January, 18th 2025: Join us for food, drinks, dancing, and author sharing — all to support our mission. Learn more here!
AYA Cancer
Dear Leukemia
Dear Cancer, If I could ask you one question, it would be a single word: why? Why did you storm into my life four years ago? Do you even know the darkness you brought? The way you made my heart tremble, my body ache, my mind scream for peace.
Read More...The Quiet Battle: Navigating Life After Cancer
“The end of treatment isn’t the end of cancer—it’s the beginning of everything no one warned you about.” I used to think survivorship was the finish line. That once treatment ended, I’d be “back to normal.” I imagined life picking up right where I left it.
Read More...Cancer, You’ve Changed Me
I know last time I wrote a letter I said I would always call you by your full name but for brevity’s sake, I will call you that (or your even cooler nickname, LGLL).
Read More...What’s Your History?
Do you have a history of this? No. Do you have a history of that? No. Sorry, these are just routine questions. I must ask some more.
Read More...Done, right?
So you’re done, right? You’re back to normal! Are you going to be increasing your work hours? See, I told you you’d put this behind you!
Read More...Cancer is…
Cancer is… an uncomfortable high heel which the heel broke on, and is squeezing your baby toe
Read More...Everywhere and Always
Dear Cancer, As far as I know I’m not supposed to be stopped in the grocery store in front of all the bread, frozen in my body by a sudden wave of dread and images of sickness. I’m not supposed to be listing chemo drugs in my head as I drive or zoning out of a conversation with my neighbor wondering whether they are scared of death too.
Read More...The Plan
You lie in a hospital bed. People in and out of your room, introductions, tests, bloodwork, scans, IVs, all a blur. This wasn’t part of the plan. You repeat your speech: name, date of birth, and why you’re here to all the hospital staff who enter all day and night. This wasn’t part of the plan.
Read More...I wish someone told me
I wish someone had told me—Told me how much it would hurt. Not the blade that cleaved my skull, To extract the unwelcome guest, Nor the threads that stitched the wound shut, Or the scar, fracturing my head, Like parched and cracking earth.
Read More...A Conversation About Survivorship
The first time I rang the bell after my 6 months of hell, I felt nothing. I watched as my nurses rallied around me and celebrated my “success” but inside I knew my fight wasn’t done. I tried my hardest to fake my enthusiasm but in the end I knew that I was just beginning my fight.
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