I was 21, when the doctor uttered the words that changed everything: “You have cancer.”
I had gone to the hospital after weeks of unexplained fatigue, fevers, night sweats, weight loss, skin changes, and strange lumps. The diagnosis? Stage 1B Hodgkin lymphoma. I remember sitting frozen in the doctor’s office, watching my mother’s tears fall beside me. I was supposed to be worrying about exams, not chemotherapy.
Despite the initial shock, I made a conscious decision to view that day with optimism. After months of not knowing what was wrong, at least I had an answer. That day marked the start of my healing journey.
According to the National Cancer Institute, up to 25 in every 100,000 Americans diagnosed with cancer are under the age of 24. I never imagined I could be a cancer victim at such a young age until I came across that statistic. I was in school, full of dreams, but my world suddenly revolved around blood tests, scans, and treatments. School became a blur of hospital visits and long nights crying into my pillow. I lost my hair, my strength, and even some friends, but I never lost Jesus.
Treatment was grueling. The doctor explained I had an unfavorable form of the disease; it required intense therapy. I began with several cycles of ABVD chemotherapy, and every month, I had to move fifty miles to the nearest chemo center in Philadelphia, where I was living at the time. Midway through, PET/CT scans checked my progress, and more treatment followed—including radiation (involved field radiation therapy or IFRT) aimed at the bulky tumor sites. At one point, doctors discussed the possibility of high-dose chemo, stem cell transplants, and even immunotherapy options like brentuximab vedotin or pembrolizumab.
But even when my body was weak, my spirit clung to God. I vividly remember a day in class when I was too tired to lift my head. My teacher knelt beside me and prayed with tears in her eyes. In that moment, I knew God had placed His people around me to be His hands and feet. Through every scan and every painful injection, Psalm 23 echoed in my mind: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” That valley was real to me—but so was the Shepherd walking beside me.
By God’s grace, I went into remission halfway through the school year. I completed my exams while still juggling between hospital appointments and class lectures. Cancer tried to steal my health, my dreams, and my hope, but Jesus gave me strength, peace, and purpose.
Now, I mark September 10th each year as my “cancerversary,” a time to honor the journey and celebrate life. Cancer is a series of highs and lows, but each milestone is a reminder of renewal and resilience. That day is not a reminder of pain, but a celebration of how far God has brought me.
I still don’t understand why it happened, but I know who carried me through it. Jesus never left my side. Not once. And so, to anyone walking through a storm like mine: It’s tough, yes. But I promise you, Jesus is going to take you through. He is faithful.
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