Inspirational Stories

My journey with blood cancer began long before my diagnosis. In 2006, my world was shattered when my mom, just 52 years old, was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia (AML). She was quickly isolated in a specialized hospital, enduring grueling rounds of chemotherapy. I was about to start nursing school and desperately tried to educate myself on her illness, knowing deep down that the prognosis was grim. They mentioned a bone marrow transplant, but she never made it that far. A fungal pneumonia took her from us in December 2006. It was a devastating, traumatic loss that changed the course of my life. In our last conversation, I told her I felt called to help others through mental health, and that’s exactly what I did.

Eighteen years later, in 2022, I was living a life my mom would have been proud of. I had become a licensed professional counselor, built a thriving private practice, married my soulmate, and felt like I was doing well in life. In October, I was supposed to go to Nashville with friends and my wife to see Stevie Nicks. We were beyond excited. But the day before we left, I threw out my back. At the time, I was devastated by the inconvenience. Little did I know, that injury would save my life.

During the routine check-up I almost missed, my doctor found something alarming ― my blood counts were dangerously low. Within a few weeks of further testing, I was at home and received a call from the doctor, hearing the words no one ever wants to hear, "You have AML." My heart stopped. I couldn’t process it. I hung up the phone in shock, called my wife to come home, and we cried together, fearing the unknown that lay ahead.

That evening, I was admitted to the hospital. The first round of chemotherapy, known as 7+3, was brutal. I had never felt such pain, such sickness. I spent Christmas, New Year's, my 40th birthday, and my wedding anniversary in that hospital fighting for my life. My wife stayed by my side every single night for 50 days. My friends and family became my lifeline, visiting me, checking in, and making sure I never felt alone. I’ll never forget my 40th birthday. My friends stood outside the hospital in freezing temperatures, eight floors down, with blinking lights, candles, and music. They sang "Happy Birthday" to me from across the street. It was the most bittersweet moment of my life, and I ugly cried from the overwhelming love and support I felt.

After surviving the first round of chemotherapy, I was crushed to learn it hadn’t worked. We had to try a different combination. The second round was slightly kinder, and this time, the news was better ―I was in remission. I cried tears of relief, but I knew the fight was far from over.

I needed a stem cell transplant due to my high-risk AML with complex karyotypes and the TP53 mutation. The waiting was agonizing, but then a miracle happened ― a perfect 10/10 match was found in Germany. On the day of the transplant, I was terrified, yet hopeful. The treatment was brutal, and I faced complications that pushed me to the brink. But I survived, and for that I am grateful.

Even after four rounds of chemotherapy and the transplant, the journey has been far from easy. I’ve been hospitalized multiple times with graft-versus-host disease (GVHD) and other complications. It feels like every step forward is met with two steps back. But I’m still here, still fighting. AML is a relentless disease, and I won’t sugarcoat it, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. But I’ve learned that we can do hard things. This journey is a marathon, not a sprint, and every tiny step forward is a victory worth celebrating.

I’m 18 months post-transplant now, and when I look back, I see how far I’ve come. It’s easy to get lost in the day-to-day struggle, but the progress is real, even if it’s slow.

Throughout this journey, The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS) has been a lifeline. They provided financial assistance that helped us manage the overwhelming costs of medical bills, connected me with a survivor who gave me hope, and offered resources that made me feel seen and supported. Without them, I don’t know where I’d be. I am passionate about raising awareness and funds for LLS so that no one else has to face blood cancer alone or without assistance.

To anyone facing a blood cancer diagnosis, my best advice is to take one day at a time. Don’t overwhelm yourself with endless Googling; stick to trusted sources like LLS.org. Advocate for yourself fiercely. If something doesn’t feel right, speak up. Surround yourself with support, whether through therapy, friends, or fellow survivors. Rest when you need to, and celebrate even the smallest victories. Above all, remember, you are not alone. We are in this together, and together, we are stronger.