

Interviewed by: Ali Wolf
Edited by: Katrina Villareal

In the weeks that followed, shock and logistics collided alongside learning what follicular lymphoma (FL) even was. Initially, Laura met a local lymphoma specialist who reassured her that she was likely to live with this and die of something else, but also raised chemotherapy as a first option. As an asymptomatic young mom, this did not sit well.

Through online research, a Facebook group, and another patient’s story, she learned about watch and wait, an approach that closely monitors the disease without immediate treatment, and sought a second opinion at an MD Anderson-affiliated clinic. Other terms for this observation-based plan you may hear are “watchful waiting” and “active surveillance.”

This new specialist walked her through current guidelines and confirmed she was an ideal candidate for observation. That decision shaped the rest of her stage 4 follicular lymphoma experience, centering on quality of life and the long game.

Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma

Watch and wait, however, was not passive. Laura describes living scan to scan, consumed by cancer mentally, even while feeling physically well. She leaned on a psychologist who specialized in cancer, her faith, and a close-knit community, including a friend who allowed her to go as dark as she needed emotionally.

Over time, scans showed slow progression, eventually leading to a course of rituximab-only infusions, then the chemotherapy‑free combination of lenalidomide plus rituximab. The R² regimen brought her into remission for the lymphoma.

Just as she exhaled, surveillance imaging flagged a thyroid nodule that turned out to be papillary thyroid carcinoma, her second cancer in two years. After a thyroidectomy, pneumonia, and nearly a full year of lenalidomide for her FL, her oncologist stopped the medication, prioritizing her overall health.

Today, in remission and back on watch and wait, Laura names this as both a stage 4 follicular lymphoma experience and a family experience, one that deepened her gratitude, tested her faith, and reframed time with her children as something both fiercely ordinary and profoundly precious.

Watch Laura’s story or read the interview transcript below to know more about her story:

  • How a routine hysterectomy led to an incidental finding of non-Hodgkin lymphoma, highlighting how some cancers are discovered only during unrelated procedures
  • Why Laura questioned the push toward immediate chemotherapy and sought a second opinion at a major cancer center
  • How living scan to scan took a heavy toll mentally and spiritually, and how counseling, faith, and a community willing to hold her helped her navigate through her cancer experience
  • How a new diagnosis of papillary thyroid carcinoma layered more complexity onto her experience
  • What having options, emotional support, and space to ask questions can do to shift a cancer experience

  • Name: Laura C.
  • Age at Diagnosis:
    • 41
  • Diagnoses:
    • Follicular Lymphoma
    • Papillary Thyroid Carcinoma
  • Staging:
    • Stage 4, Extranodal, Grade 1-2 (follicular lymphoma)
  • Symptoms:
    • Incidental finding after hysterectomy (follicular lymphoma)
    • Thyroid nodule detected on imaging (papillary thyroid carcinoma)
  • Treatment plan:
    • Watch & wait / active surveillance
    • Immunotherapy: rituximab and lenalidomide (R² regimen)
    • Surgery: thyroidectomy (for papillary thyroid carcinoma)
Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma

Genmab

Thank you to Genmab for their support of our independent patient education program. The Patient Story retains full editorial control over all content.


This interview has been edited for clarity and length. This is not medical advice. Please consult with your healthcare provider to make informed treatment decisions.

The views and opinions expressed in this interview do not necessarily reflect those of The Patient Story.



It did not show up in my blood work, any ultrasounds, or any other tests we had done up to that point. We had absolutely no idea.

Laura C., Stage 4 Follicular Lymphoma Patient

Incidental Lymphoma Finding After Hysterectomy

When I got there, the doctor came in and said, “Good news. The hysterectomy went well, but I found these two little things.” He described them looking like gumdrops. They were very smooth, round on the top, and flat on the bottom. They were about 1 to 1.5 centimeters. He wasn’t sure what they were, but his exact words were, “I didn’t think they looked insidious.” But to be thorough, he sent everything off for a biopsy. When the pathology came back, it was grade 1 to 2 follicular lymphoma.

He said, “I don’t know anything about this. No one in my practice has ever diagnosed something like this. We need to get you in to see another doctor.” I felt like I ruined his day because he felt so awful not knowing. If this was within his realm, like ovarian cancer, he could have at least told me something, but I could see it on his face. I felt bad for him having to tell me this. He said, “Don’t go online. Wait until you see someone. But this is where you’re at.” Then he sent me out the door.

When I say it was an incidental finding, we had no idea. It did not show up in my blood work, any ultrasounds, or any other tests we had done up to that point. We had absolutely no idea.

Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma
Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma

Shock, Anniversary News, and First Calls for Support

There was shock in that room. We never said “cancer.” I knew lymphoma was a blood cancer, but I knew nothing about it. I didn’t know what this meant, but he reassured me.

We had a family friend, an older gentleman, who wasn’t feeling well after a family get-together, so he and his wife went home. She ended up taking him to the emergency room that night, and they literally said he was eaten up with cancer. It was absolutely everywhere. My doctor said, “That’s not you.” He was able to reassure me that that’s not what he saw. He said, “Until you see a specialist, don’t panic. You’re still my patient.” It meant a lot hearing him say that.

He said, “You can call this office, even if you just need to talk. You’re my patient. I’m handing you off to another doctor, but you’re mine, so come back with anything you need.” Even then, I didn’t feel alone.

We decided that we weren’t going to talk to the kids about it until we knew more, met with the doctor, and had a good idea of what we were facing.

Laura C., Stage 4 Follicular Lymphoma Patient

I don’t think I panicked until I got to the car and had to call my husband to tell him it was cancer. I think I just blurted it out. He thought I was coming home. We both had the day off, so we were going to hang out because it was our anniversary. What a great anniversary gift.

I didn’t know the difference between non-Hodgkin’s and Hodgkin’s. The one thing I knew was that a friend we knew had cancer and it was everywhere. I very quickly shared with a very close group of girlfriends who I had and said, “I don’t even know what this means, but can you please lift this up in prayer as we figure this out?”

I knew that I didn’t have the bandwidth to do this by myself. That’s not who I am. I needed some people. I called my husband. We talked the whole way home. I said, “He’s referring me to someone. I don’t want to wait for the referral. Let’s get on our insurance and find out who I can see. We need to get going quickly.” By that point, I was pretty hysterical. It’s blood cancer. It can’t be good. My mind was spinning.

Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma
Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma

My husband, being who he is, asked what I needed. I said, “When I get home, I’m going to need a few minutes before I see the kids.” We hunkered down in the bedroom, just the two of us. He put a movie on and I cried. You don’t know, so you worry, “What will this be like? Will I lose my hair? How awful will treatment be? What if I don’t beat this? What do we tell our kids?” We word-vomited all of that, even though we didn’t have answers.

We decided that we weren’t going to talk to the kids about it until we knew more, met with the doctor, and had a good idea of what we were facing. Then it got logistical. We had the 4th of July coming up and our kids had a dirt bike event. A friend invited us over for July 4th and we were trying to schedule appointments and find someone. We went through our insurance and found out that I could be seen at a cancer center in Colorado Springs, where I live. We scheduled quickly and they were able to get me in within a week or two, which doesn’t sound so long looking back on it, but it felt like a long time then.

The very first thing he said was, ‘The good news is you’re going to live with this. You are likely going to die from something else.’

Laura C., Stage 4 Follicular Lymphoma Patient

First Cancer Center Visit and Initial Prognosis

When we walked into the cancer center, there were so many people there, more than I thought would be. Around 40 or 50 people were waiting to see a doctor. I know it’s a cancer center, so there are different specialties, and there was an infusion center, so there were so many people. I was the youngest one by a solid 20 years, which freaked me out. I looked at my husband and said, “I’m going to need a minute.”

I knew we had to see someone, but that was a tough moment for me. I stepped out, got myself together, and came back in to meet with the doctor. He wanted some tests done because all we knew at that point was that it was grade 1 to 2 follicular lymphoma. The very first thing he said was, “The good news is you’re going to live with this. You are likely going to die from something else. You have grandkids, graduations, and weddings to attend.”

I remember having this huge weight lifted off my shoulders, and that we could do this and it would be okay. Then he gave us some information to go over and sent us off to another area in the cancer center to do blood work and imaging. After, we came back and met with him after taking in that initial meeting.

Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma
Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma

Researching Treatment and Seeking a Second Opinion

He mentioned bendamustine and rituximab, the chemotherapy and immunotherapy regimen, and encouraged me to research my disease, which I did. I stumbled upon Nikki’s story on YouTube, who has done a story on The Patient Story, and very quickly joined the follicular lymphoma Facebook page.

There was so much information that wasn’t quite lining up with what my doctor was recommending. It was not settling for me that I needed chemo so quickly because I’m asymptomatic. It wasn’t showing up in my blood work. I’m healthy. We had no idea this was happening in my body. I knew that chemo would be hard. It didn’t make sense to me that you had to make me sick to make me better. It didn’t fit.

In between appointments, I did a lot of research, watched a ton of videos of hematologist-oncologists and upcoming treatments, and posted lots of questions in the Facebook group. When I went back in, my doctor was not thrilled that I didn’t have a port and hadn’t done the bone marrow biopsy. He was upset with me about that. I said, “I’m not ready,” and he said, “Before I see you at your next appointment, I need you to get those things done.” At that point, I knew I wanted a second opinion.

He said, ‘You are a perfect candidate for watch and wait. Your blood work looks good. You’re healthy. All we know about your cancer is that you have it.’

Laura C., Stage 4 Follicular Lymphoma Patient

Ironically, someone I knew also knew someone with follicular lymphoma. It’s not the most common cancer, but this woman reached out and said, “Do you know there’s an MD Anderson office in Colorado? I didn’t choose to do treatment there, but I went and talked to one of their specialists, and I learned a lot about my disease. You should at least go and meet with them.”

I called and they were able to get me in within a couple of days. I met this lovely man who walked in and said, “So you’re here for a second opinion on whether you need a bone marrow biopsy. You don’t. Are we good? See ya.” Then he laughed and said, “Just kidding, just kidding. But no, you don’t need a bone marrow biopsy. Let me show you why,” and turned the computer screen around.

He showed my husband and me the absolute newest recommendations for follicular lymphoma. It’s like a flow chart: say yes, go here; say no, go here. We got to the end, and he said, “You are a perfect candidate for watch and wait. Your blood work looks good. You’re healthy. All we know about your cancer is that you have it. We don’t know if it’s getting better, worse, or hanging out there, not causing any problems. I think we should wait.”

We asked a few more questions and he said, “Can I assume I’m your doctor now?” I said, “Yeah, you’re my doctor.” It has been amazing. It’s a small clinic with an amazing team, and that’s where I landed. I’ve been there ever since.

Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma
Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma

Learning From Other Patients’ Experiences

I’m going to give Nikki a lot of credit. I can’t remember if it was specifically her story, because, if I remember correctly, she did the radioactive iodine (RAI) treatment and it was quite aggressive. She couldn’t be in the same house with her kids, so she stayed with family. It did put her in remission. She very clearly said she wished things hadn’t gone so fast, that she could have taken time to learn about different treatments, or watch and wait, and slow the pace down a little bit. I don’t think she regrets her treatment, but she wished it had slowed down.

Because of the Facebook group she started, that was where I heard so many people say, “I was on watch and wait for six months.” “I was on watch and wait for three years.” “I was stage 4 and I was on watch and wait for five years.” All of these stories were of people who got a little bit of time to live with this before they had to decide.

Learning about the disease and the fact that we’re playing the long game, and knowing that chemotherapy, immunotherapy, and surgeries are hard, we were trying to decide what hard we were willing to live with.

Laura C., Stage 4 Follicular Lymphoma Patient

Realizing Stage 4 and Choosing Watch and Wait

I don’t specifically remember anyone in that timeline saying what stage I was, but through research, I realized I was stage 4 because it was outside of my lymphatic system. Those two little things that my doctor removed were not lymph nodes. They were little tumors, so I knew that was stage 4.

By that point, we had scans and knew it was in my bone marrow. We knew it was all over my pelvis and in my abdomen. There was nothing above my diaphragm, but it was everywhere otherwise. I didn’t want chemo; I knew that. I knew some people had done watch and wait.

My husband is a father of four children and a police officer, so he’s able to walk into situations and fix them. At first, he said, “Just do the chemo. Let’s get this out of your body and be done.” But then, sitting at MD Anderson, learning about the disease and the fact that we’re playing the long game, and knowing that chemotherapy, immunotherapy, and surgeries are hard, we were trying to decide what hard we were willing to live with.

Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma
Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma

I realized I’m unlikely to have only one round of treatment. How do we play this game conservatively, keep me healthy, not make me sicker, and preserve my quality of life? That’s what I heard from MD Anderson the whole time: it’s your quality of life; we have to keep you living. Hearing that and understanding why we were going on watch and wait was huge.

After that appointment, even my husband said, “Wow, we’re not going to do anything.” I said, “Are you okay with that? I’m okay with this. Are you okay with this?” He said, “He’s so knowledgeable. If he’s okay with this, if your doctor thinks this is the best course, then let’s do it.”

From that point on, watch and wait involved blood work and CT scans with contrast every 90 days or so. It was terrifying every time I went in. I also have crappy veins, so they have the ultrasound guy waiting to guide it in. I got to know my CT team well and knew which ones to ask for, so that was funny.

You go in and wait. Do I get three more months? Do we have to start treatment? How much worse has this gotten? Is it doing anything? Watch and wait was a huge blessing, but I did feel like you live scan to scan and you wait. I was consumed with cancer. I’m on watch and wait, and we’re so grateful, but we don’t know what this is going to look like in three months, in six months, or in five years. My kids are young.

I’m a Christian and I believe God is ultimately in control. He knows my story, He’s the one writing it, and I have to trust that, but that tested my faith.

Laura C., Stage 4 Follicular Lymphoma Patient

Managing Anxiety, Faith, and Mental Health During Watch & Wait

Thankfully, MD Anderson connected me very quickly with Ashley, the psychologist up at Banner. I saw her weekly for a while, then every couple of weeks, and then less often. She kept reassuring me that everything I was feeling and saying was what all of her cancer patients feel, think, and worry about. We worked on a lot of grounding, being in the moment, and not wondering all the time.

I would do simple things with my kids — go to the grocery store, go to a dirt bike race, watch fireworks on the 4th of July, make a bed — and think, “What if this is the last time I get to do this with my kids? What if this is the last one? What if I’m not here when my kids graduate from high school or get married?”

I’m a Christian and I believe God is ultimately in control. He knows my story, He’s the one writing it, and I have to trust that, but that tested my faith. I have a great group of friends and one of them straight up said, “You can go as dark with me as you want. I can carry that for you.” We were doing some group devotions together and I was leaning into those friendships and my husband.

Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma
Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma

Communication with my husband was a little different. He was on the side of, “What if I lose my wife?” and he was afraid to say that. Or, “What if you get really sick?” He was afraid to put that on me. We dealt with some of those things separately, which was okay.

I got really mad at God in those early days because of not knowing. Why me? Watch and wait was such a blessing, but it gave me so much time. Time is time, but it felt like it gave me a lot of time to think and sit with it. There were days when it got dark and difficult. I had full meltdowns during scan week. But I had friends, communities, and family who prayed.

It was interesting that I could almost feel that on the days when I was the weakest, people would instinctively reach out and say, “We lifted you up. We prayed over this today.” My faith, a great therapist who specialized in cancer and lots of her patients who had been through a watch and wait journey, and learning some techniques helped.

When I would wake up at night, the first thing I thought about was, “I have cancer,” and I would panic. I started praying, “I am a woman of God. I have no fear. That’s not my story.” I would do my best to try to find the calm, though I wasn’t always very good at it.

Because we’re watching closely, we saw one close to my kidney and another fairly large one.

Laura C., Stage 4 Follicular Lymphoma Patient

It was more the mental toll. The amazing thing about the office I was at was that I had access to a therapist and two nurse practitioners who worked with my oncologist. I would email and say, “I don’t feel great. What are the chances that it’s this?” and they would say, “It’s not. Let’s wait until the next scan.” Or, “That actually does sound a little interesting. Let me reach out to your doctor and get back to you,” and they would either move a scan up or know that one was coming soon.

They never made me feel crazy. Anybody who has been through cancer themselves or with someone they love, you get a hangnail and think, “What if that’s cancer?” You get a headache and think, “What if that’s cancer?” You can’t help it. I don’t think I obsessed so much because I was asymptomatic.

Going into my last scan, the one that determined I needed to start treatment, I was feeling so good. I felt confident this was going to be fine. My doctor and I agreed that if the scan came back looking good, we would move my scans to every six months. In this journey, you get sick of doctor’s appointments. There are so many doctor’s appointments, blood work, scans, follow-ups, and education classes. Until I had my hysterectomy, I was someone who hadn’t seen a doctor in a year. Everything looked good. I did my annual. We were fine.

I don’t think I obsessed so much about symptoms. I did have a freak out in the grocery store because I swore this cancer came from not eating organic food, not drinking clean water, the sheets we slept on, the laundry detergent, the soap, whatever. I freaked out about that. Apparently, that’s also very common.

Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma
Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma

First Rituximab-Only Treatment and Mixed Response

Regular three-month scan. Everything up to that point had shown some slow progression, but follicular lymphoma is notoriously a slow-growing cancer, grade 1 to 2. I know grade 3 is a different situation. We watched the waxing and waning of my lymph nodes. Some of them had gotten a little smaller and some a little bigger.

I went in for a CT scan in June. My doctor called and said, “This one doesn’t look as good. We have this larger lymph node that’s close to your kidney, and it’s concerning enough that we probably should think about doing some kind of treatment.” That was a telehealth appointment because my doctor only wanted to see me every other scan.

Typically, with this, we can get some time. My husband and I were together, and it was probably time. Again, I wasn’t feeling anything. My blood work still looked good. But because we’re watching closely, we saw one close to my kidney and another fairly large one up against an artery or something; I don’t quite remember. He said, “We need to shrink those a bit. Maybe not push hard for a remission or anything, but we should probably get these a little smaller. They’re getting a little concerning.”

I reacted to the first round, which wasn’t awesome, but then we managed that reaction and the next three rounds went much more smoothly.

Laura C., Stage 4 Follicular Lymphoma Patient

We had a conversation about what we wanted to do for treatment. Again, thanks to Nikki getting me into that Facebook group, I was able to message my new lymphoma friends and ask, “What would you do? What are my options?” I had researched some things through some hematology YouTube videos as well.

It looked like a lot of people had success with rituximab only. I asked my doctor if that was an option for me, and he said, “Absolutely. Why not? We caught this early. You’re not sick. The best-case scenario is that we get five, six, eight, or 10 months, shrink these down, and give you more time on watch and wait. Or it doesn’t work great and we add something else,” so that’s what we did.

Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma
Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma

We did four rounds, one round every week for four weeks in June. We did rituximab, and then you have to wait and see if it did anything.

He shared that the standard first line of treatment is bendamustine and rituximab (BR) or bendamustine and obinutuzumab. I knew that. It was very conversational. My doctor has always been like that; it’s a conversation. I found out his daughter was traveling and he was going to be out of town, and we had this going. He started to feel like a friend, which is weird, but I trusted him.

He said, “There are some options.” I interjected and said, “Is rituximab only an option for me?” He said, “It is. It absolutely is.” Then I asked him, “If you and I were friends and we were out having a cocktail, what would you tell me to do?” He said, “At your age, you’re still asymptomatic. I’d do the rituximab only.” So that’s what we did.

We finished at the end of June. It was almost on the one-year mark from my diagnosis. I reacted to the first round, which wasn’t awesome, but then we managed that reaction and the next three rounds went much more smoothly. We did a PICC line to get through that, which was an interesting procedure to have done.

A lot had shrunk, but the one next to my kidney grew through treatment and was causing issues with my kidneys.

Laura C., Stage 4 Follicular Lymphoma Patient

Then we waited from the end of June until six or seven weeks later. We did another CT scan with contrast to see what was going on, and we got a mixed result. Several of my lymph nodes shrank considerably. Some were back to normal size. The activity in general was a lot lower.

We could clearly see that a lot had shrunk, but the one next to my kidney grew through treatment and was causing issues with my kidneys. I read the report before I saw my doctor. I was Googling nephrology and things I had never searched before. It was clear that my kidney was being compromised as my ureter was being blocked by this lymph node.

We had a convening of my husband and all the doctors, trying to see what we wanted to do. My doctor at that point, again, said, “You have options. We can still do bendamustine and rituximab. We can do lenalidomide.” If I remember right, it was in August that lenalidomide and rituximab were approved for frontline treatment for follicular lymphoma, so my doctor was very aware that they had just become approved, so that was an option.

Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma
Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma

He said the other option would be to go in and take out that one lymph node. Everything else looked good. “Are you cancer-free? Obviously not. Would there still be other lymph nodes that are growing? Yes. This is a systemic cancer. You need to know this would not be curative.” I understood that and said, “If we can remove this one lymph node and avoid more treatment, let’s give it a try.” He said, “I think it’s a great option. Let’s give it a try.”

We found a surgeon, who looked at the CT scan and said it looked iffy. He said, “If we damage your ureter doing this, then you’re in for more surgeries. I want more imaging. We should do a PET scan.” Between the oncology surgeon and my oncologist, we decided on a PET scan. I was already scheduled for surgery because we knew something surgical was going to happen. Either we were going to biopsy this lymph node or remove it.

I went in for an abdominal, guided laparoscopic biopsy of this lymph node to see. If it transformed, then that would change our whole plan and there would be less discussion about options because it’s a much more aggressive cancer. That was a long wait. The surgery was very painful, the worst that I had had up to that point. I’ve had a couple others.

We continued on lenalidomide, but we did a dose reduction to help manage some of the side effects I was having.

Laura C., Stage 4 Follicular Lymphoma Patient

We waited again for more results. I went shopping for wigs because I thought if this was diffuse large B-cell lymphoma (DLBCL), I’m going to lose all my hair and I didn’t want to react late. I kept myself busy waiting.

Then I got the call from Dr. Peters, my surgeon, and he said, “I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but it has not transformed. I don’t know why that one didn’t respond to treatment, but it’s the same type of cancer.” The biopsy came back that way. Then we’re back at the meeting with Dr. Shelanski, my oncologist, and figuring out what my options are. Again, he came in and said, “You have choices, Laura. We can do this, this, or this,” and laid it all out. That was when we decided we were going to do lenalidomide and rituximab.

Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma
Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma

Lenalidomide, Rituximab, and Achieving Remission

He explained that the pro of doing chemo is that there’s a time limit. Six months and you’re done. Lenalidomide meant longer. Rituximab is an infusion, and I did that with oral lenalidomide for six months with scans in between. It was at the three-month PET scan that we saw that the treatment was working, and we were grateful.

The next scan we did was right after I finished the six-month treatment. My doctor said, “There’s some activity, but it’s less than your liver, so I’m going to say this is early-stage remission,” and we were grateful. That was in February. We found a little thing going on in my thyroid, but most nodules are benign, so we weren’t going to stress about that. Everything looked great.

We continued on lenalidomide, but we did a dose reduction to help manage some of the side effects I was having. He said it was a low enough dose that it was still therapeutic. We felt confident about that. We wrapped up three more rounds of lenalidomide that got us into June or July. We did a scan and I was in full remission, praise the Lord. It worked. It was a huge amount of relief.

We keep an eye on things. I live my life with a whole new sense of gratitude.

Laura C., Stage 4 Follicular Lymphoma Patient

I got to share with friends, family, and my kids that this looked good, but there was still this pesky little nodule on my thyroid. We weren’t sure what was up with that, but it was a little more active than it had been.

I’m in remission from lymphoma. I still have three more months of rituximab to do the full one-year course. I’m still taking lenalidomide. We’re doing all these tests on my thyroid, and it came back as papillary thyroid carcinoma — my second cancer in two years.

For peace of mind, we did a scan of my brain because I knew we were pushing remission, and we were probably going to start pushing out some appointments. I wanted to make sure that if I had a headache, it wasn’t cancer. We did that, and it also showed a little bit of something on that thyroid. We opted at that point to do an ultrasound, which said I needed a fine needle aspiration.

Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma
Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma

I continued on lenalidomide, had my thyroid removed, and ended up with pneumonia post-surgery. I called my oncologist and said, “I’m on two doses of high antibiotics. We’re trying to regulate my thyroid medication. I’m 43, so I’m perimenopausal. How are we going to know what side effect?” He agreed at that point. He said, “You’ve done 11 out of 12 months of a hard medication. It’s more important to focus on getting your thyroid medication straight, so you’re done. You’re in remission. We’ll see you in a few months for some blood work and in six months for a scan.”

We’re essentially back on watch and wait. We’re at the point where we keep an eye on things. I live my life with a whole new sense of gratitude and get healthy. My husband said 2025 was the year for remission, and 2026 is the year for recovery, so that’s where we are.

I’m just thinking about living my life and praying that this remission lasts.

Laura C., Stage 4 Follicular Lymphoma Patient

Ringing the Bell and Moving Into Recovery

It’s been amazing. Nothing is an emergency for my doctor, but I don’t know if it’s good for everybody. He said, “Good job.” I said, “I get to ring the bell,” and so we rang the bell, which was awesome. Then he said, “Okay, we’ll see you when we see you. For blood work, we’ll do telehealth. Then we’ll scan and I want to see you in the office after the scan.” He likes to get his eyes on me every so often. It’s a two-hour drive for us, so it’s not the most convenient trip all the time.

But I feel like I’ve gotten good news after good news this time. You go in and they say, “That fine needle aspiration was what we were hoping,” and you say, “Wait, what?” You hit this point where you think, “Why not? Why wouldn’t there be something else?” Then we got over that big hurdle, the thyroid nodule, and having my thyroid removed. Recovering from that surgery was a lot because I was so immunocompromised. My body had been through so many treatments. That was my fourth surgery. It was a lot and my body was tired. I’m still working, and I love my job, and I want to be active for my kids.

Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma
Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma

Then we met with an endocrinologist who said, “Based on your blood work, your chance for the thyroid cancer coming back is 5% without radioactive iodine.” My doctor said, “We’ll see you in three months for blood work.” It was such a relief. I feel like we’re getting some space from all of these appointments and I’m not thinking about cancer all the time. I’m just thinking about living my life and praying that this remission lasts, that my body is healed up, knowing that it’s likely this will come back.

That’s the struggle I’ve heard from other follicular lymphoma survivors on The Patient Story and on Facebook: this is my life now. It is something we’re going to watch. I’m grateful for the incidental finding because I didn’t have to get sick. Ironically, five other people who worked in the same building all have follicular lymphoma. It’s very strange. That’s something we’ll be looking into. Some people get really sick. My friend Jamie was one of them. She got really sick before they found out why.

I have the assurance that I’m being watched. I have a fantastic medical team, and I won’t have to get sick. We know what my body is doing, and we know that we can handle it.

All of my kids have seen me unwell… I’ve seen their faith tested and grow. I’ve seen family and friends walk this out with them and care for them.

Laura C., Stage 4 Follicular Lymphoma Patient

Treatment Options, Future Therapies, and Hope

I have an awesome medical team. He knew in August that the medication was an option for me, so that’s the direction we went. Early on, when we first started with lenalidomide and rituximab, we were standing in his office and he leaned into me and said, “Laura, if this PET scan shows that this option is not working for you, we have eight other choices, so don’t panic. We’re going to treat you, and we’re going to keep you living and get you healthy. It sucks that a mom with four kids has to have this, and treatment blows. Treatment sucks. We’re going to get you through this, and we’re going to get you living.” That is a huge sense of peace.

There are options for people living with lymphoma, and those options are changing almost every day. Clinical trials are happening that I am aware of. There are clinical trials my doctor and I have talked about on this journey that would possibly have worked for me, and that is huge. I asked him, “If we know this medication worked for me, if this were to come back, could we do lenalidomide again?” He said, “If it’s at least two years, if we can get a two-year remission out of this, then yes, we can do lenalidomide again. But by then, there could be better options. There could be better medications. There could be curative therapies that are coming, and you’re going to be alive for them.”

Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma
Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma

Telling the Children and Family Growth

It was difficult trying to decide what and when to tell our kids. When we told the two younger ones, they said, “Oh, okay, can we go finish watching the movie we were watching?” The two older ones had more questions. All of my kids have seen me unwell after infusion days or when side effects were bad. They’ve walked through that with me lots of times, cuddling in bed or sitting on a couch and watching TV.

I’ve seen their faith tested and grow. I’ve seen family and friends walk this out with them and care for them. My kids have seen that it’s okay to be weak and to ask for help, and that we are surrounded by an amazing community who will fold a load of laundry, make a meal, or drive me to an appointment.

I’ve watched them become more independent because they had to. There were days I couldn’t do the things I would normally do. I’ve seen my husband be a better cook. My mom was helping either after a round of treatment or a surgery, I don’t quite remember, and he commented, “I don’t know how she does all of this all the time.”

You can’t walk through something like this and not grow from it.

Laura C., Stage 4 Follicular Lymphoma Patient

The sense of gratitude is maybe a little better there, because you can’t walk through something like this and not grow from it. It was awesome to tell them. I picked them up from school and when we got in the car, I said, “I had my meeting with my doctor, and there’s no cancer anywhere in my body.” That was awesome to get to tell them, because that was basically a little more than two years of not knowing for sure if this would ever go away.

We didn’t get clear margins on the carcinoma, but my blood work looks good. We’re choosing not to do radioactive iodine. I’m struggling a little bit to come to terms with the idea that there might not be a day when I’m officially 100% cancer-free. But according to the scans right now, things look good, which is an awesome thing to get to tell my kids. I’m lighter. I’m hoping it makes them feel a little more at peace with where we’re headed as a family.

Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma

Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma
Thank you for sharing your story, Laura!

Inspired by Laura's story?

Share your story, too!


Genmab

Thank you to Genmab for their support of our independent patient education program. The Patient Story retains full editorial control over all content.


This interview has been edited for clarity and length. This is not medical advice. Please consult with your healthcare provider to make informed treatment decisions.

The views and opinions expressed in this interview do not necessarily reflect those of The Patient Story.


More Follicular Lymphoma Stories

Laura C. stage 4 follicular lymphoma

Laura C., Follicular Lymphoma, Stage 4 (Metastatic), Grade 1 to 2; Papillary Thyroid Carcinoma



Symptoms:Incidental finding after hysterectomy (follicular lymphoma), thyroid nodule detected on imaging (papillary thyroid carcinoma)

Treatments: Immunotherapy (rituximab and lenalidomide or R² regimen), surgery (thyroidectomy)

Hayley H., Follicular Lymphoma, Stage 3B



Symptoms: Intermittent feeling of pressure above clavicle, appearance of lumps on the neck, mild wheeze when breathing and seated in a certain position
Treatments: Surgery, chemotherapy

Laurie A., Follicular Lymphoma, Stage 4 (Metastatic)



Symptoms: Frequent sinus infections, dry right eye, fatigue, lump in abdomen

Treatments: Chemotherapy, targeted therapy, radioimmunotherapy

Courtney L., Follicular Lymphoma, Stage 3B



Symptoms: Intermittent back pain, sinus issues, hearing loss, swollen lymph node in neck, difficulty breathing
Treatment: Chemotherapy
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Categories
Caregivers Chemotherapy Parent Partial hepatectomy Surgery

Rebuilding After Pediatric Cancer: Anxiety, Isolation, and Finding Purpose Through Storytelling

Rebuilding After Pediatric Cancer: Anxiety, Isolation, and Finding Purpose Through Storytelling

For Ali Wolf and her toddler, having a little potbelly, picky eating habits, and a rash that resembled bug bites seemed like part of everyday childhood. But when the hives spread up her little girl’s belly and face, Ali and her husband rushed to the emergency room. There, an attending physician ordered blood work and imaging that revealed an 8-centimeter mass on their daughter’s liver that would soon be a pediatric cancer diagnosis.​ (Note: The hives were most-likely not a symptom of hepatoblastoma (a rare liver cancer); it was simply what brought them to the ER.)

Edited by: Katrina Villareal

The next day, MRI and CT scans confirmed a rare, one-in-a-million diagnosis: hepatoblastoma, a liver cancer that usually appears in very young children. Ali, who was eight months pregnant at the time, described feeling “frozen,” half asleep, and hoping it was all a mistake as the family tried to hold on to the idea that the mass might be benign.

Ali Wolf parent caregiver pediatric cancer

Her daughter quickly underwent extensive imaging and then a major liver resection to remove more than half of her liver, followed by six weeks of chemotherapy. This early-stage hepatoblastoma experience forced Ali to navigate sleepless hospital nights, terrifying scans, and clinical decisions while also preparing to give birth.​

After surgery and chemotherapy ended and her second daughter arrived, Ali realized that life at home could feel harder than life in the hospital. She moved between preschool drop-offs and dance classes and then back to the infusion center every three months for scans. Flashbacks, insomnia, health anxiety, and panic attacks followed her home, long after her daughter’s hepatoblastoma experience shifted from active treatment into surveillance.​

With talk therapy, writing, yoga teacher training, and acts of giving like donating her own hair, Ali began to rebuild a sense of self that cancer and its treatments had shaken. Eventually, The Patient Story opened a path for Ali to bring her storytelling skills and lived experience together. Today, she uses that experience in her work, where she helps create space for other patients and caregivers to feel less alone.

Watch Ali’s video or read the interview transcript below to know more about her and her daughter’s story:

  • Ali shows how a seemingly simple toddler rash can lead to the discovery of hepatoblastoma, underscoring the importance of listening to caregiver instincts when something feels off
  • Her experience highlights how diagnosing and treating pediatric liver cancer can collide with major life events like pregnancy, compounding emotional and physical strain on caregivers
  • Ali’s reflections reveal that once treatment ends, many caregivers face intense anxiety, insomnia, and isolation as they adjust from constant medical oversight to “normal” life at home
  • Healing is not linear; time, therapy, creativity, and community support can slowly help people live alongside fear rather than be defined by it
  • Over time, Ali transforms her pain into purpose by becoming a yoga instructor, returning to writing, and using her role at The Patient Story to honor her daughter’s privacy while uplifting other patients’ voices

  • Name: Ali Wolf (caregiver)
  • Diagnosis:
    • Hepatoblastoma (daughter)
  • Staging:
    • Stage 1
  • Symptoms:
    • Toddler potbelly
    • Extreme pickiness with food
    • Recurrent colds and low-grade fevers
    • Rash and hives spreading across the legs, belly, and face
  • Treatments:
    • Surgery: hepatectomy (liver resection to remove over half of the liver)
    • Chemotherapy
Ali Wolf parent caregiver pediatric cancer
Ali Wolf parent caregiver pediatric cancer
Ali Wolf parent caregiver pediatric cancer
Ali Wolf parent caregiver pediatric cancer
Ali Wolf parent caregiver pediatric cancer
Ali Wolf parent caregiver pediatric cancer
Ali Wolf parent caregiver pediatric cancer

This interview has been edited for clarity and length. This is not medical advice. Please consult with your healthcare provider to make informed treatment decisions.

The views and opinions expressed in this interview do not necessarily reflect those of The Patient Story.



Terrible News in the ER

I was asleep. My daughter was lying on my chest when the doctor walked in and woke us with terrible news: there was an 8-centimeter mass on her liver. In her next breath, she said, “The silver lining is you were here and we caught it.

My daughter was just shy of two years old. I was eight months pregnant at the time. In my journal, I wrote, “I felt my vision glaze over in total shock.”

It would take years to unpack the deep well of emotions I experienced from then on, as a mom of a very young cancer patient.

Sharing My Personal Patient Story

Hi, I’m Ali Wolf with The Patient Story. I’ve spent my career as a TV journalist. I believe in the power of stories and how they help us learn about life, each other, and ultimately, ourselves.

While storytelling is so important to me, I have kept my personal pain private… until now. I felt broken, but now I’m finally sharing my story. It’s one about trauma, anxiety, isolation, and ultimately, fixing what cancer broke.

Before Cancer and Early Career

I have always loved expressing myself and connecting with people. I felt most alive dancing, then cheerleading.

In college, I discovered broadcast journalism, which led to jobs as a TV writer and producer, then reporter and anchor… until I burned out. I quit so I could start a family. I got pregnant in December 2019.

Early Pandemic Pregnancy and Identity Loss

The pandemic was my first brush with depression, anxiety, and isolation, made worse by my loss of identity after leaving my career. But I had my baby, a little girl who showed me a new side of life. She was born with a sparkle in her eye. The postpartum nurse told me, “She’s a spirited child.”

I had no idea what she meant until I did. This baby was feisty, sharp, and deeply connected to her world. She also hated to sleep. It was like she didn’t want to miss a second of her life.

She was 100% healthy. She didn’t even have a cold in her first year of life.

Early Symptoms and a Mysterious Rash

Just before she turned two, she had that toddler potbelly and was extremely picky with food. Then she started getting colds and little fevers, but nothing crazy.

When she went on amoxicillin for strep throat, little hives popped up on her legs. But it was June, summer in Nashville, so we thought they were bug bites. At several urgent care visits, we were told to give diphenhydramine and wait.

June 25, 2022: ER Visit for Spreading Rash

One night during dinner, we noticed the rash spread up to her belly and her face. We immediately dropped our forks and left for the emergency room.

I will never forget that night.

Turning into the hospital, I started crying and told my husband, “Something isn’t right.” I’m not a big crier, but something inside me knew. In my journal, I wrote, “Could this be something more serious? I cried out of fear. I had no clue the storm I was about to walk through. But maybe somewhere deep inside, I did.”

Inside the ER, I remember seeing sick kids and hearing ambulances arrive, thinking how thankful I was that we were just there for a rash. Hours later, we were finally seen. I’ll never forget that room: bright wallpaper, stiff chairs, a small TV playing Hallmark Christmas movies in June. For hours, we were told it was just serum sickness and that we would likely be on our way soon… or so we thought.

The ER Attending Who Changed Everything

Then they called in the attending doctor, who would be our lifesaver. She came in for a physical. She pressed on my daughter’s stomach and called for blood tests and an ultrasound. The energy shifted.

Hours later, with my daughter lying on my belly, I opened her chart on my phone and started seeing the labs come through. The numbers were off and I knew it. I told my husband, “Something is very wrong.”

Still, I managed to doze off. I wrote it was, “The last time I slept without fear, before the floor caved in from beneath me and life as I knew it shattered.”

First Hearing About the Liver Mass

When we got the news that there was a mass, it felt like a bad dream. It was unbelievable. I said I was “frozen, half asleep, scared, yet hoping it was a mistake, wanting to escape reality.”

We held out hope that it was a cyst or benign. I wrote, “I guess it was denial or a way to protect myself from breaking down.”

June 26, 2022: MRI, CT Scan, and Heartbreak

By morning, my daughter had an MRI and a CT scan. I sobbed as she screamed, “Mama,” as she was pulled from my arms. I wrote, “My heart broke, but I was too numb to have the full force of emotions.”

Next, we met our amazing oncologist, who told us he thought he knew what it was but needed to confirm with imaging. By midday, the MRI results confirmed a rare, one-in-a-million cancer diagnosis: hepatoblastoma.

It was a rollercoaster of bad news and good news. Bad news: tumor. Good news: one that only occurs in young kids. I reflected that, “The promise of a long, healthy life served as a life raft, keeping us afloat and preventing us from sinking into deep grief and fear.” Bad news: another night in the hospital for more scans to see the tumor and make sure there was no cancer in the lungs. Good news: other organs were clear.

At this time, my daughter was unrecognizable, still covered in her rash, her body and face puffy.

Small Acts of Kindness in the Hospital

I remember the moment a nurse brought us a backpack filled with toys — unexpected kindness. I wrote that when my daughter beats this, I want to do something similar in our own way, to inspire others through her strength, bravery, and sweetness in the face of this terrifying diagnosis.

Then, more imaging, and more tears as my daughter screamed for me when getting taken away. A nurse hugged me, gave me tissues, and put a small charm in my hand, a Mother Mary. She told me Mary was a mother who made a sacrifice; it would give me strength and protection. I’ll never forget her.

Preparing for Major Liver Surgery While Pregnant

We went home for a few weeks to prepare for surgery to remove over half of my daughter’s liver, including the tumor — a massive procedure for anyone, let alone her tiny body.

I remember being told I was so strong, so brave, and so tough. I was about to give birth and care for a child with cancer. People meant well, but still, this filled me with rage. Every time I was alone, I went into my closet to cry. I cried myself to sleep every night, feeling scared and frustrated that this was my reality. I had no choice but to face this. I didn’t feel strong; I felt unlucky.

I was surrounded by so many people who loved me, but I felt so alone inside. Still, I wrote, “I have the strength and the resilience… this will not break us.”

But it got worse before it got better.

July 7, 2022: A 12-Hour Liver Surgery

At 6 a.m. on July 7th, we showed up at the hospital, my daughter still in her Minnie Mouse nightgown as we waited. Going into surgery, she happily pointed out the butterflies on the ground — “fly flies” as she called them — with no clue what was about to happen, while I lost it.

The surgery lasted 12 hours. It’s hard to put into words just how brutal that day was: waiting, not wanting to leave the hospital, glued to the phone waiting for any update. We did crafts, I beaded necklaces, and my husband made Mickey Mouse sketches.

Waiting helplessly was simply torturous.

Finally, in the evening, we got the call that it was all over. We held our breath until we were taken into a tiny room with our surgeons, who told us surgery was successful.

But recovery was long and slow. Amidst sleepless nights in the hospital, we celebrated every triumph: sitting up, walking, and having a bite of food.

Breaking Point at Home and Feeling Unbearable Weight

One night, I went home alone to sleep in my own bed. It was another hot Nashville summer night. I took a shower and started sweating. The A/C went out. The only cool spot in the house was in the dining room. I blew up an air mattress. Angry, I kicked it down our steps. I wrote, “I burst into tears. Why can’t I catch a break? I let myself feel sorry for myself. It was all so heavy, so unbearable.”

My daughter was the strongest one. In the hospital, she looked at us with the most genuine smile and said, “Happy.” What a lesson for us all.

Choosing Standard Chemotherapy Over a Clinical Trial

Then, bad news: we learned chemotherapy was necessary, so we left the hospital with a huge decision to make. Clinical trial, which involved fewer rounds of chemo and one drug, or standard of care, which meant more rounds of chemo, more drugs, and more time.

We opted for the standard of care.

Treatment and a New Baby Arriving Together

My new baby would arrive just before chemo ended.

Chemo with a toddler was as awful as you would expect: six terrible weeks with a couple of nights in the hospital for infusions.

She was sick, lethargic, tired, and vomiting. I spent hours sitting next to her on the couch, watching Mickey Mouse. That’s when I wrote in my journal and filled every last page.

At home, there were so many medicines we had to give and so many things to monitor, mostly just a lot of fear, anxiety, and isolation.

Then it was over.

I gave birth on a Monday in late August. We got home from the hospital on Tuesday.

End of Chemo While Caring for a Newborn

On Thursday, it was my daughter’s last day of chemo. I wasn’t there. I had to be home with the brand-new baby. When I look at this video, I’m so sad. She didn’t know what was happening. I see her looking for me on FaceTime.

Friday of the same week, she got a fever and had to be rushed to the ER because she still had a port. I stayed home with the baby, scared, with my fears triggered again.

Survival Mode After Treatment

In many ways, life at home was so much harder than life during cancer treatment. Under constant care and constant watch in the hospital, to then just us.

I look at my face in pictures, holding babies. I was still strong. I hadn’t broken yet. I was still in survival mode.

I started breaking when my daughter’s hair fell out. She barely had any going into chemotherapy. That didn’t matter. She looked like a typical toddler. But weeks after treatment ended, her hair fell out in clumps. It broke my heart. I didn’t want cancer to define her.

Balancing “Normal” Life with Cancer Follow-Ups

Life went on. On the outside, everything was great: preschool, dance class, soccer. On one hand, I was a normal mom of two little girls. But every three months, I was a cancer mom who had to go to the hospital.

The ironic thing is that the more “normal” things got, the more intensely I struggled. I got flashbacks as I saw the sick children in the chemo infusion center. I often struggled to connect with other moms.

From the outside, I was the same person. Inside, I was nothing like I was before my daughter’s cancer. It shook something up deep inside me that made it harder to relate to people who I once felt close to.

I felt I was trauma dumping on people when I shared about her cancer because people don’t always know what to do with it. “I can’t imagine,” they say. Yeah, you can’t. Even my own parents have no idea how dark and scary it got in my own head. It became a scary place.

I managed to get through the days, but despite being so tired and needing to lie down, nights were the worst. I became an insomniac.

Realizing It Was Time to Rebuild

I still remember the day I took my daughter to a play. I didn’t sleep a wink the night before. I didn’t have the tools to readjust to daily life. It was time to rebuild from the ground up. I felt totally broken, walking through life as a shell of my former self.

I knew that I was a creative, driven, successful, and energetic person, but I had nowhere to put that. I decided that I could let myself wither away and let my mental health suffer, or I could take action for my kids.

I began talk therapy and went back to one thing I’ve always loved: writing.

I realized that learning to love myself and rebuild myself was not selfish. Self-love is the greatest gift I could give my children as their role model. I wanted to feel proud of myself. I wanted to feel fulfilled. I wanted to feel alive again.

Transformation: Healing Through Movement, Creativity, and Giving Back

Moving my body and being creative have always made me feel most alive, so I started there. I became a certified yoga instructor. I read, studied, moved, and shared what I learned on YouTube and in yoga studios. This was me reaching out, expressing myself, and connecting with others.

Another way I tried to heal was to cut 12 inches off my hair and donate it to children who have lost their hair. This also helped me part with some of the pain that continued to haunt me.

Health Anxiety, Panic Attacks, and Mental Health Struggles

But still, during this time, my mental health was rough. I began to struggle with health anxiety. At first, it was for my daughter. Every follow-up test, every time she got a cold or a rash, I spiraled.

Then, as she got stronger and remained healthy, I transferred my health anxiety about her onto myself. Every sore throat, every slight ailment in my body spiraled into fears that it was my turn to get sick. This became so real in my head. I went to such dark places.

I had my first-ever panic attack. My heart would beat out of my chest for days, sometimes weeks at a time. Again, nights were the worst. Before falling asleep, my legs would shake during my panic attacks.

I saw my doctor a few times and had my heart checked. Physically, I was all good. Mentally, I was struggling.

My hands and feet started to tingle and go numb, like pins and needles. When one thing got better, another started, prompting a new spiral. I went on a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI), which helped for a bit. (Editor note: SSRIs are commonly used to treat depression, anxiety disorders, and panic disorder, and a healthcare provider helps determine whether they’re appropriate for a given person.)

Time, Work, and Learning to Live With the Fear

What helped most was time and learning to live with and fight my demons as I rebuilt my life. Eventually, I began sleeping better. I started working full-time again in the YouTube space. Months passed and I felt like myself again.

I was able to stay calm as I returned to the places that triggered me, places I connected to my daughter’s cancer experience. Life was not perfect, but it was working.

Joining The Patient Story and Finding Purpose

One day, I got a message out of the blue from a woman named Stephanie, the founder of The Patient Story. She didn’t know about my connection to cancer; only a few people did.

It was meant to be. She hired me and I’m so grateful to be here and to help bring these important stories to the world. I have been so inspired by the people who have bravely faced things far more severe than I did, with strength and grace.

The Patient Story helps us all understand that we are not alone. Being here has truly given me the strength to finally share my own story, while still maintaining my daughter’s privacy so she can choose whether or not she wants to do the same when she’s ready.

Invitation to Connect and Subscribe

If you connected to any part of my story, I would love to hear from you in the comments.

And if you enjoyed this, I think you’ll also love Stephanie’s story. Remember, subscribe to The Patient Story newsletter, and subscribe to our YouTube channel to be among the first to know about our new videos.


Ali Wolf parent caregiver pediatric cancer
Thank you for sharing your story, Ali!

Inspired by Ali's story?

Share your story, too!


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Categories
Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma Head and Neck Cancer Patient Stories Radiation Therapy Surgery Treatments

Parenthood, Persistence, and Rare Cancer: Ali’s Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma Experience

Parenthood, Persistence, and Rare Cancer: Ali’s Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma Experience

Ali shares her adenoid cystic carcinoma story, a rare head and neck cancer. Her experience includes noticing a small lump under her jaw after childbirth to specialized surgery, radiation therapy, and learning to advocate for care with a rare cancer.

Interviewed by: Carly Knowlton
Edited by: Katrina Villareal

Ali was adjusting to life with a newborn in the Twin Cities, learning the rhythms of early parenthood while her body slowly recovered from pregnancy. Around that time, she noticed a small lump under her jaw. It didn’t hurt, and nothing else felt obviously wrong. Like many new parents, she assumed her body was still recalibrating.

At her six-week postpartum appointment, Ali mentioned the lump. She was reassured it was likely a swollen lymph node, something common for breastfeeding mothers. “Your body’s doing weird things right now, so I’m sure it’s fine,” she was told. Still, the lump didn’t go away. Over time, a quiet instinct stayed with her that something wasn’t quite right.

A year later, her instinct told her something was still not right. As a dental hygienist, Ali knew her anatomy well, finally prompting her provider to check again, leading to referral and a needle biopsy. “I brought it up to my doctor again. She palpated it and referred me to an ENT… They saw that it was not normal. It was cancerous.”

The diagnosis was adenoid cystic carcinoma, a rare head and neck cancer best managed by a specialized team. Ali’s aunt performed her surgery and coordinated care with an expert oncologist. Decision-making wasn’t straightforward: guidelines for this rare cancer are sparse. Surgery was followed by 30 sessions of targeted radiation therapy. The toughest side effects, like painful, sunburned skin and a sore mouth and throat, were often harder than surgery itself.

Ali C. adenoid cystic carcinoma

Ali’s adenoid cystic carcinoma experience forced daily adaptations as a mother. When treatment left her exhausted, her extended family cared for her children, then ages one and three. Her youngest’s separation anxiety and the family’s emotional toll were the price of vigilance and perseverance. Advocacy became a driving theme: “Always listen to your gut, seek a second opinion if needed, and don’t hesitate or feel guilty for asking for another doctor to look into it.”

Inspired to embrace life’s small joys and contribute to rare cancer research, Ali now runs, creates in her home pottery studio, and values each moment of wellness. “Take it one day, one hour at a time… See the good in everything and the magic in small things.” Her adenoid cystic carcinoma experience, shaped by intuition, advocacy, and community, is now a message of resilience for others facing rare diagnoses.

Watch the video of Ali’s interview or read the transcript below to find out more about her story:

  • Early persistence and trusting personal instincts can lead to critical early detection
  • Rare cancers require extra self-advocacy and aren’t always recognized by general doctors
  • Always listen to your gut, seek a second opinion if needed, and don’t hesitate or feel guilty for asking for another doctor to look into it
  • Transformation included learning not to take life or “shoulds” so seriously, and to prioritize joy, self-expression, and family
  • Support networks, appointments, and daily routines change for patients and their families. Acknowledge the full impact

  • Name: Ali C.
  • Age at Diagnosis:
    • 33
  • Diagnosis:
    • Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma (Submandibular Salivary Gland)
  • Symptom:
    • Small lump under the jaw
  • Treatments:
    • Surgery
    • Radiation therapy
Ali C. adenoid cystic carcinoma
Ali C. adenoid cystic carcinoma
Ali C. adenoid cystic carcinoma
Ali C. adenoid cystic carcinoma
Ali C. adenoid cystic carcinoma
Ali C. adenoid cystic carcinoma
Ali C. adenoid cystic carcinoma

This interview has been edited for clarity and length. This is not medical advice. Please consult with your healthcare provider to make informed treatment decisions.

The views and opinions expressed in this interview do not necessarily reflect those of The Patient Story.



My Name is Ali

I live in the Twin Cities area of Minnesota and Wisconsin. I was diagnosed with adenoid cystic carcinoma in 2023. It has been a couple of years. I was in my salivary gland. Right under my jaw is where they found it.

I love traveling. There are so many places on my bucket list. The most recent one coming up is Hawaii, where none of us have been before, so I’m excited for that. Other than that, I love getting together with family. I love doing pottery on the wheel, just using my hands and creating something from basically nothing. I also like photography. I haven’t done it in a while, but I do enjoy it.

First Symptoms That Were Early Red Flags

Really, it was just feeling something there. It was kind of tricky because I noticed it right after having a baby, so it was hard to tell. Was this postpartum stuff? Maybe I lost a little weight in my face, and that’s why I could feel it better. I don’t know. There wasn’t anything blatantly wrong, other than a small lump under my jaw.

I brought it up at my six-week appointment after having the baby. Because I noticed it, it was on my mind. The doctor asked if I had any concerns or anything new. I brought up the lump, and she didn’t pay much mind to it. She didn’t even feel for it. She just said, “Your body’s suggesting you’re breastfeeding. I’m sure it’s just a lymph node. Your body’s doing weird things right now, so I’m sure it’s fine.”

Confirming Something Was Wrong

A year later from that initial appointment, I said, “Yeah, I think something is going on.” Again, there weren’t any other symptoms, but it never went away. As a dental hygienist, that probably helped me notice, “Yeah, this isn’t right.”

I brought it up to my doctor again. She palpated it and referred me to an ENT. At the ENT, the first thing they did was a needle biopsy, which is not pleasant. They took a portion of that tissue, and from there saw that it was not normal — it was cancerous. We scheduled surgery, and that gave them a more detailed look at what exactly it was.

Receiving My Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma Diagnosis

I had heard of adenoid cystic carcinoma; it’s a very rare type of cancer. Years ago, I was in Waco at Magnolia, the silos with Chip and Joanna. They talked about someone who trained them for a marathon, a woman from the Twin Cities, like me, who had this type of cancer. When I was researching after my diagnosis, I found her account. She created a huge organization and raised a lot of money for rare cancer research, which is amazing. It’s so bizarre that I learned about such a rare cancer, and then years later, I ended up with the same type, from the same area.

Finding My Care Team and Evaluating Treatment Options

Through my aunt. She is amazing. I love her. She is extremely intelligent. She was the surgeon who did my surgery. She gave me a couple of options with my location and was concerned about how far I was willing to drive. I ended up picking an area that had a more dense population of cancer patients, rather than somewhere more convenient but less specialized. From there, she worked hand in hand with my oncologist. They are an amazing team, coordinating before each of my appointments, and it has been great so far.

With rare types of cancer, there’s not a lot of research, so they don’t know exactly how to plan treatment. There is a wide range of guidelines. The most typical treatment for this cancer is radiation therapy; it is chemo-resistant, so we didn’t pursue chemotherapy. After surgery, we decided on 30 rounds of radiation — Monday through Friday, with weekends off. Near the holidays, I had to do a couple of days of double doses, which completely zapped my energy. By the end, I was so, so exhausted.

Side Effects of Radiation

Since it was head and neck radiation, it was very targeted. My mouth and throat were very sore. Toward the end, I had to blend up my food because I couldn’t swallow without pain. We had a lot of people bringing us meals, which was very helpful. My voice still gets scratchy if I talk a lot. My skin felt like a sunburn times a hundred, oozing and requiring dressings. The bandages made me feel secure. The worst part was the water from showering — so painful.

Moving my neck wasn’t difficult during radiation, but after 30 doses, the muscles in my neck got really tight. Even after treatment, the radiation kept working for weeks. I saw a physical therapist for stretches and to improve my range of motion, which still isn’t what it once was.

I spent more time in the car than at the hospital. Daily appointments lasted only 15 to 20 minutes. I’d listen to a podcast on the drive to avoid thinking too much, do my session, then return home, continuing my day. Even now, I do the same routine for check-ups.

Surgery Experience and Recovery

For surgery, they took out the tumor and about eight lymph nodes to check for spread. I don’t know how long the surgery lasted, but it was a same-day procedure, and I could go home. I had a drainage tube, which was a first for me, even though I’d had surgeries before. The recovery was more tolerable than the treatment; the treatment was far worse than surgery.

The Hardest Parts: Uncertainty, Anxiety, and Parenting

The hardest part was not knowing what they’d find in surgery or biopsies, if it had spread to lymph nodes, or what the future holds. My mind went to dark places, especially when thinking of my kids and “what ifs.” I knew I could handle pain, but not knowing outcomes was hardest.

Homeschooling came after the fact, but during treatment, my kids were one and three. Grandparents were amazing, and toward the very end, when I was sleeping most of the day, the kids stayed with my in-laws. My one-year-old experienced a lot of separation anxiety. Even after returning home, he would throw himself over baby gates or out of his crib trying to get to me. The whole family was traumatized, even if the kids didn’t understand why.

Self-Advocacy and Second Opinions

The biggest issue is that the first person you go to is your general doctor. You often take your doctor’s word as final. If I had done that, the cancer would have progressed further, and my outcome would have been worse. Always listen to your gut, seek a second opinion if needed, and don’t hesitate or feel guilty for asking for another doctor to look into it.

Giving Back: Advocacy, Awareness, and the Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma Community

Having a rare cancer [like adenoid cystic carcinoma] and connecting back to that person and her organization, Brave Like Gabe, has been powerful. I ran a 5K with their team, have raised money for rare cancer research, and I’ll be running a 10K this spring. We need the research because everyone’s treatment ends up different without clear guidelines.

I’ve found people through Instagram and Brave Like Gabe. It’s helpful to meet others with the same rare cancer. You can share everything with people, but only those who’ve actually gone through it truly understand.

Advice for Cancer Patients and Survivors

I don’t take life as seriously as I once did. Work and other “shoulds” don’t matter the way people think they do. There’s so much you don’t do in life because it seems like you shouldn’t, or “You’re 35, you shouldn’t be doing that.” Before radiation, I never had a tattoo; it felt like a “no-no.” But for radiation alignment, I got tattooed for the process, so afterward I decided to get my first real tattoo — one that says “magical” — as a reminder that life is magical.

Take it one day, one hour at a time. Some days are better than others, even now. The mind is powerful — good or bad. See the good in everything and the magic in small things.

I had two babies and cancer in three years, so I felt lost. It took a year or more after finishing treatment to feel like myself again. It’s crucial to do things for yourself, whatever brings joy, especially after long periods of illness or caring for young children. I set up a pottery studio at home so I can create whenever it works. Doing what makes you happy makes your family happier, too.


Ali C. adenoid cystic carcinoma
Thank you for sharing your story, Ali!

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Vikki F. nasal squamous cell carcinoma

Vikki F., Head and Neck Cancer (Nasal Squamous Cell Carcinoma)



Symptoms: Nosebleeds that persisted for years, nose changed in shape, nasal pain, migraines

Treatments: Surgeries (subtotal rhinectomy, reconstruction surgery including radial forearm free flap, bone grafts, and cartilage), chemoradiation
...
Alyssa N. feature profile

Alyssa N., Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma



Symptoms: Persistent jaw pain, lightning-like facial pain during the first bite of meals

Treatments: Surgery (tumor removal), radiation
...
Eva G. feature profile

Eva G., Oral Cancer, Stage 4



Symptoms: Sore on the tongue, which caused pain during eating and speaking; changes in the color and texture of the tissue where the sore was located
Treatments: Surgery (partial glossectomy, radical neck dissection, reconstruction), radiation
...
Teresa B. breast cancer survivor experience

Teresa B., Recurrent Breast Cancer (Hormone-Positive), Oral Cancer (Lip Cancer), and Skin Cancer (Melanoma)



Symptoms: Lip cancer: chapped lips & a pimple-like growth on lip, breast cancer: enlarged left breast with lump, melanoma: none

Treatments: Surgeries (bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction, lumpectomy, craniotomy, Mohs, surgery, wide local excision), hormone therapy, radiation therapy
...
Kandi B.

Kandi B., Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma, Stage 3



Symptoms: Fatigue, headaches, depression, occasional feeling of tongue being on fire or inflamed, appearance of tumor on salivary gland on tongue

Treatment: Surgery
...

Categories
Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML) Acute Myelomonocytic Leukemia (AMML) Chemotherapy Leukemia Menin inhibitor Patient Stories Targeted Therapy Treatments

Acute Myelomonocytic Leukemia (AMML): Russ’s Clinical Trial Story

“A Clinical Trial Saved My Life”: Russ’s Acute Myelomonocytic Leukemia (Rare AML) Story

After 48 years of marriage, Russ was blindsided by Acute Myelomonocytic Leukemia (AMML), a rare diagnosis with few options. But a last-minute clinical trial offered a new path. Here is his story of love, surrender, and the “sweet spot” between faith and science.

Interviewed by: Taylor Scheib
Edited by: Katrina Villareal & Jeff Forslund

Russ’s story offers a view into the intersection of honesty, science, and hope. Diagnosed with acute myelomonocytic leukemia (AMML), a rare subtype of AML, after weeks of “just the flu” and crushing fatigue, Russ went from preparing for hospital discharge to learning he had cancer and being told he needed treatment that same night.

When he heard the word leukemia, he thought of death, yet in that moment, a surprising sense of peace set in as he focused on what it was and how to treat it.

The early days were chaotic though. Russ was turned away from one hospital because his insurance plan did not match their funding, forcing him and his family to pivot overnight to UCLA’s emergency department. There, amid what he describes as ground zero conditions in the ER, he endured hours on a hallway gurney, multiple tests, and a 12‑hour wait before finally being admitted to the oncology floor. Even as he grappled with a 7+3 chemotherapy regimen and spent 29 straight days in the hospital, he remembers mostly trying to protect his family as waves of shock rippled through them.​

Russ D. AMML

Behind the scenes, his primary care physician and his family were fierce advocates, pushing for answers and ultimately toward a newly developed clinical trial drug tied to his NPM1 mutation. Russ was too sick to participate in the decision, but his wife and adult children did the research and made the call to enroll him, a choice he says “saved my life.” He now calls himself the poster boy for the trial, still taking the pills daily and returning to UCLA for ongoing labs, doctor visits, and bone marrow biopsies.​

Today, Russ lives in deep remission and talks about inhabiting the sweet spot where faith and science intersect. He credits his family’s constant presence, the insight of his oncology team, and the existence of a trial drug that arrived just in time for him.

For others with AMML, he encourages surrendering to trusted clinicians, considering clinical trials seriously, learning about your biomarker, and allowing community, spirituality, and modern medicine to work together in the service of one more good day.​

Watch Russ’s video or read the transcript of his interview below to dive deep into his story:

  • How Russ’s acute myelomonocytic leukemia symptoms first looked like the flu
  • How insurance and hospital systems can create major obstacles, and the importance of having advocates who help navigate where to go next to change the course of care
  • Why clinical trials are not last-resort gambles—and how exploring them from the start is the reason he says he is alive.
  • How trusted loved ones and clinicians are essential partners in making sense of complex choices and next steps
  • Russ describes a profound transformation from shock and uncertainty to “deep, deep remission,” learning to live day by day in a balance of faith, science, and gratitude

  • Name: Russ D.
  • Age at Diagnosis:
    • 68
  • Diagnosis:
    • Acute Myelomonocytic Leukemia (AMML), a rare subtype of Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML)
  • Mutation:
    • NPM1
  • Symptoms:
    • Flu‑like symptoms
    • Profound fatigue
    • Blood pressure drop
    • Shortness of breath
  • Treatments:
    • Chemotherapy
    • Clinical trial drug: menin inhibitor
Russ D. AMML

Kura Oncology

Thank you to Kura Oncology for their support of our independent patient education program. The Patient Story retains full editorial control over all content.


This interview has been edited for clarity and length. This is not medical advice. Please consult with your healthcare provider to make informed treatment decisions.

The views and opinions expressed in this interview do not necessarily reflect those of The Patient Story.



Nancy and I met in a nightclub back in 1976… and we have been dancing for 48 years.

Russ D., AMML Patient

Who I Am

I’m probably most known for my passion for life. That extends to enjoying living, my family, music, and sports. I’m pretty passionate and can be moved by the things that I love and enjoy.

Our Love Story: Meeting My Wife in 1976

Nancy and I met in a nightclub back in 1976. I went to this nightclub with a buddy. I saw him dancing with a hot blonde while I was standing against the wall with a beer. I said, “Man, if he doesn’t ask her to dance again, I’m going to swoop in.” He went left, she went right, and I dashed right in and put my arm around her. I said, “Would you like to dance?” and we have been dancing for 48 years.

Russ D. AMML
Russ D. AMML

Knowing She was “The One” and the Secret to 48 Years of Marriage

I told her I loved her within two days. I was somewhat bitten by the “love at first sight” cliché, and it proved to be a good choice. We were engaged after two weeks.

Your love deepens as the years go on. It validates your early love, but then your ongoing love strengthens. It’s the recognition that you love her and you’re going to do what you need to do to keep that relationship going. That’s in light of mistakes, challenges, and difficulties, but also a lot of good times, a lot of laughter, and a lot of joyous living.

Your love deepens as the years go on. It validates your early love, but then your ongoing love strengthens.

Russ D., AMML Patient

Marriage Through Cancer: A Bond Forged in Suffering

My family all thought they were going to lose me, and I have a significant place in our family system. Never having gone through anything of this kind, it was such an emotional devastation to my wife and to my children. My wife stayed strong for my children. She was there for them, but she was there for me, too, and she was as determined as I was to see me well. We both felt like we had life to live.

I never winced once about having cancer. I never cried about it. I just said, “Okay, what have we got to do?” and my wife was the same, right there by me. Our love has deepened as a result of that. Love deepens if you allow it to, and our marriage and relationship are in one of the best places they have ever been in our lives. It is a bond created through suffering that is real and absolutely unbreakable.

Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML
Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML

Living with Fear, Gratitude, and “Self-Contained” Feelings Today

At times, I feel very self-contained. Not isolated, but within myself. I manage the fears and concerns, and I try to live and savor each day. At times, it is a little bit lonely because I want to be brave for my family and my wife. There are things I manage that I do not tell people about. If there were something really dire, I would. But there is this curiosity of a question: how long do I have?

I had a very rare form of leukemia with not a good prognosis, but here I am feeling as good as I could possibly feel. I am grateful for today. I will do the things today that I always do, and I will continue to beat the drum of being encouraging to others and being caring, seeing people, and being who I am. I definitely feel a bit inward and self-contained at times. It’s like nobody knows what I am going through but me. It’s a little tricky.

It is a bond created through suffering that is real and absolutely unbreakable.

Russ D., AMML Patient

My First Red Flags Before My Diagnosis

I had been at a local hospital for two other stays before I went to UCLA. We thought I had the flu. I was on the couch for a couple of days, but I wasn’t getting better. I had a lot of flu symptoms and fatigue. Then I had a real blood pressure drop, which was scary for both of us. We called our primary care physician and she said, “Go to the hospital.” I was in the hospital for the first stint. I’m sure I was a bit dehydrated. They gave me an IV, kept me under observation, ran some tests, and sent me home with no diagnosis.

Over the next three weeks, I knew something was wrong because I couldn’t walk from my car to my house without being exhausted. The fatigue factor was profound. I would lie on my wife’s lap and say, “I am so tired.” I was so down. My primary care physician had me take a blood test, and it came back with my white blood cells at about 40,000. She said, “Get right to the ER.” I went back, and they diagnosed me with acute myelomonocytic leukemia (AMML) at Providence. They diagnosed it, but they do not treat it. They told me I needed treatment that night.

I cannot tell you the sheer shock. It was surreal, but I felt this peace come over me that said, “Okay, we have to deal with this.” Meanwhile, it was like shock waves running through my family, and I was trying to maintain for them. The shock was real, but the main red flags had been flu-like symptoms and serious fatigue that ultimately led to the diagnosis.

Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML
Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML

What We Thought During Those Three Weeks Before Diagnosis

We didn’t think it was anything like leukemia. We knew something was wrong, but because I had been largely healthy throughout my life, we thought, “There’s something, but we will take care of it.” There was an optimism. It never dawned on us that leukemia was the culprit. Those three weeks were filled with questions: “What’s going on?”

I am a high-energy guy. For me to have fatigue was alarming to everyone. People were freaking out, asking, “What is wrong with Dad?” because I am usually high-energy. Our minds never went to the dire reality we eventually faced — nothing close.

I couldn’t walk from my car to my house without being exhausted.

Russ D., AMML Patient

A Primary Care Doctor and Wife Who Advocated Hard

My primary care physician was very much on top of things and advocating for me. She was in our corner and treated me with what she knew. When the blood test came back with the accelerated white blood cells, she said, “Get to the ER right now.”

It takes a lot to get me to go to the hospital. I tend to be a little bit too chivalrous or stubborn. My wife was also really urging me. She was consulting Doctor Google, researching and reading, and she did not like what she was seeing. It did not take much for her to get me going as well.

blood vials
Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML

The Moment Everything Changed

That afternoon, I had already been in the hospital for three days, and they told me I was being discharged at 2 p.m. I was actually feeling better after they had treated me a bit. I was packed up and ready to go home. Two o’clock, three o’clock, four o’clock went by.

By 4 p.m., I asked the nurse, “We were supposed to be discharged.” She said, “The doctor has not signed the orders yet.” At 6 p.m., the nurse came into our room with a phone. The doctor was on the phone telling my wife and me that I have acute myelomonocytic leukemia and that I needed to get treatment right away by going to downtown Los Angeles and going to USC.

When the blood test came back with the accelerated white blood cells, [my primary care physician] said, ‘Get to the ER right now.’

Russ D., AMML Patient

That moment was surreal and mind-boggling. Nancy was very afraid, and so was I. We’re older, so when I heard the word leukemia, I always thought of death. I asked the doctor, “How long do I have?” It was like going from 0 to 100 — from just living life to, “What?!” A peace settled on me. I cannot say I was fearful. I was more asking, “What is this, and how do we get after it?”

I had no idea at that point that without the clinical drug, there wasn’t much of a treatment opportunity. We were caught flat-footed and knew nothing about it. We have an education now, believe me. My wife was very upset, unhappy, and concerned. We held each other, moved into the discharge process, went home, picked up a couple of things, and drove down to what we thought was USC Medical Center.

Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML
Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML

Telling the Kids and Family in the Middle of the Chaos

We went to that medical facility, which was supposedly USC, but USC had sold its building to a public medical group. It was not what we expected. My daughters came down, and I hugged them, but I was inside the building trying to get treatment and move through their process.

My wife handled the bulk of communicating with the entire family about my situation. That was brutal. She was a great mom and was there for them, but it was very tough. My youngest daughter was absolutely undone. She was worried I would not be there for her marriage. She had a serious boyfriend and feared I would not walk her down the aisle. She had a lot of angst, and her boyfriend, her fiancé, was seeing this for the first time and was overwhelmed.

My oldest daughter was emotional but very strong. My wife also had to tell my son, and he and I are very close. That was a tough conversation for both of them. The family had initial fears, concerns, and tears, but then it became, “Okay, what have we got to do here?”

When I heard the word leukemia, I always thought of death.

Russ D., AMML Patient

Insurance Rejection and Being Turned Away While Needing Treatment

I was in a back room getting tests, holding paperwork that the Providence doctor had given me. He said, “Show this paperwork and you will get admitted anywhere.” That wasn’t the case. I had to go through all these tests. I spent seven hours in that back room waiting and talking.

At the end of seven hours, a financial manager asked me to come into an area. She said my Medicare Advantage plan did not sync with their public funding, so they couldn’t treat me there. We went from 0 to 100, thinking we would go there and get treatment. We had prepared for that. Instead, she basically said, “You will have to leave. We cannot treat you here.”

insurance policy TOC
Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML

I had already released my family to go home because it is about a half-hour drive from where we live. Around 11 p.m., I called my wife and my daughter Danielle and said, “I need you to come pick me up. They’re rejecting me because of the funding.” They asked, “What are we going to do?” I said, “Come pick me up. Let’s get a good night’s sleep if we can, and I will deal with this in the morning.”

I slept well that night, but my wife didn’t at all. In the morning, we called an oncologist whom Providence was going to connect us with. This doctor had never seen me in the hospital, but was on the phone. She said, “Go to UCLA and be really sick, because you are going to have to go in through the ER. Take your paperwork and go through their emergency room.” That is where we headed in the morning.

My Medicare Advantage plan did not sync with their public funding… They’re rejecting me because of the funding.

Russ D., AMML Patient

We Had to Pivot to UCLA

I knew nothing about a biomarker at that point. I was just trying to remember the name of what I had. I was not “AMML-ing” it very well. My oncologist at Providence had told me, “Pretend that you’re very sick at UCLA.”

We arrived and waited in a tent outside in a parking area and it was cold. When I got in, the UCLA ER looked like the ground zero of a battle. There were people everywhere, gurneys, IV drips — everything. I went through a variety of stations, and my wife Nancy and my daughter Ally came with me. At one point, I was really in anguish — or pretending I was — and really doing my best to make myself seem very sick. My daughter Ally asked my wife, “Is Dad really hurting that bad?” I pulled down my mask, looked at her, and winked, so she knew I was not that bad.

They told me they were going to admit me, but didn’t know when. They put me on a gurney in a long hallway with bright recessed lighting. It was like a traffic jam on the freeway — gurney after gurney wrapped around the building. I don’t even know how the doctors and nurses kept track. I received good treatment there; they checked on me, made me comfortable, and did more tests.

Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML
Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML

We arrived around 10:30 a.m. I was put on a gurney around 1:30 or 2:00 p.m. Eventually, they tucked us into a little side room where my gurney barely fit. It was more private because they knew they were going to admit me. A doctor came in and said, “This is what you have. It’s very treatable. You’re going to be just fine.” That wasn’t true, but we didn’t know that, and we took great comfort in it. She even prayed for me, which was very kind.

We sat in that small room until about 9 p.m. Then we were ushered into UCLA Ronald Reagan on the oncology floor. It took about 12 hours to get a room.

My care practitioner got me settled for the night, started a drip line, and I was attached to that pole for the next six months for the most part. It was a simple “Welcome, get in, and let’s set up what we need.” I told my wife she needed to go home. She was not happy about it. She spent several nights with me over time, though I’m not sure if she spent the night that first night.

They started testing in the middle of the night, so I got very little sleep. Providence had sent all its paperwork, so UCLA had a baseline, but they wanted to run their own tests. They did that through the night and into the next day, and they started chemo on the second day.

I didn’t know what a clinical trial was or how it would impact me… She said it would be very exciting if I qualified because of the NPM1 mutation.

Russ D., AMML Patient

First Time Hearing About the Biomarker and Clinical Trial Option

My first oncology doctor came to check on me and talk with my wife, my daughter, and me about the possibility of a clinical trial drug, of which I was thoroughly uninitiated. I didn’t know what a clinical trial was or how it would impact me. At that point, I had an IV pole with about 10 different bags running into me. I’m not a big pill-taker, and I had lost control of my life. All these choices were being made on my behalf. I was just along for the ride.

I remember her talking about this drug. I don’t remember her using the word biomarker. She talked about a mutation. That was the first time I heard anything about it. She said it would be very exciting if I qualified because of the NPM1 mutation. That was the first time my family and I heard it, but then nothing more was said for several days, until it actually got in motion.

I was in a bad way, dealing with the seven-day, round-the-clock 7+3 regimen. I had a rocky five or six days. While I was struggling, the clinical drug decision process was going on. My daughter and her husband had done a deep dive into the drug, and my wife had a close family friend with bladder cancer whose life was saved by a clinical drug. Between their research and that recommendation, my family moved toward the trial, even though others initially did not want me to suffer more after hearing about the side effects. My son and my other daughter relented, and we decided to go for it.

Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML
Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML

My Family Made the Clinical Trial Decision and Saved My Life

They saved my life.

We did not have any other option. This drug had just been developed a few months before my diagnosis, so we believed it was a God thing. If I had been diagnosed a year earlier, I probably would have been gone by now. My prognosis was not favorable. There wasn’t anything else.

I was grappling with trying to get through the chemo. I remember being shivering cold, never able to get warm, and being in and out of sleep with violent dreams. My vision became extremely blurry for a while, which was very scary. I couldn’t focus on anything, which was terrifying. I was wondering if I was losing my eyesight. While I was in that state, my family was discussing the clinical drug. It wasn’t something I could participate in. When they explained it to me, I said, “Fine, let’s do it.”

The two people running the trial came in and handed me the paperwork. I signed it while on my bed. From that point forward, I was taking two pills a day.

We did not have any other option. This drug had just been developed a few months before my diagnosis, so we believed it was a God thing.

Russ D., AMML Patient

Learning to Live Around the Trial Drug Schedule

I tried to get them to give me the pills at the same time each day. You couldn’t have anything in your stomach two hours before taking them and then an hour after. It felt like madness. I tried to get them on a routine: “I will have lunch, you come in at 4 p.m., give me my pills, and I will have dinner at 5 p.m.” It took a week to get them aligned.

At that time, I followed the timing rules very strictly. Now I fudge here and there. They have since told me they don’t know exactly what should be done regarding food intake, because food actually integrates fine with the pills. Waiting two hours before and one hour after may be overwrought. I was very fastidious about it then, though.

Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML
Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML

The Power of Family Support and My Goal of Being a Father

Our family is close. I love being a dad. My wife is an incredible mother. We have always had good relationships with our kids and loved raising them. All my kids and grandkids live within 20 minutes of us, so we’re always together.

I did not grow up with a father who cared about me or even talked to me. There was no connection between us. Becoming a father was a real goal of my life. A lot of people have goals of success. I wanted to be a father. I didn’t know how poor my upbringing was until I became a father myself. I dreamt of being a dad, and it came to pass. The greatest source of joy in my life is my family.

Them caring for me was very humbling. I was at UCLA for 29 straight days during that first stint. My wife, daughters, and son-in-law spent the night with me at different times. I had someone at the hospital every day but one. I was very focused on beating this and having life, and my family was the primary inspiration for that.

Them caring for me was very humbling… I was very focused on beating this and having life, and my family was the primary inspiration for that.

Russ D., AMML Patient

How I Think About Clinical Trials Now

For me, the clinical trial has always been a very positive point of reflection.

I came to understand how rare my cancer was and that there wasn’t much that could be done without this drug. Once we started, I never wavered about being part of it. I felt I was helping, and now a drug related to mine has become FDA-approved. The company that manufactures it has been gracious and kind to me because I was one of the first people to take the trial drug upon diagnosis. The FDA approval initially came for those who had relapsed, but they saw the drug work in me at diagnosis.

I felt it was a real privilege and I was very grateful. I told the company, “Anything I can ever do for you, I will.” I have done some speaking for them. I felt good about helping others, forwarding healing for people coming after me. When I reflect on it, I’m always glad to be part of it and willing to do anything I can to further healing for others.

Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML
Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML

Life on a Clinical Trial: Monitoring, Visits, and Bone Marrow Biopsies

After being discharged from the 29-day hospital stay, the clinical drug protocol required me to return to UCLA twice a month initially. The first appointment of the month was just labs. The second was labs plus a doctor’s checkup. That went on for seven or eight months. Now it’s once a month at UCLA, where I do labs and see the doctor at the same visit.

I also still get a bone marrow biopsy every 90 days. I just had one about a month ago, and everything came back MRD-negative. We are about six months away from the end of the two-year trial, so something will shift at that point, but I am not sure how yet.

I still take the trial pills. I used to take two pills a day; it’s now three pills a day and has been for six or seven months. I take them in the afternoon. With the first one, I say a small prayer of thanks: “Lord, thank you for [this drug] and that it has become FDA-approved.” With the second, I say, “Thank you for its ongoing efficacy in my body to bring healing.” With the third, I say, “May it always be potent, may I never die of cancer, and bless oncology.”

With the first one, I say a small prayer of thanks: ‘Lord, thank you for [this drug] and that it has become FDA-approved.’ With the second, I say, ‘Thank you for its ongoing efficacy in my body to bring healing.” With the third, I say, ‘May it always be potent, may I never die of cancer.’

Russ D., AMML Patient

Having Extra Eyes on Me

Being in a clinical trial means there are extra eyes on you — extra monitoring, extra visits, and extra biopsies. That hit me early, and I took to it like a duck to water because I felt it was part of my recovery. My wife and I have to drive down to UCLA on a major thoroughfare and fight traffic. It’s not always convenient, but my feeling is that we need to be the best patients, the most pleasant, and grateful people we can be. Let the eyes be on me.

I welcome that because it gives the team more data and information. It can help with this nasty disease. I jokingly call myself the poster boy for this clinical drug because I was one of the first to get it upon diagnosis, so they watch me very closely. I embraced my poster boy responsibilities.

Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML
Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML

What I Tell People Who are Considering Clinical Trials

If I were sitting in front of a group of people who might know something or nothing about clinical trials, I would start by saying: clinical trials saved my life. I am here today because of a clinical trial drug.

I would encourage you that if there is an available trial drug, do your research, talk with your doctors and caregivers, and seriously look at it as a means by which you embrace treatment that is the absolute best for you. I admit I have a bias; the clinical drug saved my life, so I am a strong proponent. Every person is different, and every situation warrants its own process, so do your process. But if you are going to lean in and need a little help deciding which way to go, I am going to nudge you toward the trial.

Clinical trials saved my life. I am here today because of a clinical trial drug.

Russ D., AMML Patient

Learning About My NPM1 Mutation

The process of discovering the mutation and biomarker was not discussed with me at the time. They did the tests and used the results to guide my treatment.

Later, one of the doctors in the entourage wrote everything down for me on a sheet of paper: the NPM1 mutation, some details, and clarifications. I still keep that piece of paper on my desk. It was the first time I truly understood anything. Up to that point, everything had been verbal, and it did not fully land with real cognition. That paper was a breakthrough moment for me.

It was also the day they told me I was in deep, deep remission. I had never heard of anyone being in “deep, deep remission,” only remission. My oncologist called it “deep, deep,” so I quote him on that. The paper is special because she took the time, on her own initiative, to write it out and make it clear to the degree a layperson could understand.

Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML

It was a breakthrough moment for me to understand, and it was also the day they told me I was in deep, deep remission.

Russ D., AMML Patient
Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML

The Communication Gap Between Doctors and Patients

It’s important to humanize all of this because there’s so much information being thrown at you. In my case, it was not backwards, but they knew what to do with me. They knew about the clinical trial and my mutation, which was reassuring.

However, there’s a disconnect between the medical field and patients. Medical professionals are so busy and consumed that they look for the shortest paths to communicate and fulfill their jobs. They take for granted that patients will understand information to a certain degree. There are rare doctors who make it simple, and that is genius: having tremendous knowledge but breaking it down so anyone can understand.

A lot of doctors do not seem to enjoy that part of communicating with patients. They may trivialize it because they’re focused on saving lives. That creates disconnect and frustration for patients and families. I’m not judging them; I respect their learning, work, and time. It’s just a reality. What helps is follow-up, like when a couple of nurses came back into my room to help me understand more. That was very valuable.

Genius is tremendous knowledge broken down so anyone can understand.

Russ D., AMML Patient

Keeping lines of communication with the care team open is crucial, but it’s hard for one person to hold all the information. My wife was so focused on me that she did not understand a lot either. My oldest daughter became an advocate, but she eventually had to drop off because she has a family and responsibilities. During that first month, she was all over it by helping explain, fielding conversations, and taking on discussions I couldn’t have because I wasn’t well enough. My wife was too concerned about me to shoulder it all.

It’s a reality that some doctors’ personalities are not geared toward the communicative side. Family members or advocates who can help digest and interpret are incredibly important.

Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML
Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML

Navigating the Future: Labs, Remission, and Living Day by Day

Now, I can read my labs and know what I am looking at and looking for. I understand the terminology regarding my biopsies. The future is not really discussed. I do not know how to discuss it, which is why I try to savor each day and enjoy it for what it is.

My primary oncologist has said one key thing: every day you do not relapse makes it more likely that you will not. As far as the future is concerned, I live on that. I do not have bad days. I have never been someone who comes home and says, “I had a bad day.” As far as I know, I am totally cancer-free. That is a good day. Whatever else happens is icing on the cake — and I like lots of icing, especially on carrot cake, which my wife is making for Thanksgiving.

Live your life in the sweet spot of faith and science.

Russ D., AMML Patient

There isn’t much dialogue about the future because it is unknown. My oncologist looks at me and says, “Russ, you’re doing good, man. Keep it up.” He is the director of stem cell research and training at UCLA. He did not push me in that direction, even though it would have been natural. He walked with me and watched me. He told me I had options, which many people do not have. He laid out my options but didn’t tell me what to choose. That was up to my family and me.

Living at the Intersection of Faith and Science

I live in the sweet spot of the intersection of faith and hope. You need people praying for you and a community around you. You want to consider spiritual truth to build your faith and strength to fight your disease.

However, do not allow faith to short-circuit your belief in science. A drug was made for me at the right time in my life that saved my life. God blesses great minds with creativity and the ability to do great things for their fellow human beings. Take advantage of that. Where those tools overlap, live your life in the sweet spot of faith and science.

Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML
Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML

Surrender, Trust, and “Letting Them Bake the Cake”

If I had one main piece of advice for people with AMML or cancer, the word that comes to me is surrender. Place your life in the hands of your higher power — your God, whatever you believe is larger than you and gives life. Surrender to the knowledge and wisdom of experienced doctors.

My primary care physician said to me, “UCLA has the recipe to bake the cake.” I have always trusted that they have the recipe, and they baked a cake for me. Surrender to God, surrender to the doctors, and embrace peace and savor it.

Another hard part is realizing your life is not your own. You have to accept that. If you try to micromanage every detail, you are not going to make it. I was an advocate to a point, and my wife and daughter were advocates too, but a lot happened because we trusted the wisdom and experience of the doctors. You can fight that truth or surrender to it. I surrendered, though it was not always easy.

Surrender to God, surrender to the doctors, and embrace peace and savor it.

Russ D., AMML Patient

Russ D. AMML
Thank you for sharing your story, Russ!

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Kura Oncology

Thank you to Kura Oncology for their support of our independent patient education program. The Patient Story retains full editorial control over all content.


This interview has been edited for clarity and length. This is not medical advice. Please consult with your healthcare provider to make informed treatment decisions.

The views and opinions expressed in this interview do not necessarily reflect those of The Patient Story.


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Finding Peace in Hospice: Alyssa’s Stage 4 Stomach Cancer Experience

Finding Peace in Hospice: Alyssa’s Stage 4 Stomach Cancer Experience

If you have ever been to our YouTube channel, chances are you have seen Alyssa and her stomach cancer video on the home page. Millions of people have watched her story. Thousands have left messages of support or started conversations under the video to share their own experiences, ask questions, and talk honestly about cancer. Alyssa isn’t just telling her story. She’s helping create a community of people who could see themselves in her, who maybe felt more empowered and less alone because she was willing to be so open.

Most of the stories we share focus on diagnosis, treatment decisions, and what it looks like to live throughout care. Alyssa has invited us into a different chapter, one that many people are afraid to talk about.

Interviewed by: Taylor Scheib
Edited by: Katrina Villareal & Jeff Forslund

Since her original interview, Alyssa has gone through 38 rounds of chemotherapy, three rounds of immunotherapy, a total gastrectomy with part of her esophagus removed, and surgery to remove both ovaries and fallopian tubes. After exhausting all available treatment options and seeing her stage 4 stomach cancer continue to progress, Alyssa made the decision with her care team and family to begin hospice care at home.

In this new video, she talks honestly about what hospice means to her, how she is focusing on comfort, connection, and memories with her family, and why she still feels called to use her voice for others.

From the beginning, Alyssa and her care team were honest that the treatments were not curative, only meant to slow the cancer and buy time. As scans eventually showed further spread, she faced the reality that the treatments were no longer working for her stage 4 stomach cancer. Hospice became a way to prioritize symptom management, reduce pain, and focus on comfort and presence with the people she loves. Even as a young woman, she navigated the strange, often stigmatizing process of calling hospice agencies for herself and not for a grandparent, and she found a program that respected her and took her needs seriously.

Alyssa B. hospice update

In hospice, Alyssa centers self-care, connection, and meaning. She talks openly about planning her funeral arrangements to ease the burden on her family, recording videos and writing cards for her son’s future milestones, and savoring the little things, like skincare, makeup, and feeling the grass under her feet. She describes each new day as a blessing, often reflecting at night on how precious life feels now that time is so limited. Her hospice experience is not just about decline; it’s also about redefining strength as accepting support, asking for honest communication from her care team, and embracing the love that surrounds her.

Alyssa also uses her voice to advocate for more awareness and research in the stomach cancer community. By sharing her symptoms, treatment side effects, and hospice experience, she hopes to encourage earlier diagnoses, better options for future patients, and a culture where people with advanced disease are seen, heard, and honored.

Watch Alyssa’s video or read the transcript of her interview below to get an update on her story:

  • The importance of honest communication with the care team to help understand treatment options
  • Why hospice is not “giving up” but choosing comfort, pain relief, and presence with family after exhausting all available treatment options
  • How small acts of self-care become powerful tools
  • Why it’s okay to feel scared, sad, or guilty, and to seek support so you do not stay stuck in those feelings for too long

  • Name: Alyssa B.
  • Diagnosis:
    • Stomach (Gastric) Cancer
  • Staging:
    • Stage 4
  • Symptoms:
    • Fatigue
    • Elevated resting heart rate
    • Heartburn
    • Difficulty swallowing
    • Weight loss
  • Treatment:
    • Chemotherapy
    • Immunotherapy
    • Surgeries: total gastrectomy; partial esophagus removal; bilateral oophorectomy and fallopian tube removal
    • Clinical trial
Alyssa B. hospice update
Alyssa B. hospice update
Alyssa B. hospice update
Alyssa B. hospice update
Alyssa B. hospice update
Alyssa B. hospice update
Alyssa B. hospice update

This interview has been edited for clarity and length. This is not medical advice. Please consult with your healthcare provider to make informed treatment decisions.

The views and opinions expressed in this interview do not necessarily reflect those of The Patient Story.



Introduction and Summary of My Cancer Journey

My name is Alyssa. I was diagnosed with stage 4 stomach cancer in May 2023. Since being diagnosed, I have gone through 38 rounds of chemo and three rounds of immunotherapy. I have had my entire stomach, part of my esophagus, and both my ovaries and fallopian tubes removed. I have done a clinical trial.

I have also lost my ability to eat or drink anything. I have a complete blockage due to the cancer, so I was on total parenteral nutrition (TPN) for three months and then transitioned to a feeding tube, which I have had since March 2025 and is how I receive all my nutrition and hydration.

I have exhausted all lines of treatment that are available to me and with the cancer continuing to progress, we have decided to start hospice. I am now in at-home hospice care, which brings me to today.

How I Transitioned to Hospice Care

From the beginning, we knew that there weren’t any curative treatment options available and at a certain point, we would switch to hospice care. We just didn’t know how long we had. We knew how many lines of treatment we had available. My care team and I had the conversation that once we exhausted these options, hospice would be something to consider.

As we got closer and I transitioned to the final line of treatment, we asked, “What does this line of treatment look like? How long do we expect this to slow down the cancer?” Of course, we didn’t know exactly, but we wanted an estimate. Then we asked, “Once we realize that the cancer is continuing to progress, will we be switching to hospice?” They said yes, if that is what I want.

With hospice, the goal is to manage symptoms and make me as comfortable as possible as I prepare for my final transition. For me, that was a no-brainer. I want to be comfortable; there are no other options available.

I had some extreme pain in my abdomen that I had never experienced before. It was so severe that I went to the emergency room. When I was there, they did their workup, blood work, and scans. The scans came back showing that the cancer had continued to progress to other organs. We concluded that the chemo I was on was not working. Then we had to make the decision: What do we want to do next?

We weren’t going to continue with treatment that wasn’t working and since there were no other options available, I could just continue with life and let things happen naturally. Or I could utilize this great resource of hospice, where they focus on making me comfortable. They explained what that looks like. I definitely want to be comfortable. I’m in a lot of pain, so I’m ready for that.

They shared some hospice facilities that I could utilize. I was told to interview them, which was overwhelming because I thought, “How do you even begin to interview? I had no idea what I needed, what I wanted, or what I would need in the future.” The good thing is that my cancer center sent me a resource with some questions that might be important to me.

I called different companies, asked questions, and then chose the company that I felt best met my needs. That process was a little weird because I am so young. Calling these companies, I would tell them I wanted to set up hospice care for myself and explain where I am at. A lot of them would say, “Okay, so for your grandma, we are going to do this,” and I kept saying, “No, this is for me.” It brought me back to the realization that, yes, I know I sound very young, but unfortunately, this is where we are. It’s a weird process, but I feel at peace with it, knowing that it will make me as comfortable as possible.

Because I have had these conversations with my family, it has helped them be more comfortable and prepared them along the way. I would say, “Once we get to this point, it is hospice,” and now that we’re here, of course, it still feels heavy. It feels like this is the final chapter and that we’re down to the last days or weeks, if we’re lucky. It definitely feels heavy, but I’m grateful for my care team, my family, and my friends. Without all that support, I don’t think I would be handling it as well.

Why Open Communication with My Care Team Matters

Keeping the line of communication open is very important to me because I need to know that my care team is being transparent with me. I need to know that they are aware of what I want and what’s important to me, and that we are constantly on the same page. Things may change; I may start to feel differently, or things may change with my health, and we may need to discuss that. So open communication is very important.

I go into appointments with questions and they know I am going to circle back on what is important to me. They are often prepared and will say, “I went ahead and did this beforehand because I know you’re going to ask about this.” That makes me feel better as a patient, knowing that I’m not just a patient to them and that they care about me and what matters to me.

Coping with My Final Line of Treatment

Being on the last line of treatment available, I knew this was the final shot. This was the last thing we had to slow this down and buy me more time, which is heavy. I know that once you switch to hospice, that turn is very quick — from being up, moving, and talking to not talking, being in bed, and not being able to communicate with my loved ones. That makes me sad because I carry a lot of guilt with that.

I focused on self-care, self-love, and self-soothing during my last line of treatment. On chemo weeks, if I went in on Wednesday, starting Monday, I did all the things to help my mind prepare for the next round. Each round was so intense. It was painful and emotionally draining. I would choose some of my favorite foods. I’m not able to eat, but I would chew them and spit them out to get the flavor. I knew my taste buds would change once I was on chemo, so I wanted to get that in beforehand.

I made sure not to take on too many tasks or stress about cleaning and all the things that needed to be done. Those would be pushed to next week because chemo week is so intense. I know what I’m facing and I want to be in the best frame of mind that I can be. I focused on skincare, meditating, journaling, and lots of grounding. I love to stop on the way to get the mail and put my feet in the grass, put my arms up, feel the breeze, listen to the sounds of nature, and connect with what’s going on in the world.

Being present in those moments helped soothe my soul and ground me because there is so much out of our control. If I can do these little things here and there, it helps me feel better about the situation.

My Mindset Now That I’m in Hospice

It’s heavy being in hospice because I know we’re no longer doing anything to slow this down. There’s nothing available. I know my days are numbered even more than ever before and I feel like there is so much I want to do to help my family and friends. I want to leave videos and letters behind. I want to write cards for my son.

I’m going to be missing out on a lot of things, so I have cards for his 18th birthday and his high school graduation. I have so many things to fill out and write, but I don’t know how much time I have, so it’s a lot. It’s heavy, but I try not to allow that to stress me out too much because I don’t want to stress so much that I miss the moments. I am down to my final moments. I want to create memories with my family and enjoy every moment that I have.

Every day that I wake up, I think, “I saw another day. This is amazing. What am I going to do today? Who am I going to spend time with?” I have been very blessed. I have had a visitor every single day since I started hospice, whether that’s a friend, coworker, or classmate. People from different parts of my life have been visiting me every day. I feel covered in love and I am enjoying those moments.

It’s a lot, balancing what I want to do and not knowing how much time I have. I know it’s going to be a quick turn once I’m no longer able to do these things. Day to day, I try to take it one moment at a time. Nighttime is heavy because I reflect and think, “I just got another day,” and every night it hits me that life is precious. You feel the weight of that when going through something like this.

Creating Special Memories with My Son in Japan

From the time my son turned seven, he told me that he no longer wanted birthday parties and just wanted to travel places with me. At that time, I was a single mom, and I thought, “What do you mean no more birthday parties? You’re only seven.” I thought it was so sweet that he wanted that, so that year, we went on a little trip.

That was also the year I met my spouse and our dynamic changed. Now we were a family doing family trips, but we didn’t get to do a lot because life was crazy. It was one thing after another, and we wanted to save money and were struggling financially. We didn’t travel much, but we had a few trips. Traveling was always important to me and something I didn’t get to achieve.

When I was faced with cancer, it felt like it wasn’t going to happen. Then someone reached out to me and said he wanted to gift me something. He asked me to rank 10 places from where I would most want to go to least. He asked who I would want to meet and what was on my bucket list.

We met up and he surprised me with a trip for my son and me to go to Japan for a week. That meant everything to me, to have the opportunity to go out, live life, and step away from everything that was going on. We had been living with this diagnosis for so long. Even though we tried to enjoy our time together, there was no escaping it; it was always there. In that moment, I got to escape. I was able to go to another country, something I thought I would never get to do, and I did that with my son.

We got to see the beauty of Japan. It was so peaceful. We rode a helicopter over Tokyo and had so many great experiences. I had been struggling with bone pain and fatigue with everything going on, but while I was there, I didn’t experience any of that. I was pain-free. I was so happy. We embraced the trip and each other and made beautiful memories. I didn’t think about cancer or how much time I had left. I got to live and be in the moment with my son, which is something we will cherish forever.

What I Hope People Remember About Me

There are so many moments. There are big moments in my life that are important to me: my son being born, getting married, and our recent vow renewal. But as far as what I hope others remember, something that has been important to me throughout my life is leaving a positive impact on others, in whatever way that may be.

Whether it’s inspiring people to go after their dreams or encouraging them to advocate for themselves, I wanted to be someone who left some type of positive impact, even in the smallest ways. I hope that when people think of me, they remember that.

How Online Support and Kind Words Have Helped Me Keep Going

I cannot express enough how much kind words have meant to me. They have lifted me during some of my deepest struggles. I try to stay positive every day, but oftentimes, I feel weak and tired. There were times when I was scared and felt like my body was failing and there was nothing I could do.

Then I had people reminding me: You are strong. You are doing this. Even though you are struggling, you are still in it and that makes you strong. They would say that coming out and sharing this with the world makes me strong. Some people reminded me that making a video takes energy. I had to pause and think about that because it does take energy. I have to prepare and afterwards, I’m exhausted.

For me, it felt like something I was called to do, so I didn’t think about the energy cost. Having people remind me and lift me, telling me that I am strong and inspiring, helped me to continue to be strong, to fight, and to stay positive. That was important.

It’s okay not to be okay and to struggle. But I never wanted to allow myself to stay in that struggle too long because I knew that would be additional stress on my body, which weakens the immune system. My goal was to try to be as strong as I could be because that could buy me more time.

I’m incredibly grateful for all the support and love I have received over these years.

What I Have Learned About People and the World

I have learned that there are so many amazing people in the world who are very selfless. The way they have given their time, energy, and resources, and taken moments to share kind words with me, is something they didn’t have to do. There are so many people willing to do that simply because they care.

My vow renewal was especially eye-opening because it was completely gifted to us. Over 20 vendors gifted their time and resources. We had food, a DJ, photographers, and so many amazing people who made it a dream come true. None of them had to do that, but they chose to make that day special for my spouse and me. That restored my faith in humanity and showed me how selfless people can be. These businesses need money to operate, but for them to give like that to a complete stranger warmed my heart.

Tomorrow is not promised. We never know when our time is going to be up, so it’s important to prioritize what’s important to you.

Family has always been a priority. I always wanted to take trips with my family, but I kept saying I wanted more savings built up or to pay down debt first. I feel like I lost out on a lot of time when I could have made many more memories. I don’t want to say I regret it, but it is eye-opening.

Book the trip. Do what you want. Don’t wait until some “perfect” time. Things can be figured out. Prioritize what’s important to you. If it’s important to make these memories, you will find a way. Don’t miss out because you think you need a little more saved. Go after it. You will be grateful you made those memories.

Why I Started Sharing My Story Online

I was diagnosed after two years of going to the doctor and not having answers. During those two years, I was trying to research what was going on and what it could be, but I wasn’t finding anything. After being diagnosed, I wanted to know what to expect next, but I still wasn’t getting many answers. It’s a complex question, but even with research, I couldn’t find much information about stomach cancer or the treatments.

I felt called to share my symptoms because I thought, “This is an unfortunate situation, but how many other people are having these vague symptoms and not getting answers? Maybe by sharing my symptoms, I could encourage someone to push a little harder, ask for a second opinion, or ask for additional testing. Even if it doesn’t lead to a cancer diagnosis and they find out it is something completely different, if I can help one person, it will make this all worth it. As much as it sucks, I do not want this to happen to anyone else.” That was my “why” in the beginning. I wanted to help anyone I could.

After my videos took off, I started updating people about what it looked like going through chemo and what happens when the unexpected happens, like when my liver enzymes spiked. What do you do when that happens? I don’t know everything, but by sharing what I experienced, I share what I have learned in my particular case, which could help others.

I kept feeling called to keep sharing, piece by piece. I received great feedback from people thanking me and telling me how it impacted them, along with people asking additional questions and wanting to know more. That is why I continued.

Looking back, I never thought it would become this, but I’m grateful that I have been able to reach so many people and hopefully help many throughout all of this. I cannot change my situation or circumstances, but if I can help one person, that will make this all worth it.

A Message to the Stomach Cancer Community

I would tell the stomach cancer community that we are the future. Stomach cancer is so underfunded, which is why we cannot get the necessary research. It’s insane that there aren’t more treatment options. It’s crazy that some stomach cancers cannot be seen on imaging. Many people have never heard that before.

If we cannot observe this through imaging, why haven’t we come up with a better way to follow this? Without that, how do we know how bad things are getting and how fast they’re progressing? For the stomach cancer community, the more we speak up and share, the more we can fight for a better future, not only for ourselves but for anyone else who may be impacted.

We can use our voices to push for more research and more funding. A lot of people don’t know this information, but when we share it, it might land on the right person who says, “I want to invest in this. I want to look into this further.” We hold so much power that we do not realize we have. It shows in how many people I have been able to reach and help simply by posting and sharing. There is power in numbers. If we all continue, we can hopefully see a better future for those impacted by stomach cancer.

What My Days in Hospice Look Like

As of now, I still have quite a bit of independence compared to others who may have entered hospice. I’m very lucky that my mind is still alert and that I can express what I want.

I have a nurse and an aide who both come weekly. The aide helps with bathing and things like that, while the nurse stays on top of my medications and asks how I’m feeling. As things continue to progress, those visits will increase in frequency.

My son is with me every day. He is homeschooled and we made that decision so we could have more time together, which has been great. My spouse is here, too, but he works long hours five days a week, so we try to make the most of the time we get together.

I have a visitor every single day. At least one family member, friend, coworker, or classmate comes to spend time with me. I see different people every day and I enjoy reconnecting with them. We take pictures and create more memories.

A lot of what I do depends on my pain. I’m in a lot of pain. I’m in pain 24/7 now. I cannot remember the last time I was without pain. It’s at a tolerable level most of the time. It spikes at times, but I have medications to help. Regardless, I’m constantly in pain and have to plan my days around it because I never know how I will feel. I might start the day feeling great and then suddenly feel horrible and be unable to do anything else for the rest of the day.

Recently, I have been trying to keep the house tidy and slowly set up my Christmas décor because I love Christmas. My son and I set up the Christmas tree. I did most of it, but didn’t put the star on top, and then needed a break. I make sure to take breaks. Family and friends offer to get me out of the house to do things I want to do. If I need a few things from the store, my mom offers to pick me up and take me, even if it’s a long drive, because she wants to support me.

I’m not doing a lot of moving around, but I’m enjoying the time and memories I’m making with my friends and family.

How Makeup, Self-Care, and Community Help Me Feel Like Myself

I still do my makeup. I love makeup and feel like it is a form of self-care, just like skincare. If I’m able to do it, I like to. Recently, I have been getting on TikTok Live and doing my makeup while chatting with my friends and supporters.

As I get ready, everyone joins and says things like, “We love you! How are you feeling?” It’s so nice to have all of that while I’m also pouring love into myself by doing my makeup. They ask me about the products, so I feel like I’m in my influencer era. I always wanted to be a makeup artist, so I feel like a little makeup artist, even if I am not officially one.

Being able to do anything for yourself — taking a shower, doing skincare, doing your makeup, fixing your hair — makes a huge difference.  Kind words from others can make someone’s day. If you see someone and tell them that you love their hair, they might have been having a horrible day, but now you’ve made them feel better because you took the time to say something you didn’t have to say.

Living with Guilt and Trying to Ease My Family’s Burden

I have come to terms with the fact that guilt is something I will always carry, but I also know deep down that I did not cause this. I know it’s not in my control. I still carry guilt because it’s happening to me and I see my family watching me and hurting because it is happening to me. I feel like I’m putting them through it, even though I know that I’m not. I try to remind myself that it’s not in my control. There’s nothing I did to cause this and there’s nothing I can do to undo it. I try to do little things to make myself feel better.

One thing I’m doing now is planning my funeral arrangements. If I can take that off their plate, I feel like that is the greatest gift I can give them right now. When the time comes, it will be heavy. If they can focus on grieving and being there for each other instead of answering a million questions about what I would have wanted, I think that would be amazing. I try to do things like that to bring them peace and comfort. It doesn’t erase my guilt, but it makes me feel a little better. Anything I can leave behind for them — videos, letters, or anything to make this easier — helps ease that feeling a bit.

How My Faith Shapes the Way I Think About Death

A lot of my perspective comes from my faith. I have known from a very early age that the only thing we are promised in this life is death. This was always going to happen; I just didn’t know when or how. I still don’t know exactly how it will happen because anything can happen in the next few days.

Death is a very normal thing and something that will happen to all of us. It’s heavy, but if I can talk to my family about how I feel about it, it helps. I’m at peace because, as much as this will hurt and be heavy for them, I also believe I will be in a better place. I know it sounds cliché, but I truly believe I will be without pain. I will have beaten cancer. I will be done with it. My family will no longer have to watch me suffer. Those are things I look forward to.

I don’t know what the next life looks like, but I believe it will be more beautiful than I can imagine and that I will be at peace. By sharing that with my family, I feel I have brought them peace and comfort. Sharing this with others who have family members going through something similar or who are in hospice for whatever reason might help them consider that their loved one might feel similarly. We often struggle with hurting for the person going through this transition, but a lot of it, for me, is faith and acknowledging that, as much as it sucks and as heavy as it is, there is still beauty within it.

Why Having Platforms and a Voice Matters to Me

I’m very grateful that I have a voice and that I’m able to share this. I have thought about how meaningful it is that I was able to be on this platform and share my symptoms. Then, share a follow-up after we did the trial that we hoped would find a cure, but it did not. And now share about transitioning into hospice and preparing for my final transition.

I’m grateful that I still have the opportunity to be here and share this because that’s not always the case. My initial prognosis was 2 to 11 months, which is not a lot of time, but here we are, 2 ½ years later. I am grateful for that extra time and the opportunity to share what I have been going through.

Sharing is how I show my gratitude. I did not live quietly. I decided I was going to do something meaningful with my time and try to help others. Now, as I get close to my final transition, people ask if I am scared; I’m not. Being able to share what I am feeling is amazing and I hope it continues to help others.

I’m grateful for all the platforms, including The Patient Story, for giving me the opportunity and the space to share this. We touched on so much — living life to the fullest, advocating for yourself, and how precious life is. Those are the main messages I wanted to get across. I cannot think of anything else to add.


Alyssa B.

Alyssa’s First Video

Alyssa’s story starts in 2023. Learn more about her symptoms, diagnosis, and treatments as she learned she had stage 4 stomach cancer.

Watch now.


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Categories
Chemotherapy Lobectomy Patient Stories Sarcoma Soft Tissue Sarcoma Surgery Synovial Sarcoma Treatments

Finding Light Through Advocacy in Stage 3 Synovial Sarcoma: Sorcha’s Experience

Finding Light Through Advocacy in Stage 3 Synovial Sarcoma: Sorcha’s Experience

Before cancer entered her world, Sorcha’s life in El Paso, Texas, was full of family, engineering work, and hands-on creativity. She spent her days as a mechanical engineer in the oil and gas industry and her evenings quilting, crocheting, or making friendship bracelets with her young daughter. Their bond showed up in bright, memorable moments, like planning a Taylor Swift concert trip together and crafting bracelets in anticipation. It was within this full and grounded life that Sorcha first began navigating what would become a diagnosis of stage 3 synovial sarcoma.

Interviewed by: Nikki Murphy
Edited by: Katrina Villareal

Before her stage 3 synovial sarcoma diagnosis, Sorcha’s days were defined by work, parenting her daughter and son, and finding joy in movement and learning. She went to New Orleans for a Taylor Swift concert, which she remembers as a safe, joy-filled space, especially for girls, women, and families. She, her daughter, and her sister immersed themselves in the music, traded hundreds of handmade bracelets, and created memories that would later stand out as a “protected, beautiful time” just before everything changed.

Sorcha B. synovial sarcoma

Soon after, Sorcha began noticing symptoms: right-sided abdominal pain, changes in her breast, and a frightening episode of vision loss in her right eye. Despite seeing multiple doctors and being told the symptoms were likely stress or migraine-related, she continued to push for answers. Her stage 3 synovial sarcoma experience quickly became one of self‑advocacy as she tracked patterns, returned to primary care, and insisted that seemingly “unrelated” symptoms might, in fact, be connected. Eventually, severe pain, nausea, and vomiting led her to the emergency room, where a chest CT revealed a large mass.

From there, Sorcha moved into an intense treatment path that included chemotherapy and protective medications to shield her kidneys and bladder. She describes the shock of sudden hair loss, shaving her head with her kids at a local salon, and the mounting fatigue and cognitive effects that linger even now. Yet she also highlights support from friends who flew in before surgery, an employer who offered housing during treatment, and a tight “village” of long‑time friends who celebrated “No Mo’ Chemo” with a beach photo shoot. Through it all, her stage 3 synovial sarcoma experience is defined not just by medicine, but by motherhood, community, and a fierce commitment to self‑advocacy.

Watch Sorcha’s video or read her interview transcript to find out more about her story:

  • Strong self‑advocacy helped Sorcha push past initial “it’s probably stress” responses and eventually get imaging that revealed her synovial sarcoma
  • How small, joy‑filled experiences became powerful emotional anchors once symptoms and treatment began
  • Maintaining a “village” of long‑time friends across multiple moves created a support system that showed up in tangible ways
  • Learning that patients often need to trust their own sense that “something is wrong” and keep asking questions until their concerns are fully addressed
  • How Sorcha’s perspective shifted from simply enduring treatment to intentionally using her time and health to be present with her children and to share her experience to help others

  • Name: Sorcha B.
  • Age at Diagnosis:
    • 36
  • Diagnosis:
    • Synovial Sarcoma
  • Staging:
    • Stage 3
  • Symptoms:
    • Right upper quadrant pain
    • Changes in the right breast
    • Temporary vision loss in the right eye
    • Nausea
    • Vomiting
  • Treatments:
    • Chemotherapy
    • Cytoprotective therapy: mesna
    • Surgery: lobectomy of the middle lobe of the right lung and associated ribs and soft tissue
Sorcha B. stage 3 synovial sarcoma
Sorcha B. stage 3 synovial sarcoma
Sorcha B. stage 3 synovial sarcoma
Sorcha B. stage 3 synovial sarcoma
Sorcha B. stage 3 synovial sarcoma
Sorcha B. stage 3 synovial sarcoma
Sorcha B. stage 3 synovial sarcoma

This interview has been edited for clarity and length. This is not medical advice. Please consult with your healthcare provider to make informed treatment decisions.

The views and opinions expressed in this interview do not necessarily reflect those of The Patient Story.



My Name is Sorcha

My name is Sorcha. I was diagnosed with stage 3 synovial sarcoma at the beginning of 2025, and I live in Texas, in El Paso.

I am a mechanical engineer by degree, and I work in oil and gas. I have worked at the same company my whole career. I’m passionate about learning. I’m curious about the world and the people around me. I think the stereotype of mechanical engineers is that they do stuff with cars. I don’t do anything with cars. I like to make stuff with my hands, though, so I enjoy crafting, arts and crafts. I quilt, crochet, knit, and make friendship bracelets. I’m a big Taylor Swift fan and so is my daughter. I am married with two kids. I have a daughter who is six and a son who is four. I also like to read and lift weights. 

Taylor Swift Trip to New Orleans

That trip was on Halloween weekend, which, if you’ve ever been to New Orleans around that time of year, it’s like festival season but spooky. There are a lot of locals, music, and artistic expression. It’s such a cool city for a ton of reasons, but also very cool to be there the week of Halloween, and the concert was that weekend. I went with my daughter and we got the tickets a year beforehand, so we had made our costumes. It took about a year for me to make my costume. It was very intricate, and my daughter went from knowing the songs to knowing all the lyrics to all the songs because she’s developing and growing up, so it was so cool. It was a fun mother-daughter time.

We handmade hundreds of bracelets together, and then we got to hand them out and trade them with people in New Orleans. We have a little memory box with all of our bracelets. She has a whole bunch in her room, but those are the ones that I have little memories about.

My sister came down. It was a cool experience. That whole concert vibe is very girlhood. It’s safe. Everyone’s so positive and kind, and it was a great experience for my daughter. It was a whole bunch of moms and sisters and kids and women of all ages, also some men, too, but just a very safe place for her to experience the city for the first time. It was a beautiful experience.

I went to the emergency room for the first time a little less than a month later, so it stands out for me as this gem of this protected, beautiful time before I became ill. 

Girls’ Beach Trip and No Mo’ Chemo

As part of my career that I’ve chosen, I’ve moved a lot. I’ve probably moved, I want to say, seven times. It becomes important not to rely on an external village. You need to make your village. I think part of that is making sure you maintain strong, connected, intimate friendships even as you move. That takes work and effort, and it has to be reciprocated.

This group of girls, not all of them are there in that picture, but that group represents that village of adult friends I’ve had now for, I mean, a couple of the girls since I was two or three, and I think the newest friend I have is maybe 12 years ago. They’ve been extremely supportive through this whole experience. We wanted to celebrate the end of chemo, so we did a “No Mo’ Chemo” photo shoot and had my family come in right after. We actually had a photographer take pictures and memorialize that experience of being done with being sick and turning the page towards surgery and recovery. 

Wigs and Hair Choices

Everyone thought I would wear wigs, I think, so it was a little bit like, hey, wigs are cool, wigs are in. But I never did. No shade or hate to anybody; I just found them a little bit itchy. So it was kind of fun to wear them for the first time and then be neon, you know. 

Early Sarcoma Symptoms and Dismissed Concerns

I would say in the summertime, maybe July, I had some right-quadrant pain. It was dull, aching pain over the course of a few days, with some sharp stabbing pains. It lasted for a couple of days and I thought, “That’s kind of weird. Maybe I hurt myself. Maybe something happened.”

A few weeks later, I had the pain again, except it was bad enough that I couldn’t sleep. It affected my sleep, and the sharp pains were really sharp. I was on Google asking what it could possibly be and came up with it’s probably gallstones. I had lost weight. I’d finished nursing my kids and was coming back to my normal weight, so maybe that’s what it was. That was around July, and then I had the pain again. 

Along with that, I had had a couple of other symptoms and I thought they were unrelated. I thought I felt something in my right breast. Something seemed different. Something seemed off. I went and saw a gynecologist to check me. He said he didn’t feel anything. Everything felt normal. I was like, “Well, one of these feels different. My right one feels like something’s off with it. I can’t really explain why; it feels higher or something.”

Around then, within those weeks, I lost vision in my right eye while I was getting ready for work. It was as if you stared into a light and you can’t see for a while, except it didn’t recover and my eye looked normal. My pupils were equal and reactive. I saw several doctors. I saw the gynecologist, an optometrist, and an ophthalmologist about my eye. They said I was probably having a migraine. I didn’t have a headache, but they said an aura around a migraine can result in that vision loss. After seeing a few doctors with all these unconnected things, it came down to I was probably stressed out. 

Primary Care, Tests, and ER Referral

Then I had the pain again in August, and I went to a primary care doctor and said, “Hey, look, I’m having A, B, C, X, Y, Z. I know I’ve been told by other doctors that [they] are unrelated. I think they’re related. I think there’s something wrong.” She took me very seriously. She ordered a whole bunch of tests. She ordered a head CT. She ordered an ultrasound of my gallbladder area, just checking on that. I also saw a gastroenterologist.

All my tests came back normal. All my blood work was normal. My head CT looked normal. Although my doctor was very supportive and said, “I agree, if you say there’s something wrong, there’s something wrong, maybe it’s something hormonal. Let’s meet back again in six months and see if anything has changed. But in the interim, if you experience this pain again, immediately go to the emergency room because they may be able to image and see if there’s some intermittent thing happening. They may be able to see it while it’s happening.”

Emergency Room Visit and Mass Discovery

That was in August. September, October: Taylor Swift concert. Towards the end of November was the next time I had the pain. I had discomfort, pain, and nausea at work after eating a meal, which again sounded consistent with gallstones. I went to see our LPN, and whenever he was probing around to see if everything was okay, I started vomiting and I couldn’t stop. Concerned that this might be something cardiac or more complex or serious, I went to the emergency room. At the emergency room, I was triaged and waited several hours to be seen. 

Once I was seen, again, scans were showing nothing. I said, “Hey, I really think something’s wrong over here. Can you please look over here, see if you see anything?” They went back and consulted and said, “Okay, we might see something. If you’re saying you’re having pain there, we see a little, it might be a blood clot. We can’t really tell. We’ll do a chest CT.”

Once the chest CT was done, everyone’s mood changed. I wasn’t given the results immediately. I have an idea of how long the results should take. They said, “We’re going to wait. We’re going to put you in a room.” I had just been behind a curtain before then, so I thought a room opened up. They put me in the room. I think they were trying to be very considerate of my feelings and my experience, but they put me in the room privately so that they could tell me that they found a large mass and it didn’t look good. 

Timeline to Official Diagnosis

I had an emergency room visit where they found the mass, and then we drained the fluid, re-inflated my lung, biopsied the mass, and then they tested the biopsied tissue. I was diagnosed on January 2nd. My ER visit was around Thanksgiving, and my diagnosis was in New Year’s.

Hearing the Diagnosis and Treatment Plan

What’s crazy is I knew what it possibly could be, and I had self-referred to the sarcoma group at MD Anderson before even having the FISH result that confirms sarcoma. So I knew that this was a significant chance, but I hadn’t done any research into what the treatment protocol would be because it’s so different based on your individual case. It basically went, “Hey, yes, we have this result, you have synovial sarcoma, you have this high-grade malignant mass that makes you stage 3, we need to start chemo immediately, it’s going to be really bad, you’re going to get really sick, and you’re going to be rendered infertile. So, are you done having kids?”

In their defense, they’re not saying this stuff boom, boom, boom, but the experience of it is like, “Oh, that’s a lot of information,” trying to take it in. She said, “If you want to have more kids, we need to freeze these eggs now, and we need to get you in here next week to start chemo. You’re going to be out of work for six months, and then you’re going to have surgery, and it’s going to be this significant surgery.”

I was clinical in my response. I was like, “Yep, I’m done having kids, that’s perfect. I’m young, I can handle difficult chemo, but I’m old enough that I already have my children. Okay, perfect. We live close to MD Anderson.” I was responding in a very unemotional way, but I think that I just wasn’t able to experience the emotions in the moment. 

Telling My Husband, Parents, and Friends

My husband was with me in the room the first time. At first, we were amongst ourselves, like, “It has to be benign, it has to be benign. I’ve never smoked. I work out. I eat healthy. I’m a healthy person. Of course, I don’t have cancer.”

When I found out that they had ruled out a benign mass, I came in and woke him up and told him it was cancer. I think we were both surprised, asking the same questions over and over again, like, “Well, why? You don’t do any of this stuff that makes a risk factor.” But that was his biggest shift, realizing that it was cancer.

The actual diagnosis of the sarcoma and the treatment protocols were more intense than I expected, but we didn’t know that much about what cancer patients go through. Most of my friends who had had cancer had had skin or breast cancer that was mild enough not to affect their life or their appearance significantly during the treatment, just because of the type of cancer they had. 

I called my boss on the way home and said, “Hey, I have to be out of work for six months. I need to leave immediately.” He said yes and even offered his home to me. They had an apartment that his wife and daughter were using while she was in her last year of high school, and they offered to let me stay there while I was going through treatment. That was generous and helped support me a lot. 

Then I called my dad. He was distracted and packing and said, “Hey, can you call your mom? I’ve got to get this done.” I said, “No, it’s serious. Can you sit down for a second?” I told him, and I asked him to call my mom first so that she could have a reaction to it and not feel like she had to not react to protect me or something.

My dad’s an engineer. My mom’s more like a biologist-artist type. That just felt like the right way to do it. Then, everybody else, I sent a text message that said, “Hey, I have cancer, and here’s this three-paragraph-long thing of all your questions answered. I pre-wrote it with everything and put it in my notes.” Everyone got the same message. This is what I’m comfortable with you sharing with others and this is what I’d like you to wait to share. So I guess being my friend is kind of a wild ride. You might get that text one day, I don’t know. 

Researching Care Teams and Protocols

I reached out to a few places. One place in the Northeast, I’m blanking on what it’s called, and I self-referred to Mayo Clinic and MD Anderson. I called a few people I knew and trusted. I reached out to my family and said, “Who do you know that works in oncology? Who do you know that knows about clinical trials or knows about this type of cancer that I believe I have?”

I wanted to understand who is most respected. I did a lot of research going into it before I had that January 2nd meeting, not so much about what protocol they would prescribe, but which care teams are respected and have the most options and the most robust systems for support.

The care team came in and said, “This is what it is. In general, sarcoma is resistant to chemo; you’re going to have to have an intense chemo regimen. Our goal is to prevent or reduce the chance of recurrence.” They were transparent that this is not going to solve my cancer. This is going to make it less likely to recur. It probably will come back, but this is going to hopefully make that further away or less likely. 

They were direct with me and clear about the chances and the intent behind each portion of the protocol and the surgery. They recommended that I reach out to other people. They said, “Here are your scans. Here’s your information. You can send it to these people or whoever you choose and see what they recommend.”

I had also seen a local oncology team in El Paso, and they said, “Full disclosure: we see certain types of cancer, and this is a really rare one. This is really aggressive. You need to go to the best in the country, and we’re not them. But here are different people to talk to.”

Everybody recommended pretty much the same protocol. All of what the best people in the industry recommended was consistent, so I didn’t have concerns around that. I felt like all my questions were answered. When it came to deciding whether or not to do portions of treatment, I decided to do every step that would increase my chance of success and decrease recurrence, and I had the benefit of having no risk factors that would preclude me from doing those things. 

Chemo Before Surgery

I got my PICC line put in on January 13th, which was great, and started chemo around January 15th. I was on a pretty heavy dose. I think it’s called doxorubicin; it’s called Red Devil as a slang term. I had that on Mondays. Then I had four days of what’s called AIM treatment, basically a chemo that’s formulated for your size, spread out over however many days they need to give you your dose.

Then I had a Mesna bag, which is a continuously pumping bag that provides protection for my kidneys and bladder. The Red Devil is cardiotoxic and can be, I guess, brain toxic, so there’s medicine for that, and then I had the bag the rest of the time to continually flush my kidneys and bladder to help protect those. That would be a week of that, a week of feeling like crap, having all my levels go down — my red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets — and then a week of trying to get back up into a range where I would qualify for chemo again. 

It was that three-week cycle. I think I had six of those for 18 weeks. It ended up taking around 20 weeks because I wasn’t always able to qualify back towards the end of my treatment.

Hair Loss and Shaving My Head

It was crazy how fast my hair fell out. I thought weeks in, I was going to start having hair fall out, and it was not like that. I think it’s that Red Devil; I think that’s what most people experience. It came out in clumps. I had long, thick hair, so I’m used to being able to play with my hair, pull on it, braid it, and it keeps on ticking. But I would run my hands through my hair and hair would be falling out everywhere, even my body hair falling out, which was weird. 

When I was having all the clumps fall out, I was getting big bald spots and my part was super wide. There were big sections with no hair. I’d already cut my hair short coming into this, and I decided that the next time I was home — because I was trying to see my kids on my recovery week for the two days before I went back to restart chemo — I would like to shave my head since it looked like it was all going to fall out. That was after my first cycle.

I had my kids shave my head at a chain place that does free haircuts for cancer patients who are transitioning, so that was free of charge. They let my kids hold the clippers. My son didn’t want to, but he watched. I just wanted it to feel not scary, not for me to come back and look completely different. The hair was the first thing. I didn’t feel so bad at first, but each successive chemo cycle, each time I did chemo for a week and then recovered, it got worse. 

Chemo Side Effects and Lasting Impacts

I was more sick. I had cognitive impacts from the Red Devil, like I didn’t know where I was or couldn’t think. I still have that. I have memory issues now, short-term memory problems, and it feels like a lot of my memory during that time was wiped. Almost all the stuff they list — fatigue, nausea, weight loss, weight gain, bloating, sensitive skin, hair falling out — you have at least some of it. 

The thing that I didn’t experience, which I’m grateful for, is pain from the shot to stimulate T cell growth from my bone marrow. Bone marrow reproduces rapidly and is disproportionately impacted by chemo, hence your white blood cell, red blood cell, and platelet counts go down. You get this shot to stimulate T cells to get you some white blood cells. A lot of people have a lot of pain with that — acute pain — but I didn’t have any, so I was grateful for that.

Anticipation and Strategy for Surgery

I was excited; I was so excited for surgery. I knew there was potential for a negative outcome, but it felt like no matter what, it was probably going to be better after surgery in some way. Two of my best friends came in town — one I’ve known since I was two, and one I’ve known since sixth grade — and they stayed with me before surgery so I could say whatever I was feeling, just be honest, just experience it and not be performative.

On the day of surgery, I felt like I was informed about what the doctors were going to do. I felt supported by the care team. I asked a lot of questions and all my questions were answered beforehand. I was concerned they could go in and decide they needed to remove my whole right lung, which would have reduced my lung capacity and put strain on my heart, which was already affected by my chemo. That affects how you move around through the world and what other illnesses down the road may do to you. I knew there was this domino effect of how bad it was going to be when they got in there.

They were going to remove it en bloc, basically take everything out that it touches, plus a range around it. I knew it could affect my pec muscle and my breast — my pec muscle is function, and my breast is form, aesthetics, ego, and self-image. I knew I’d be waking up bald with no lashes, so I was like, “Okay, hopefully it’s the least scope possible.”

Surgical Outcome and Sharing Tumor Photos

When I woke up and they said they’d only taken one lobe of my lung and we thought they had clear margins, I was so thrilled. I was so excited. I felt so happy. The first thing I told my mom was, “Okay, now I can sign up for a marathon next year and do that. We’ll see.” It might be a walking marathon because I’m actually not that into running; I don’t know why I said that.

The reason I chose to share [tumor photos] is that I’d be super curious if someone said, “I had this tumor removed and it was this big.” I’d be like, “How big? How vascular was it? Where was it?” I have those questions, so I felt comfortable showing someone. I also thought it was cool that two ribs were involved. I thought it was cool that we have technology to still help me be fine with that.

Sharing on TikTok and Helping Others

After sharing my story on TikTok, I had a couple of people reach out and say, “What you’re describing, I experienced that, and I went to a doctor, they said it was fine. They ran my blood tests and they said it was fine. What should I do? What do you think?” I said, “I’m not a medical professional. I don’t have any medical training at all. But if you feel like your questions aren’t being answered by the doctor you saw, I think you should go see someone else and write down what you’re going to say and the questions you’re going to ask before you go in, so you feel less confused and more confident. This is what I asked for in your situation, but, obviously, yours might be different.”

Two people got back to me, saying that they had found out they had cancer. I’m sure thousands of people saw that video, but that was moving to me. It felt like even if there is a little bit of discomfort, I’d rather share my experience and hopefully one person gets a diagnosis a little bit earlier, so they have more options and treatment. That first video was before surgery, and that was part of what drove me to do my video after.

NED Status and Upcoming Surgery

I don’t think I’m in remission yet. Maybe I don’t know the right words, but I was allowed to go back to work. I went back four weeks after my surgery. I had scans after three months and my scans were all clear. I’m NED, or no evidence of disease. I have surgery scheduled next weekend on November 1st. I think after five years of being NED, I’m considered in remission, but I think that’s how the words work.

The surgery I’m having is a reconstruction. Not cancer-related. Just repairing and helping, hopefully, maybe some scar tissue adjustments.

My Biggest Emotional Challenge

I think the biggest challenge is the mortality aspect of it, the knowledge that no matter how this goes, I’m less likely to survive as long. I’m more likely to have a more complex health outcome if I live to an older age and have something else that’s just normal that happens to older people. It’s going to be more complicated because of my history.

There’s a chance it comes back and next time, it’s not something that can be surgically removed. I’ve already had the lifetime maximum dose of the Red Devil chemo, so I can’t have that again, and that’s one of the more effective treatments.

The thing that I struggle with is that my children didn’t do anything. They didn’t do anything to deserve to have a mom with cancer. I hate that they’ll be negatively impacted by my diagnosis. I don’t want them to wonder if their mom will be at their wedding, their high school graduation, or hold their first child. It’s not as much about me and what I may or may not experience, because I don’t worry about that. I just don’t want them to miss out on something or not have the support that they deserve. 

Parenting Through Treatment

To a pretty significant extent, it’s been a huge blessing to have children because it made all of this so easy, all the decisions so easy. I was going to do the hardest chemo. I was going to do the surgery. I was going to do all of it because there was no other option. After all, I needed to be there for my kids.

Maybe if I didn’t have those motivators, I would have thought longer or taken a little bit of time, or maybe I wouldn’t have gone back and asked for answers as many times as I did. But my health was more than just myself; it was for my kids. They responded in different ways to the stress of my being gone and being sick, but I don’t think they ever worried that I would be there. They were just sad at how long it was between seeing me. In that way, I was successful as a parent in protecting them from a lot of the worst parts, the uncertainty. I don’t think they felt that much. They were a very important part of my ability to move through the treatment.

Meaning of Survivorship

I guess technically it means living, right? I think it means using the time that I have and the health that I have in the best ways that I can, and never forgetting or letting go of that sense of vulnerability that allows me to appreciate my life and my kids as much as I do now. I think I took a lot for granted. I was hard on myself in ways I didn’t need to be. So I think, it sounds perverse, but I desperately want to hold on to some of the realizations that this experience has given me.

Hopes, Dreams, and Everyday Goals

I don’t think I have huge new dreams. I want to be a better friend. I want to be a better mom. I’m starting to think about giving myself a year from the date of my surgery to push myself in certain ways. I do want to do a marathon; I think I want to do it walking. I want to travel. I want to do an international trip. I have it planned a little bit. Between work and kids and everything, I want to do that. I want to be more in the moment and less in my own head, thinking about what the next thing is. I think I robbed myself of a lot of joy in fellowship with other people or being with my kids by thinking about the next thing I needed to do. That’s what I want to hold on to.

My Advice and Message to Others

My biggest message I would want people to take away is that of advocacy, self-advocacy, and trusting yourself. If you think something is wrong, you don’t think you’re getting the answers you need, or you don’t understand what you’re being told, ask again. Advocacy is not about being a pain. There’s nothing inconvenient about needing answers when you have something suspicious going on in your body.

I think that’s so important, especially in women’s health, because there are so many things going on between hormones and changes in life stages that can affect the way that you experience your own body. Those things don’t have to be mysteries. There could be something else going on. In my case, several of the doctors I saw were looking for horses. I joked with my mom: they were looking for horses, but it was a zebra. You have to keep asking questions and keep advocating for yourself.

My Thoughts on Mental Health and Hope

I don’t know that this is part of my story necessarily. It feels like it’s part of everybody’s story. Just the importance of mental health hand in hand with physical health, and not toxically positive, but a positively-oriented attitude. Visualizing success, making sure that you’re using resources that are available to you, and setting goals that are external and outside of your cancer treatment and diagnosis. Choose a concert you want to go to eight months after your diagnosis and start making plans and outfits. Whenever you feel bad, don’t feel like you have to hide it. Make sure you’re asking for help.


Sorcha B. synovial sarcoma
Thank you for sharing your story, Sorcha!

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Share your story, too!


More Synovial Sarcoma Stories


Kara L., Synovial Sarcoma, Stage 1B



Symptoms: Pain behind left knee, needle-like sensation in left foot
Treatments: Surgery to remove what was thought to be benign tumor, chemotherapy, final surgery, radiation (36 sessions)
...

Jillian J., Synovial Sarcoma, Stage 3



Symptom: Pain in leg for over 15 years
Treatments: Surgeries (tumor resection, thoracotomy)
...
Marisa C. feature profile

Marisa C., Synovial Sarcoma, Stage 4



Symptom: Small bump on the foot (stable for years, then grew during pregnancy), pain when pressed

Treatments: Surgeries (below-knee amputation, pulmonary wedge resections, segmentectomy), chemotherapy, radiation (lungs & hip)
...
Julie K. stage 4 synovial sarcoma

Julie K., High-Grade Poorly Differentiated Spindle Cell Synovial Sarcoma, Stage 4



Symptoms: Chest and back pain after car accident, trouble breathing

Treatments: Chemotherapy, surgeries (lung resection, video-assisted thoracoscopic surgery or VATS, neurectomy, rib removal), radiation therapy (CyberKnife)

...
McKenna A. synovial sarcoma

McKenna A., Synovial Sarcoma, Stage 3 Grade 3B



Symptoms: Insomnia, weak immune system resulting in persistent illnesses such as UTIs and strep throat, severe swelling in left leg

Treatments: Surgery (tumor excision), chemotherapy, radiation therapy (proton radiation), integrative therapies
...

Categories
CAR T-Cell Therapy Chemotherapy Diffuse Large B-Cell (DLBCL) Metastatic Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma Patient Stories Radiation Therapy Treatments

Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma at 29: How Ashley Navigated Motherhood and DLBCL

Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma at 29: How Ashley Navigated Motherhood and DLBCL

Ashley’s experience with diffuse large B-cell lymphoma (DLBCL), a type of non-Hodgkin lymphoma, began during a period that should have been filled with new beginnings and joy – the arrival of a new baby into her life. Instead, Ashley, now a mother of three, confronted a growing list of symptoms shortly after her pregnancy when dizziness, cardiac complications, and difficulties breastfeeding all led up to an unexpected, and life-altering cancer diagnosis.

Interviewed by: Keshia Rice
Edited by: Katrina Villareal

Being diagnosed with DLBCL weeks before her 30th birthday set Ashley apart from the typical patient profile, as most individuals face this diagnosis later in life. Her youth contributed to challenges in being heard by her medical team, intensifying her frustration as treatments like chemotherapy caused debilitating side effects. Emotional struggles compounded Ashley’s physical battles: fear of leaving her children, grief over lost moments with her newborn, and the continual responsibilities of motherhood that do not pause for illness.

Ashley P. stage 4 DLBCL

Despite assurances from leading cancer doctors regarding advances in treatment options, Ashley’s cancer responded poorly to initial therapy, necessitating additional interventions, including CAR T-cell therapy, which required extended separation from her family. The transition from hope to uncertainty was difficult, but new developments with bispecific antibodies and ongoing research provide Ashley and other patients reasons to hold onto hope for recovery and better outcomes even amid refractory disease.

Ashley’s experience is marked by transformation, not just physically but emotionally and spiritually. She learned to lean on her family and faith for support, grappled with feelings of guilt and anger, and emerged with the conviction to advocate for herself and encourage others to trust their intuition. Her story is a testament to the unseen emotional dialogue cancer patients navigate, and to the importance of self-advocacy, community, and accessible innovations in cancer care.

Key Story Takeaways:

  • Trust and advocate for your own body; patients know their symptoms best and should persist until they are heard.
  • Emotional struggles, like fear, guilt, and anger, are often invisible but just as challenging as the physical aspects of disease.
  • Family support and faith provided critical anchors for Ashley, helping her endure even the most difficult days.
  • DLBCL can affect patients of any age, and younger individuals may face unique challenges in being taken seriously by the medical team.
  • New therapies, including CAR T-cell therapy and bispecific antibodies, offer hope even in refractory cases.
  • Advocacy and self-acceptance are vital; patients experiencing life-altering conditions deserve compassionate care and respect for their experience.

  • Name: Ashley P.
  • Age at Diagnosis:
    • 29
  • Diagnosis:
    • Diffuse Large B-Cell Lymphoma (DLBCL)
  • Staging:
    • Stage 4
  • Symptoms:
    • Feeling like holding breath when bending down or picking up objects from the floor
    • Waking abruptly at night, feeling “off”
    • One episode of fainting (syncope)
    • Presence of a large mass in the breast
  • Treatments:
    • Chemotherapy
    • Bridge therapy of chemotherapy and radiation
    • CAR T-cell therapy
Ashley P. stage 4 DLBCL

Genmab-AbbVie logo

Thank you to Genmab and AbbVie for their support of our independent patient education program. The Patient Story retains full editorial control over all content.

This interview has been edited for clarity and length. This is not medical advice. Please consult with your healthcare provider to make informed treatment decisions.

The views and opinions expressed in this interview do not necessarily reflect those of The Patient Story.



I didn’t realize how big the lump was. It was literally the size of a baseball. But it didn’t raise any red flags.

Ashley P., Stage 4 DLBCL Patient

Facing the Unexpected: Early Signs and Diagnosis

Ashley P.: I’m not afraid to die by any means. I would say I fear leaving my children and leaving them without a mom.

What should have been one of the happiest times in her life became filled with worry when Ashley was diagnosed with a cancer she hadn’t heard of before: non-Hodgkin lymphoma, specifically diffuse large B-cell lymphoma or DLBCL.

Ashley: I started having symptoms while I was pregnant. I had our baby in December 2023 and at the end of my pregnancy, I was having a lot of complications with my heart rate. In February 2024, I started to feel super lightheaded, as if I was hanging upside down for a very long time. It reached a point where I was getting concerned about being alone with the baby. I felt like I was going to pass out. What if I’m holding him and something happens?

Ashley P. stage 4 DLBCL
Ashley P. stage 4 DLBCL

Dizziness wasn’t her only concern. Ashley also started to have trouble breastfeeding. A trip to see her midwife helped lead to the diagnosis.

Ashley: I went to nurse him one day and I couldn’t extend my nipple. It was completely caved in. I tried everything to get it unclogged, like hot showers and massages, but they didn’t work, so I reached out to my midwife.

I didn’t realize how big the lump was. It was literally the size of a baseball. But it didn’t raise any red flags. When I saw my midwife, she looked at it and said, “Ashley, this is very, very large. You need to go to the breast cancer center,” which was wild to me.

I went in and they did biopsies on both breasts and the lymph nodes in my armpits, and that’s how I found out.

We have more FDA-approved medicines for lymphoma than for any other cancer… It’s awesome because it means we have more options for patients

Dr. Joshua Brody, Hematologist-Oncologist

A Young Mother and a Rare Diagnosis

The average age for a DLBCL diagnosis is in the mid- to late-60s. Ashley says being diagnosed at a much younger age made the treatment process even more frustrating.

Ashley: I found out I had cancer literally two weeks before my 30th birthday. They said that I was so young and that everybody they usually see with this cancer is in their late 70s. They told me that it was going to be an absolute breeze.

I had a very hard time being heard because I was so young. Chemotherapy rocked my world. I was extremely sick. I barely had time to recover between rounds. I kept telling my oncologist that I was so sick and miserable, and the response that I kept getting was, “You’re young. You shouldn’t be.”

DLBCL can be a devastating diagnosis. But top cancer doctors, Dr. Amir Steinberg from Westchester Medical Center and Dr. Joshua Brody from Mount Sinai, want people to know that there’s a lot of hope. Watch their discussion.

Ashley P. stage 4 DLBCL
Dr. Joshua Brody

Dr. Joshua Brody: We’re very lucky because, even though lymphoma is technically the fifth most common cancer in America, we have more FDA-approved medicines for lymphoma than for any other cancer, even more than for breast cancer, which is so incredibly common. It’s awesome because it means we have more options for patients

Dr. Amir Steinberg: There’s so much that’s changed in the last 20 to 30 years, most especially in the last five years. Things are changing for the better so rapidly for patients. As doctors, we have so much to catch up on and stay up on in terms of the knowledge out there, but it’s totally worth it because it will make patients’ lives better and more fulfilling.

Despite assurances from doctors, treatment was daunting.

Ashley: I don’t think people understand that you can see all the physical changes. You can see the hair loss, the bloating, the puking, and even the literal color draining from their face. But you cannot see their inner dialogue. You can’t see them fighting for their lives. You can’t see the anger or the conversations with God about why. Questions of, “Did I do something wrong to deserve this?”

The world doesn’t stop… You still have to show up and be a mom and a wife… and that is such a hard challenge.

Ashley P., Stage 4 DLBCL Patient

The Unseen Struggle: Emotions Behind the Experience

As a mom of three, Ashley dealt with mixed emotions of guilt, stress, and sadness over the experiences she lost.

Ashley: I honestly think I got robbed of the joy. He’s my last baby and I had this huge goal of nursing. It was easy with him. I had all these plans, but I was in so much pain from my cancer.

Then I have a nine-year-old and an almost five-year-old, so it was difficult juggling that and trying to figure out the best way to tell them what I was going through. That was probably the roughest part.

Ashley P. stage 4 DLBCL
Ashley P. stage 4 DLBCL

The world doesn’t stop and that thought came into my head so many times while I had cancer. You still have to show up and be a mom and a wife. You still have to be all of these things while battling the biggest physical challenge that you’ll ever go through and the biggest emotional and mental struggle that you’ll ever have to battle. You still have to show up for everybody around you and that is such a hard challenge.

One of the hardest emotions Ashley had to deal with was anger.

Ashley: I knew that I was mad and not the best version of myself. Then you have this feeling of complete guilt. What if you die and this is who you showed up as and who you left as? This is how you treated your fiancé and your kids? Don’t you value life? Didn’t you say that you wanted to show up differently? Didn’t you say that you were going to be a completely different person because now you know the value of life and how it can be taken away? Now, you have this complete guilt trip of who you’re showing up as. But at the same time, you’re so mad. You’re so mad.

I thought, ‘What if I go through all of this and then I still have cancer?’ That was something that I didn’t want to face.

Ashley P., Stage 4 DLBCL Patient

During those moments, Ashley leaned into her family and her faith.

Ashley: I’ve seen other people talk about it, but there is a sense of peace and knowing that I have not experienced in my life. Definitely not the peace that carried me through. I had to be here for my kids. There were so many times when I thought that if I were doing this for myself, I wouldn’t have gone through it. It was too much. It was so hard that I truly don’t know if I would have shown up in the same capacity.

Ashley P. stage 4 DLBCL

CAR T-cell Therapy and Next Steps

After six rounds of chemo, Ashley thought the hardest part was over. But her DLBCL was refractory, meaning it did not respond well to initial treatment.

Ashley: When I did my chemo, they didn’t even talk to me about the steps and what they would do. Again, age was a huge factor. We did have conversations about other things out there. It went from a 70% chance of beating this and the odds are good of going to Mayo, to my odds going down to 10%. The biggest concern was waiting for the CAR T-cell therapy. But after, they told me, “This is your last option. If this doesn’t work, there isn’t anything more out there for you to do.”

CAR T-cell therapy came with new challenges.

Ashley: When you go through CAR T-cell therapy, you have to be gone and by the hospital for 47 days, away from your family. I thought, “What if I go through all of this and then I still have cancer?” That was something that I didn’t want to face. I didn’t even want to have that be a possibility. I just wanted to be done.

Whenever possible, we try to offer trials because that’s how we advance the science and get higher cure rates. They’re essential.

Dr. Amir Steinberg, Hematologist-Oncologist

Ashley’s experience reflects the complexity of DLBCL treatment. It’s one of the reasons why doctors are constantly looking to new research in clinical trials for answers. One of the answers is a newer option in immunotherapy called bispecific antibodies.

Dr. Brody: Even for people who relapse in the first year or in their third line, there is great evidence for bispecific antibody plus chemotherapy. Overall, it certainly seems to be a bit safer than transplant, maybe even safer than CAR T-cell therapy, and it’s a lot more accessible to folks who are being treated in the community when they don’t have a CAR T-cell therapy center nearby. If you’re getting more options, then that can only be a good thing. People would rather have a clear answer. But they would rather have better therapies and better options.

Dr. Steinberg: Whenever possible, we try to offer trials because that’s how we advance the science and get higher cure rates. They’re essential.

Dr. Amir Steinberg
Ashley P. stage 4 DLBCL

Advocacy and Self-Empowerment: Lessons Learned

While Ashley eventually found a great and supportive medical team, she wishes she had advocated for herself more from the beginning.

Ashley: That is one thing I regret and one thing I always tell somebody. You have to advocate for yourself. I’m not that person. I’m very shy. I don’t want to make people upset. I want to make everybody happy. I struggled very much with advocating for myself.

Advocate for yourself. If something doesn’t feel right, if you know something’s wrong, or if you feel sick or in pain, talk about it until you’re blue in the face and somebody listens to you.

Ashley P., Stage 4 DLBCL Patient

Advice for Others: Faith, Family, and Resilience

Ashley’s advice to others? Advocate for yourself, lean into your faith, and learn to accept the changes.

Ashley: Be honest with how you feel. Have those hard conversations. Lean into God as much as you possibly can because at times, that’s literally all you have. You would be very surprised at what you’re willing to go through and what you’re willing to overcome for the people that you love. It’s almost like an adrenaline rush to make it through.

Advocate for yourself. If something doesn’t feel right, if you know something’s wrong, or if you feel sick or in pain, talk about it until you’re blue in the face and somebody listens to you. You know your own body. You have that intuition for a reason and you know when something is wrong.

Moving Forward: Transformation and Community

Ashley: You make it. You make it out alive. You will never be this version of yourself again and that is completely okay. Sometimes we have to go through something completely terrifying and life-changing to figure out who we want to show up as and what’s important to us. It’s going to suck so badly. But you find out who your people are. So many people love you. And you make it.

Ashley P. stage 4 DLBCL

Ashley P. stage 4 DLBCL
Thank you for sharing your story, Ashley!

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Share your story, too!


Looking to the Future: Treatment Paths for Relapsed/Refractory DLBCL
Hosted by The Patient Story Team | 1h 9m 30s
Hear Dr. Joshua Brody and Dr. Amir Steinberg discuss new treatments for relapsed/refractory DLBCL and how academic–community collaboration helps patients access the best care. Moderated by DLBCL Advocate Stephanie Chuang.

Genmab-AbbVie logo

Thank you to Genmab and AbbVie for their support of our independent patient education program. The Patient Story retains full editorial control over all content.

This interview has been edited for clarity and length. This is not medical advice. Please consult with your healthcare provider to make informed treatment decisions.

The views and opinions expressed in this interview do not necessarily reflect those of The Patient Story.


More DLBCL Patient Stories

Ashley P. stage 4 DLBCL

Ashley P., Diffuse Large B-Cell Lymphoma (DLBCL), Stage 4



Symptoms: Feeling like holding breath when bending down or picking up objects from the floor, waking abruptly at night feeling “off,” one episode of fainting (syncope), presence of a large mass in the breast


Treatments: Chemotherapy, bridge therapy of chemotherapy and radiation, CAR T-cell therapy
Melissa B. DLBCL

Melissa B., Relapsed Diffuse Large B-Cell Lymphoma (DLBCL)



Symptoms: Lump in the left breast, persistent rash (started near the belly button and spread), intense fatigue and energy loss

Treatments: Chemotherapy (R-EPOCH), Neulasta, radiation therapy, surgery (to remove scar tissue and necrosis), autologous stem cell transplant
Jen N. stage 4B DLBCL

Jen N., Diffuse Large B-Cell Lymphoma (DLBCL), Stage 4B



Symptoms: Blood-tinged phlegm, whole-body itching, shortness of breath, lump near collarbone, night sweats, upper body swelling, rapid weight loss

Treatments: Chemotherapy, immunotherapy, lumbar puncture, autologous stem cell transplant
Jim Z. feature profile

Jim Z., Diffuse Large B-Cell Lymphoma (DLBCL)



Symptoms: Sudden and severe head and neck swelling, purplish facial discoloration, bulging neck veins

Treatments: Surgery (resection and reconstruction of the superior vena cava), chemotherapy
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Categories
Brain Cancer Glioblastoma Glioma Patient Stories Radiation Therapy Surgery Treatments

Navigating Brain Cancer While Pregnant: Caroline’s Grade 4 Glioblastoma Story

Navigating Brain Cancer While Pregnant: Caroline’s Grade 4 Glioblastoma Story

Glioblastoma during pregnancy is not a scenario most people ever imagine for themselves, yet that is exactly where Caroline found herself at 20 weeks pregnant. What began as something she dismissed as “pregnancy brain” and stress from work, escalated into slurred speech and the sudden inability to read from her own teaching materials in front of a full class.

Alarmed, she went home and searched “brain tumor while pregnant,” a phrase no expectant parent ever wants to type. An emergency room visit and MRI revealed a large mass on her language center, but because she was pregnant, her team could not yet fully characterize what they were seeing.​

Interviewed by: Carly Knowlton
Edited by: Katrina Villareal

Caroline and her medical team wrestled with impossible choices, including whether to attempt an awake craniotomy while she was pregnant, knowing there were no guarantees of getting a clear diagnosis or preserving her speech. She chose to go home briefly and try speech therapy, but her symptoms sharply worsened. Within days, her language had deteriorated so much that she could not accurately say the month or year. A repeat scan showed the mass had nearly doubled in size, and an emergency craniotomy followed.​

When she woke up, Caroline was relieved simply to be speaking again, even if imperfectly. But the pathology news was devastating: glioblastoma, a fast-growing grade 4 primary brain tumor. Because of how urgently she needed treatment, her doctors told her they could not both aggressively treat the tumor and safely continue the pregnancy. Ultimately, Caroline chose to terminate her pregnancy at 21 weeks, while grieving the possibility that she herself might live less than a year and her 22‑month‑old daughter would not remember her.​

Caroline W. grade 4 glioblastoma

Treatment moved quickly. Caroline underwent six weeks of chemoradiation and then high‑dose chemotherapy, which she had to stop early when her platelets could no longer tolerate the regimen. She also used a wearable device with electrodes on her scalp.

Caroline reoriented her life completely around simply being present with her daughter and focusing on small daily goals, like getting out of bed and walking. Over time, her scans showed no evidence of disease or stable findings, and her neurologist encouraged her to use that window to heal while continuing close MRI surveillance. Knowing how low glioblastoma survival statistics can be, she told her doctor she intended to be among the small percentage who reach five years.​

Caroline describes living with terminal cancer as both a blessing and a curse. The experience stripped away much of her lifelong anxiety and fear, leaving her more grounded in each day. She had already survived other trauma before cancer, but this diagnosis — and the agonizing decision to end a wanted pregnancy to pursue treatment — became a stark turning point.

Today, she frames her life less in terms of how long she has and more in terms of how fully she can love her daughter, inhabit her relationships, and refuse to be intimidated by a world that once felt overwhelming.

Key Story Takeaways:

  • Persistent or worsening symptoms should be checked by a doctor.
  • Patients are never to blame for how their bodies respond to disease or treatment; cancer and the limits of current therapies are at fault, not choices or willpower.
  • Caroline advocated for herself, accepted help, and defined success as time with her child and healing in her body.
  • Even with a terminal diagnosis and difficult statistics, Caroline focuses on becoming a five-year survivor and living one day at a time.
  • Caroline lives with both grief over ending a wanted pregnancy and deep gratitude that treatment has given her more time with her daughter.

  • Name: Caroline W.
  • Age at Diagnosis:
    • 37
  • Diagnosis:
    • Glioblastoma
  • Grading:
    • Grade 4
  • Symptom:
    • Loss of the ability to speak and write
  • Treatments:
    • Surgery: craniotomy
    • Chemotherapy
    • Radiation
    • Wearable electric field therapy for glioblastoma
Caroline W. grade 4 glioblastoma
Caroline W. grade 4 glioblastoma
Caroline W. grade 4 glioblastoma
Caroline W. grade 4 glioblastoma
Caroline W. grade 4 glioblastoma
Caroline W. grade 4 glioblastoma
Caroline W. grade 4 glioblastoma

This interview has been edited for clarity and length. This is not medical advice. Please consult with your healthcare provider to make informed treatment decisions.

The views and opinions expressed in this interview do not necessarily reflect those of The Patient Story.



Early Symptoms Mistaken for Pregnancy Brain

I started thinking that I was having pregnancy brain.

When I was diagnosed, I was exactly 20 weeks pregnant. They didn’t know if I would survive the pregnancy.

Caroline blamed her first symptoms on pregnancy and stress.

I was a massage therapist and a yoga instructor. I had my own business in the neighborhood for 10 years. I thought it was a little bit of stress, maybe.

Struggling with Speaking and Reading During Pregnancy

But her symptoms intensified.

I taught a class of about 30 students. During class, I was stumbling on my words. I knew something was wrong because when I went to read the book that I had made for the course, I couldn’t read it. I was able to perform the physical part completely, but that’s all I did for the rest of the class for two hours. I could respond, but I was slurring. I went home and searched on Google, “brain tumor while pregnant.”

Searching for Answers: Google and Emergency Room Visit

Caroline went to the emergency room. An MRI led to answers and more questions.

One of the residents came and he was excited. He said they found a mass on my language center. I was excited at first because it felt like validation that it wasn’t me having a mishap. It was a big mass right on my language center. But they didn’t know what it was. Is it a brain bleed? Is it a stroke? Is it a tumor? They couldn’t do an MRI with contrast since I was pregnant.

Discovering the Brain Mass and Facing Uncertainty

I stayed in the ICU for a couple of days. While they tried to decide whether they could do an awake craniotomy to see if they could do a biopsy, the problem was that they were afraid that the blood had already coagulated inside my brain and they would not be able to get a good sample.

ICU Stay and Difficult Diagnostic Decisions

My ability to speak was already declining every day. They gave me the option to try the awake craniotomy, knowing it may or may not work, or go home, go to speech therapy a couple of times a week to see if it was a stroke, and come back in three weeks to see if they can do something then. I chose that option because I wanted to go home.

Worsening Symptoms and Fast-Growing Brain Tumor

I was doing speech therapy and feeling good for a couple of days, but then it started going downhill quickly. My husband took me back to the hospital a few days later and the mass had nearly doubled in size.

Loss of Speech and Cognitive Confusion

By the time I got in, I didn’t know who the president was. I knew what month it was, but I couldn’t say it. I tried to say March and it would come out as May. If I tried to say 2022, it came out as 2002. I couldn’t get the words right.

We’re here now, so let’s get it taken care of. They said it could have been a hemorrhagic stroke. I was hoping for that because I can live with that. I might not be able to talk again, but I could live with that. They were also thinking it could be some sort of bleed.

Emergency Craniotomy and Return of Speech

After an emergency craniotomy, Caroline was able to speak again.

It wasn’t the best, but to go from not being able to speak to speaking again, I was so excited. When they brought me back to my room, I was told that it looked like it was a tumor and that it looked malignant. I said, “Okay, we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

Devastating Diagnosis: Glioblastoma While Pregnant

In my heart, I felt it was going to be a primary brain tumor.

They came in and said it’s a glioma. I said, “Oh, no. That’s the worst one.” She said, “Not necessarily. It could be a grade 2. You could continue your pregnancy if it’s a grade 2.” I said, “What if it’s a grade 3 or 4?” She said, “We throw the kitchen sink at it.”

And it was grade 4.

Forced to Make a Heartbreaking Pregnancy Decision

Before she could fully comprehend her diagnosis, Caroline was forced to make a heart-wrenching decision.

When you hear that news, you think, “Is there any other way to get around this?” They said they wouldn’t be able to treat me if I kept the baby. It would have been too long between having the baby and being able to get chemotherapy.

Undergoing Pregnancy Termination for Cancer Treatment

When I was diagnosed, I was exactly 20 weeks pregnant. I was diagnosed on the same week as my 20-week scan and the scan was perfect. I met with the fetal medicine specialist and the genetics specialist to find out if there’s any way they could take my baby out sooner, but the answer was no.

Radiation would be too far away if I were to have the baby. They wouldn’t even do the radiation because it was too far from the surgery.

I was encouraged to have a termination because they felt like I needed to start treatment as soon as possible. That way, I could extend my life to maybe a year. The prognosis for glioblastoma is about a year to a year and a half. It’s usually six months to a year and a half, so they didn’t know if I would survive my pregnancy.

I scheduled my termination, which was a two-day procedure, and had it done at 21 weeks. Making that choice and knowing that I might not even live a year was the hardest thing. My other baby at home was only 22 months then. She won’t remember me. My biggest concern was that she wouldn’t remember who I am. Those two moments were definitely the hardest.

I was afraid of leaving my daughter, but I wasn’t afraid of dying. If it weren’t for my daughter, I probably wouldn’t have been as worked up.

Caroline’s fight continued, with no time to pause.

Caroline’s Fight Continued, with No Time to Pause

After the night I came home from my termination, I had to go back the next morning to be fitted for my radiation mask. It was fast. I did six weeks of chemoradiation. I was told that they wanted to do a year of high-dose chemo. The treatment would be five days on, three days off for a year. But I only made it six months because my platelets couldn’t take it anymore.

I had radiation scheduled at 7:40 a.m., Monday through Friday. We got up, got in the car, and listened to a glioblastoma podcast on the way there, trying to learn more.

Chemoradiation, Podcast Learning, and Side Effects

Fatigue was the worst part for me. I lost my hair not from the chemo, but from the radiation. I got a crazy radiation haircut. I lost my taste for a lot of different things that I used to like and different smells. I had nausea and constipation from chemo, which wasn’t as difficult as I imagined it would be, especially the lower-dose chemo. The higher dose is what got me.

Daily Life Adjustments During Treatment

After I shaved my head, I had something attached to my head and I had to shave every day to get all the prickles off. I put these electrodes on my head that came with a little backpack. It’s a little stimulation for the brain.

Obviously, I wasn’t going back to work, so I didn’t even close my own office. The main thing in my life that I wanted was to be with my baby. Keep the nanny as long as possible so she can take care of her and I can be here to see them, even if I can’t help with anything. In the beginning, my goal every day was to get out of bed and walk.

Support System: Focusing on Family and Motivation

Then, Caroline finally got encouraging news.

My original neurologist… Her idea was that I have no evidence of disease right now. My tumor was not showing up. It was either no evidence of disease or stable or unremarkable, whatever it was. I was getting MRIs every other month. She said, “If you want to take this time off to heal, then we’ll continue the MRI every other month. When your recurrence happens, you will go back on chemo.” I let my body heal and returned because my body was responsive to chemo.

Encouraging Medical News: No Evidence of Disease

I said to the doctor, “If I’m doing this, I’m going to be a five-year survivor,” because of the statistics. It’s hard to say. A certain percentage makes it to five years. I said that I would be in that 5%.

Five-Year Survival Hope and Living with Terminal Cancer

Having terminal cancer has been a blessing and a curse, but I live for each day now. I had experienced a lot of trauma growing up and I feel like I’ve been a survivor my whole life. I had bad anxiety and I don’t have that kind of anxiety anymore because I have gone through the hardest thing I could ever have gone through in my life. The world does not scare me anymore.


Caroline W. grade 4 glioblastoma
Thank you for sharing your story, Caroline!

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More Brain Cancer Stories

Categories
Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML) Chronic Myelomonocytic Leukemia (CMML) Leukemia Patient Stories Stem cell transplant Treatments

Why Clinical Trials Matter: How New AML Treatment Options Saved Shelley’s Life

Why Clinical Trials Matter: How New AML Treatment Options Saved Shelley’s Life

Just after celebrating her 70th birthday, Shelley began feeling unusually tired on her walks. Her heart raced and she couldn’t go half a block without needing to rest. Concerned, she saw her doctor and soon learned she had chronic myelomonocytic leukemia (CMML). The diagnosis was frightening, but her daughter’s constant support helped her face it head-on.

Interviewed by: Taylor Scheib
Edited by: Katrina Villareal

Months later, Shelley sensed something wasn’t right again. Her blood tests confirmed it: her CMML had transformed into acute myeloid leukemia (AML) with an NPM1 mutation. It was a devastating moment, yet she stayed determined, crediting her daughter and her care team for keeping her strong.

Shelley went onto chemotherapy in preparation for a stem cell transplant but her AML did not respond well. That is when her doctor approached her about clinical trials because her leukemia had the NPM1 biomarker and she decided to take part in a clinical trial designed for AML with that tumor marker. She appreciates the importance of research and data, and as importantly, a clinical trial means something deeply personal: hope for herself and others. She takes part knowing that her participation helps shape future AML treatments.

Shelley G. feature profile

Shelley’s clinical trial participation lead to her being approved for a successful stem cell transplant. She now advocates for a better understanding of clinical trials. She reminds others that these studies don’t withhold treatment for people with active disease. Instead, they offer real opportunities for medical progress. Shelley believes her survival came from three things: her daughter, her medical team, and her clinical trial.

Today, she’s grateful for every day she can return to her music and live fully. Shelley’s story shows that knowledge, research, and hope can come together to make a real difference for people living with acute myeloid leukemia.

Key Story Takeaways
  • Shelley’s honest look at life after an acute myeloid leukemia diagnosis
  • How knowing her tumor’s genetic makeup helped her enroll in a clinical trial, making a stem cell transplant possible
  • The truth about placebos and real treatment in clinical trials
  • How research and resilience helped Shelley return to her music

  • Name: Shelley G.
  • Age at Diagnosis:
    • 70
  • Diagnosis:
    • Chronic Myelomonocytic Leukemia (CMML) that progressed to Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML)
  • Biomarker(s):
    • NPM1 mutation
  • Symptoms:
    • Fatigue
    • Rapid heartbeat
    • Shortness of breath
    • Low blood counts
  • Treatments:
    • Chemotherapy
    • Stem cell transplant
    • Clinical trial (oral medication)
Shelley G. acute myeloid leukemia

Kura Oncology

Thank you to Kura Oncology for supporting our independent patient education program. The Patient Story retains full editorial control over all content.


This interview has been edited for clarity and length. This is not medical advice. Please consult with your healthcare provider to make informed treatment decisions.

The views and opinions expressed in this interview do not necessarily reflect those of The Patient Story.


I’m Shelley

I am Shelley. I was originally diagnosed with CMML just after my 70th birthday in August 2022. After more testing, by July of the following year, my diagnosis evolved into AML. There was a bone marrow biopsy in July 2023 that confirmed it. That’s the initial part of my diagnosis.

My work is my biggest passion

I’m most passionate about my job. I feel very lucky to have a great job—it’s very interesting. I work for a labor union that represents educational employees in Illinois. I’m assigned to a specific geographic area, covering about fourteen small local unions—teacher unions, support staff, custodians. I help them with all sorts of issues, mainly collective bargaining. I prepare and conduct trainings, sometimes specific (like First Amendment rights for educational employees). I am a lawyer by background. I’m extremely passionate about my work and can’t imagine not wanting to do it. I learned, when I was on medical leave, how bored I was without it.

Shelley G. acute myeloid leukemia

My life outside of work

Aside from work, I do have outside interests. I’m interested in music. I play an instrument, though not a virtuoso, and have done photography for many years, with a lot of my photos on Flickr. Since being diagnosed, I haven’t taken many pictures or had time to use my big Nikon camera; I started using my cellphone camera, which really isn’t adequate for good photography. I’m also interested in politics (local, state, federal), history, and, strangely enough, economics. I like to read crime novels, mysteries, and watch movies- anything that gets me thinking.

My musical journey with the hammered dulcimer

The instrument I play is pretty ancient: it’s called a hammered dulcimer. Most people haven’t heard of it. It’s actually the great-great-grandmother of the piano. The Italian inventor of the piano adapted the mechanism from instruments like the hammered dulcimer, replacing pluckers with mechanical hammers. Most people don’t know the piano is actually a percussion instrument—a melodic percussion instrument.

I thought my leukemia symptoms were maybe a heart condition

After my 70th birthday in August, I was excited and celebrated with a surprise birthday party. A month later, in September, I noticed my heart would race and I was exhausted after walking only half a block. I thought it was a heart problem, so I saw my doctor. He ran tests, found nothing wrong with my heart, but my blood counts were dangerously low. He told me to go to the emergency room for a blood transfusion immediately.

Shelley G. acute myeloid leukemia

My CMML diagnosis

At the hospital, they did more tests and soon a doctor told me, “We think you have leukemia.” They needed more testing, including a bone marrow biopsy, and scheduled follow-up appointments. I was released from the hospital and soon found out for sure.

After the doctor visit, Shelley was diagnosed with chronic myelomonocytic leukemia (CMML).

It was pretty scary. I thought, “Oh, no. What’s going to happen to me?” If my daughter weren’t there to say we were going to get through this, I don’t know what would have happened. I would have been pretty much at a loss. But she was there to back me up, so I bucked up and proceeded with the initial treatment.

Over time, Shelley and her care team began to grow concerned about her blood work again.

I tracked my numbers carefully and noticed my hemoglobin and platelets were going in the wrong direction. I thought that it wasn’t right, so I sent MyChart messages to the doctor through the portal. I asked, “Do I need to be concerned? I think I need to be concerned.” Finally, he agreed and said, “Yeah. You do need to be concerned.” So they scheduled another bone marrow biopsy.

Her CMML transformed to acute myeloid leukemia (AML), which happens in about 15 to 20% of patients over five years.

Emotions upon learning my AML diagnosis

I was very distressed and freaked out. It felt like a death sentence. The only image I had of leukemia came from the tearjerker movie “Love Story,” with these people who were madly in love and it was all very sad because eventually she got leukemia and she died. So that’s all I could think about. But my new care team gave me hope, and things started to change for the better.

I’m a lawyer, so I like to win

I don’t give up easily. I’m a lawyer, so I like to win.

I would say that one of the things that kept me going, more than anything else, was my daughter. I have to stay alive for my daughter. She has no brothers or sisters and no cousins. Her father died in 2017. I need to stay alive for her. And I want to stay alive for myself because I like living.

A clinical trial helped me prepare for a stem cell transplant

My doctor—the friend’s neighbor, a stem cell expert—said my best chance at survival was a stem cell transplant. In September 2023, I went on medical leave for work and started chemo in the hospital, but it didn’t work well. My leukemia doctor then offered a clinical trial, which I accepted immediately because I thought, “Why not?” Over a period of time, including several hospital stays, the clinical trial seemed to work well enough that they cleared me for the stem cell transplant. I underwent the procedure late February, stayed in the hospital for six weeks, and went home at the end of April 2024.

Clinical trials are crucial for science and medicine

I was aware that there was such a thing called clinical trials, and I always thought, “That’s great. That’s fantastic. Hopefully, it will save my life and help other people because of the data.” I’m familiar with data. I know they’ll be collecting data, and if this drug works, then it’s all going to be part of getting it eventually approved by the FDA.

Shelley G. acute myeloid leukemia
Shelley G. acute myeloid leukemia

The importance of understanding clinical trials

Clinical trials are absolutely necessary to develop any kind of cure or treatment to prolong life. I believe there are several factors that saved my life: the clinical trial, my daughter, and a great team of doctors.

If, God forbid, the person who has a problem understanding clinical trials should ever have a loved one who is sick with a terrible disease, there would be a real treatment plan for them because of a clinical trial. It’s all about saving lives. It’s all about eliminating, minimizing, or mitigating misery.

Shelley has been asked the one question that is often a misconception about clinical trials.

I’ve had this question asked of me: how do you know you’re not in the group that’s getting a placebo? That’s not what happens in a clinical trial. It would be medically unethical. They can’t do that. That’s not how clinical trials work. That’s for a different kind of research. You don’t tell someone with active disease, “I’m going to give you something that may be a sugar pill and, well, we’ll see what happens.” No, that’s not how it works.

Editor’s Note: In cancer trials, no one is given only a sugar pill when an effective standard treatment exists. Instead, participants typically receive either the current standard-of-care treatment or the standard-of-care plus a new therapy being studied, and everyone is closely monitored for safety and benefit. Many of the oncologists we interview describe cancer clinical trials as “getting tomorrow’s medicine today.”

Clinical trials are absolutely necessary to develop any kind of cure or treatment to prolong life… clinical trials saved my life.

Shelley G. – AML Patient

She’s devoted herself now to helping people understand how her clinical trial actually works.

I take three pills a day and I have a diary where I have to write down information. This is the data collection part. They prefer you do it at the same time of day if possible, but you have to do it within at least 12 hours. Sometimes it’s not perfect, depending on what time I wake up, but there are certain rules.

As Shelley looks ahead, she’s grateful for her care team and her treatment, which she hopes will help keep music in her life.

I don’t ever want to relapse. I always want to be on this medication because I want to live.

You can survive. Don’t give up. You have to be a fighter. You have to fight for a lot of things in this world. You need to be here for yourself and for other people, so fight on.

Shelley G. acute myeloid leukemia

Living with hope and gratitude

I guess hope is a part of my vocabulary, even if I don’t think of it that way. We all have concerns about the world and the future, but for me, I focus energy on moving forward and helping others feel hopeful, too.

For anyone with AML or cancer, my advice is: with the right doctors, the right team, and the right treatment plan, you can survive. Don’t give up. Be a fighter for yourself and others. Fight on.


Shelley G. feature profile
Thank you for sharing your story, Shelley!

Inspired by Shelley's story?

Share your story, too!


Kura Oncology

Thank you to Kura Oncology for supporting our independent patient education program. The Patient Story retains full editorial control over all content.

This interview has been edited for clarity and length. This is not medical advice. Please consult with your healthcare provider to make informed treatment decisions.

The views and opinions expressed in this interview do not necessarily reflect those of The Patient Story.


More Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML) Stories

Russ D. AMML, a rare subtype of AML

Russ D., Acute Myelomonocytic Leukemia (AMML), with NPM1 Mutation



Symptoms:Flu‑like symptoms, profound fatigue, blood pressure drop, shortness of breath

Treatments:Chemotherapy, clinical trial (menin inhibitor)
Shelley G. acute myeloid leukemia

Shelley G., Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML) with NPM1 Mutation



Symptoms: Fatigue, rapid heartbeat, shortness of breath, low blood counts
Treatments: Chemotherapy, clinical trial, stem cell transplant
Joseph A. acute myeloid leukemia

Joseph A., Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML)



Symptoms: Suspicious leg fatigue while cycling, chest pains due to blood clot in lung

Treatments: Chemotherapy, clinical trial (targeted therapy, menin inhibitor), stem cell transplant
Mackenzie P.

Mackenzie P., Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML)



Symptoms: Shortness of breath, passing out, getting sick easily, bleeding and bruising quickly

Treatments: Chemotherapy (induction and maintenance chemotherapy), stem cell transplant, clinical trials
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Categories
Caregivers Child Prostate Cancer

Love, Stress & Strength: What It’s Really Like to Be a Cancer Caregiver

Love, Stress & Strength: What It’s Really Like to Be a Cancer Caregiver

Jamel Martin is a devoted son and caregiver for his father, Joseph, who was diagnosed with prostate cancer. When he first learned about the disease, Jamel researched and turned to his family and church community for strength. Joseph’s diagnosis brought them even closer, reminding Jamel of the importance of time, communication, and faith through uncertainty.

In this cancer vlog, Jamel and Joseph open up about caregiving, emotional healing, and what it means to support one another through fear and recovery. They share how community, love, and open conversation can help men overcome stigma around going to the doctor and seeking help. Their story is one of patience, gratitude, and the power of family connection.


Pfizer

Thank you to Pfizer for supporting our independent patient education content. The Patient Story retains full editorial control.

This interview has been edited for clarity and length. This is not medical advice. Please consult with your healthcare provider to make informed treatment decisions.

The views and opinions expressed in this interview do not necessarily reflect those of The Patient Story.



Edited by: Katrina Villareal

Meet Jamel

Jamel: My name is Jamel Martin, and I’m a caregiver for my dad, Joseph Martin.

The Diagnosis

Jamel: When I first found out, I didn’t know much about prostate cancer until they made me do a little research. I also started asking my mom to find out more about it. It doesn’t necessarily mean it’s detrimental. Once I found that out, I was a little bit more okay.

Jamel M. prostate cancer caregiver
Jamel M. prostate cancer caregiver

Joseph: I’m a happy-go-lucky guy. When something goes wrong with me, I try to uplift myself and not let things bring me down. I get back up and start all over again.

Learning About the Cancer Awareness Network (CAN)

Joseph: Once I found out that I had prostate cancer, we had Minister Loretta Herring at the church, who was with the Cancer Awareness Network. I got involved with her. She was one of my backbones and helped me walk through it and everything.

Cancer Awareness Network (CAN) is a non-profit community organization based in Birmingham, Alabama. CAN strives to empower cancer patients, survivors, and their caretakers. The organization has played an important role in the Martin family’s cancer journey.

Jamel: We have always been close and tight-knit. But going through that time made me value his life more because I realized that he wasn’t always going to be here with me. Any given day, he could be gone, and all I’d be left with are memories and reflections on what he taught me and instilled in me as a child. I take it wholeheartedly to try to spend more time with him. Once you grow older and have your own family, you tend to spend more time with your family, but you still need to make time for your parents as well. It helped me think about those things more, too.

Jamel M. prostate cancer caregiver
Jamel M. prostate cancer caregiver

Life as a Caregiver

Jamel: It was basically things that I was taught, like helping to take out the trash, cutting the grass, and cleaning the cars. I was helping move different things around for him that he couldn’t do. As a caregiver, what I was doing for him wasn’t as extensive as giving him a bath and picking him up from the tub. It was more about helping him around the house, so it wasn’t that much of a burden or very hard for me to turn into the role of a caregiver for him. Uplifting him was the hardest part. Keeping him happy and in a happy space.

Through Joe’s cancer journey, Jamel didn’t carry the weight of caregiving alone. He says his mother, a nurse, stepped in as Joe’s primary caregiver.

Joseph and His Wife Reflect on Their Shared Journey

Joe: You know what? I learned to be patient and to do what you ask me to do when you ask me to do it. I stopped being so stubborn and hardheaded. It all worked out well.

Wife: Anytime you work together, teamwork makes the dream work. We worked through the healing process, other side effects that occur with the surgery and how you dealt with them, and tried options for impotence and how you felt about that. We started out saying we’re going to get through it and that’s what we did. But still, we’re going to watch and follow up with the primary care physician annually. You always have to tell me when something is different about your body. You have to let me know.

Jamel M. prostate cancer caregiver
Jamel M. prostate cancer caregiver

I would say a lot of Black men don’t go to the doctor. However, I know you had to go because you didn’t have a choice but to go to find out what was going on. I think a lot of men are afraid to find out what may be going on and what the outcome will be. Just like your recent hospital stay, you didn’t know what the outcome was going to be and what was causing your problems.

Joe: That’s why I went.

Wife: You had to go. [Laughs] However, I think that men as a whole are afraid to find out the true diagnosis and how it would affect them.

Joe: But, yeah, they don’t go to the doctor.

Wife: As you get older, it’s important that you take care of yourself because the key is in early detection. If you see something going on, you have to get it evaluated.

Becoming More Health-Aware After Dad’s Diagnosis

Jamel: Most men don’t think about going to the doctor. They don’t want to go. It made me aware of my health by getting checkups on my heart, my prostate, and everything. It made me aware of how cancer can hit you at any age and how it can hit anybody. It doesn’t discriminate on race, religion, or anything.

Jamel M. prostate cancer caregiver
Jamel M. prostate cancer caregiver

I think the stigma is finding out the worst that can be going on with you. It’s scary because we’re not taught about those things health-wise. It’s not talked about. When you’re thinking about having something going on, you don’t know how to react to it. The unknown scares you. You’re scared of what can happen and what’s going on that you don’t want to find out. But that’s not the case. You need to find out so that you can hurry up, jump on it, and attack it.

A study of cancer caregivers showed that they deal with a multitude of different stressors. 50% reported high emotional stress connected to the caregiving role, 25% reported high financial strain, and 72% helped with medical-related tasks, all for an average of two years of caregiving. (Source: National Alliance for Caregiving)

Jamel: I can relate to that statistic, especially emotional stress. It was a very emotional time because I didn’t know what was expected and what was happening.

When you see him, you can’t tell. He’s a happy-go-lucky guy, so he’s always smiling and always happy. You can never tell what he’s going through on the inside. But I’m a bit more emotional. I still hide it, but it’ll come out now and then, which was what I had to deal with.

Jamel M. prostate cancer caregiver
Jamel M. prostate cancer caregiver

How Cancer Affected Their Marriage and Intimacy

Wife: I was concerned about how you would heal or what the result would be as far as intimacy, which was somewhat affected, but we worked through that as well. A relationship or a marriage is not entirely based on intimacy. You still love each other, and if true love is there, the relationship will remain.

Joe: I agree.

Wife: You’re a good support person for me. We support each other.

Joe: I was about to say. We do that for each other, whatever the case may be.

Wife: We have our differences. We don’t always agree.

Joe: No, we don’t.

Wife: It’s better to express your feelings than to assume what someone is thinking.

Joe: True.

Jamel M. prostate cancer caregiver
Jamel M. prostate cancer caregiver

The Power of Communication and Emotional Support in Caregiving

Jamel: Being able to communicate and talk with them about anything they want to talk about during that time is best to keep them emotionally sound.

Take your time. Be patient with the loved one that you are caregiving for and help them embrace life. Lift them up. Bring joy and peace back into their life. They’re going through a lot during this time and a lot of things can be very emotional for them.

It’s a hard time to go through because they don’t know what’s going on. They don’t understand what’s going on with their bodies. They know it’s different. It feels different. But they don’t know what to do about it at the time. They may want to simply vent. Let them vent. Let them talk to you. Hold their hand while they’re talking to you. Let them know that it’s okay to cry. They can cry. Give them a shoulder to lean on. That’s what I give them. Be there for them. Be a listening ear. It helps.

Jamel M. prostate cancer caregiver

In the previous episode, Joseph shared how he navigated his diagnosis, chose robotic surgery, and learned to open up to his loved ones about his health.


Pfizer

Thank you to Pfizer for supporting our independent patient education content. The Patient Story retains full editorial control.

This interview has been edited for clarity and length. This is not medical advice. Please consult with your healthcare provider to make informed treatment decisions.

The views and opinions expressed in this interview do not necessarily reflect those of The Patient Story.


Jamel M. prostate cancer caregiver
Thank you for sharing your story, Jamel!

Inspired by Jamel's story?

Share your story, too!


More Prostate Cancer Caregiver Stories


Lisa Matthews, Spouse of Prostate Cancer Patient



“It’s just that tough. It’s scary and difficult, and you need to give each other some space, but also give each other that support and love.”