My Journey with Cancer ~ Let’s Start at The Beginning

My First Year of College

It was August 1986 when my parents and I embarked on the long journey across Colorado to settle me into my first year of college. The excitement was undeniable, yet a quiet nervousness lingered—I had always been deeply introverted. I had chosen elementary education as my major and opted for a co-ed dorm, drawn to the idea of having a suite where two rooms shared a private bathroom rather than a communal one down the hall. What I didn’t realize then was just how much of a blessing that small choice would become.

I quickly found a sense of connection within my dorm, spending time getting to know my new peers and learning how to play Canasta. Our game nights were full of laughter, a welcomed escape as we navigated the beginnings of this new chapter.

I Met My New Constant Companion ~ Pain

Almost immediately, however, I began experiencing a constant throbbing pain on the left side of my neck. My dorm mates, kind and thoughtful, came up with a solution—they organized massage circles, where each person massaged the shoulders of the one in front while receiving the same care from the person behind. It was a simple act of support, and while comforting, the lump on my neck remained, its presence growing harder to ignore.

Sending Smiles: Cookies and Laughter in Every Package

Throughout my first year of college, my mom sent care packages filled with homemade cookies, seasonal trinkets, and a card or letter detailing some wild story from home. These packages weren’t just for me—they were meant to be shared. My dorm mates and I would gather, snack on the treats, and laugh as we read the humor-filled tales.

The Ultimate Halloween Humor: Parents in Nerd Mode

Then came Halloween. My parents and sister somehow managed to sneak into the dorm, bypassing locked doors, and when I saw them, I understood why they had gone to such lengths. Their outfits were beyond ridiculous. My dad sported high-waisted pants that barely reached his ankles, exposing his socks—definitely not an 80s fashion statement. He wore black-rimmed glasses taped at the bridge, slicked-back hair, and topped off the look with a brown plaid suit jacket over an olive-green sweater shirt. My mom matched the absurdity with a light green upholstery dress dotted with white flowers, a white hat, pearls, and a flashy pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

Academy Award Worthy Performances

They weren’t just dressed up—they committed to their roles. Walking down the hall, they knocked on every door, theatrically asking if anyone knew where I lived, despite being fully aware of my room number. My mom spoke in an exaggerated nasally voice, and my dad embodied a full-on character from Revenge of the Nerds. Luckily, my dorm mates were well-versed in my family’s antics thanks to the stories in the care packages, so their bizarre entrance was met with amusement rather than shock.

The Rash That Made No Sense

But as the year continued, my health declined. I developed a strange rash on my right leg—so unusual that the clinic struggled to identify or treat it. The best diagnosis they could offer was something native to South America, which made no sense considering I had never been there.

Drifting into Exhaustion

Fatigue set in, growing worse by the month. I began sleeping longer and longer. By the end of the year, my routine was predictable: wake up, attend my morning classes, skip lunch to return to the dorm and sleep, attend my afternoon classes, attempt homework but often doze off, then be shaken awake by my roommate for dinner. After dinner, I’d gather with friends to study or play Canasta, but most nights, exhaustion overtook me early.

The Unexpected Blessing of the En-suite Bathroom

Some days, sickness hit unexpectedly, forcing me to race to the bathroom to empty my stomach. I was beyond grateful for the private bathroom attached to my dorm suite. The clinic remained baffled by my symptoms, and all the while, the lump in my neck grew increasingly painful.

Unable to Shake the Unexpected Health Problems

I somehow made it through my first year of college. My mom suspected stress, while my roommate believed I was battling severe depression. Back home, with the lump and pain still unrelenting, my mom suggested I see a chiropractor. She was convinced he would uncover the root of my problems.

The Chiropractor Visit that Changed Everything

The chiropractor was a young, handsome man who had recently opened his practice. He examined me, took X-rays, and scheduled a follow-up visit in a week. As I was leaving, he casually reassured me, saying, I’m going to have a hard time finding anything wrong with you.

A week later, I returned to his office, surprised to find my parents waiting in the lobby. When I asked why they were there, they admitted they weren’t sure—the office had called and asked them to come, without explanation. My mom brushed it off, saying, Don’t worry, you probably have scoliosis or something.

Finally, we were called back—not to an exam room, but to his office, where he sat solemnly behind his desk.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” he started. “You have a very large mass on your cervical spine, right where you feel the lump and pain.”

The Hidden Reality Exposed

He turned the X-rays toward us, revealing the truth.

As the words left his mouth, I noticed tears welling up in his eyes. “There’s nothing I can do for you,” he continued softly. “You need to find an oncologist as soon as possible.”

He apologized—genuinely sorry that he had to deliver such difficult news and that there was nothing more he could do for me.

The Search for the Right Hands

My mom had her own journey with cancer, so the moment we received this news, she reached out to her oncologist. He got me in right away, reviewing the X-rays and the details from my chiropractor. After taking a long look at the images, he let out a quiet sigh, his expression heavy with regret.

“There’s nothing I can do for you either,” he admitted. “This is affecting your bones—your skeletal structure. I’m going to refer you to an orthopedic surgeon.”

Soon after, we had our next appointment, though I barely remember it. What followed was a biopsy—surgery to remove a small section of the mass so they could determine exactly what we were dealing with. They told us it would take about a week to get the results.

Fourth of July and the Weight of the Unknown

Meanwhile, life continued, indifferent to the weight of what was unfolding. It was the Fourth of July, which also happened to be my grandfather’s birthday—a day when our entire family gathered to celebrate. My mom had five brothers, each with wives and children, plus close family friends who joined in. Our gatherings were never small, always lively and full of activity.

That year, however, was different. The bandages on my neck made it clear something was wrong. People asked questions, wanting to understand, but I had no answers—I was still waiting, still in limbo. It’s an unsettling thing, having to talk about something when you don’t yet know what it truly means.

When the Word “Tumor” Turned Into Cancer

The week passed, and finally, the results came in. My surgeon sat us down and delivered the news:

“It’s a malignant tumor—cancer—called chondrosarcoma.”

The word hung in the air, heavy and unmoving.

Chemotherapy and radiation weren’t options; neither worked on this type of tumor. My only chance was surgery, which was scheduled for August 12th.

And so, my journey with cancer began. Now that the foundation is set, I can begin sharing the unique path that unfolded.

Wondering What Happened Next?

Look for my next post in My Journey with Cancer series: Shamans, Astrologists and Psychotherapists – Oh My!

Comments are Welcome

I know many have faced their own diagnosis of cancer, each uniquely challenging. This is a welcoming space to share, to be heard, and to let it all out. Do your best to stay positive, and remember—this space is here for encouragement, but it’s not a substitute for professional counseling or support groups. Over the years, I have engaged in both and found them—along with other alternative options—to be incredibly helpful.