It was December 2006. I was 28 years old, and I discovered some purple bruises on my leg. I had never seen anything like these on my body before, so I went to my primary care physician. He took some bloodwork, then called me to say I needed to go to the hospital at once. My parents’ friend drove me and my parents to the hospital, and I ended up staying at the hospital for four days.
For the longest time, I sat on the edge of my bed, hoping that one day I would have the gift of being an older sister to a darling little boy. I wished for him every time I saw a shooting star or when the clock struck 11:11 - I hoped for Max.
It was my senior year of high school, and I was thriving: MVP of the soccer team that went to the state finals; strong academics with an offer to study Natural Sciences at Durham University, one of England’s finest; fantastic friends who were to become even more important to me.
When I was in fourth grade, back in 2015, my older brother Nate (a freshman in high school at the time) was rushed down by ambulance to the U of M Masonic Children’s Hospital. His spleen was holding 10x the normal amount of red blood cells. This led to the discovery of his cancer. He was later diagnosed with chronic myeloid leukemia (CML).
Throughout my childhood, my grandmother instilled in me the importance of helping those in need and gave generously to various charities and organizations. Her unwavering dedication to serving others inspired me to continue her legacy and give back to my community.
I was diagnosed with stage IVB Hodgkin lymphoma (HL) about a week after my 30th birthday in 2018. I was a new mom to an 8-month-old baby and had been experiencing several symptoms of Lymphomas the months after having my son, but I assumed they were from having a child and would never thought in a million years that it was cancer.