Cancer May Steal My Time, But Not My Life

I’m writing this for anyone facing a cancer that doesn’t have a finish line. I want to share what it looks like to stop chasing “normal” and start figuring out how to live well, right now. Because while cancer complicates life, there’s still room for joy, purpose, connection, and moments that matter.

I know the fear, the exhaustion, and the grief that come with this diagnosis. I also know the deep gratitude of waking up to another day, and the surprising ways hope can still find its way in.

If you’re newly diagnosed, in treatment, or navigating whatever chapter in your lifelong journey, here’s a bit of my story about how I’m choosing to live with myeloma.

The Day Cancer Moved In

After more than 6 months of unexplained pain (starting with lower back soreness, progressing to rib pain blamed on “tennis strains,” and eventually my back giving out when standing), I landed in front of a spine specialist who ordered a series of tests. Two months later, after endless scans and bloodwork, I finally had an answer: high-risk kappa light chain multiple myeloma. I was 56 years old.

As a former competitive athlete and longtime nonprofit professional raising funds for cancer organizations, I never expected to become the patient—especially with an incurable cancer. In October 2023, my life as I knew it screeched to a halt when I joined the 35,000+ people in the United States diagnosed with multiple myeloma that year. I thought I understood cancer from the outside, but nothing prepares you for the moment it becomes your story.

Treatment started quickly: induction with the quadruplet regimen of D-VRd and radiation for lytic lesions in my spine. The back pain was relentless, as the lesions had caused compression in my neck and thoracic spine. While radiation itself was mostly manageable, the lesions and fractures in my back and ribs made getting on and off the treatment table excruciating—something I dreaded even more than radiation, the endless pokes for labs, injections, and IVs.

While adjusting to treatment, I tried to maintain a sense of normalcy, still believing I could handle it all. I was working full-time in a demanding role while learning the ins and outs of this cancer, juggling endless medical appointments with my work schedule, and pushing through various side effects. I was focused on getting through my first line of treatment and hopefully achieving remission. But my cancer had other plans.

At Christmas, I wasn’t feeling well. A visit to Emergency turned into an ICU admission. Within minutes, the doctor told my husband and me that I’d be intubated, possibly for up to 2 weeks. I had a lung infection, sepsis, and respiratory failure. I emailed my work, handed my phone to my husband, and gave him a crash-course “to-do” list. Then everything went dark.

For me, it was 7 days I don’t remember. For my husband, it was 7 days of watching and wondering if I would wake up. Our myeloma journey had just begun, and already he was holding my hand at the edge of life, trying to remain optimistic. When I finally opened my eyes, the look on his face told me everything. I was lucky to be alive.

That brush with death stripped away any illusion of control. It was a brutal introduction to life with a suppressed immune system—and a stark reminder that everything can change in an instant. But it also revealed something else: how strong the people around me are, how deeply I am loved, and that even when my body fails me, I am not facing this alone.

I restarted treatment and by June 2024, achieved a very good partial response. My doctor finally said the word remission, and I started to breathe again. Hope returned—briefly. Unfortunately, my clever and stubborn myeloma cells regrouped within 2 months, and I was back to square one.

When Hope Meets Setback

We had been planning to schedule a stem cell transplant, but given the aggressive nature of my disease, I asked about CAR-T therapy. That’s when Carvykti entered the picture—a CAR-T therapy recently approved for second-line treatment. On December 16, 2024, I received an infusion of my genetically engineered, superhero-level T cells—microscopic avengers trained to hunt down rogue cells. The battle to secure insurance approval is a story in itself, but the outcome was worth it: MRD-negative, that is, negative for measurable residual disease. Complete remission. And for now (fingers crossed), it’s holding.

My journey is still in its early chapters compared with others who’ve been fighting for many years, but whether you’re newly diagnosed or navigating your seventh line of treatment, living with an incurable cancer like myeloma reshapes everything. It’s not just your health that changes—it’s your identity, your relationships, your sense of control, and, for many, your ability to work. One of the hardest parts—beyond the treatment and relentless side effects—was watching pieces of my identity, both personal and professional, slip away.

My first year revolved entirely around cancer: appointments, side effects, test results, and constant worry about the future—my prognosis, career, finances. My calendar and my thoughts were full of cancer. I knew that focus was necessary, but I also felt myself vanishing beneath the weight of it all. At some point, I realized I didn’t want cancer to be the main character in my life. I wanted treatment to support my life, not define it. So, after a year of planning to die, I shifted toward planning to live.

Redefining Life On My Terms

The shift didn’t happen overnight. It began with hard questions I couldn’t ignore: What matters to me now? How do I want to live, knowing my time may be limited? I began reevaluating everything—the shape of my days, the pace of my life, and the expectations I was still carrying from my precancer life. With the support of a life coach, I started reflecting on the shift from who I was to who I’m becoming. I knew multiple myeloma would be part of my story for the rest of my life, so I asked myself: How can I live the best life possible with this incurable cancer?

I stopped trying to force my old life into this new reality and instead created space for what mattered most. I gave myself permission to slow down, to say no without guilt, and to protect the parts of life that bring me peace and meaning. I let go of the pressure to perform at full speed and began focusing on what felt restorative and life-affirming. It wasn’t about chasing happiness…it was about noticing it, even in small, quiet moments.

I began putting more energy into being present, not bracing for what’s next but learning to find joy in what’s now. This shift became the foundation of a new compass—one built on 7 truths that help me live a life aligned with joy, identity, and meaning—with courage and hope for whatever comes next (See box on previous page).

Choosing to Live Fully

Having an incurable cancer like multiple myeloma is life-changing—no question. I likely will never return to the meaningful career I once thrived in. And I’ve had to say goodbye to tennis, a sport I’ve loved since I was 4 years old. But I’m discovering new ways to move, new ways to serve, and new ways to feel alive.

These days, I wake up determined to live—not just survive. To fill my days with purpose, even when they’re hard. To laugh when I can, cry when I need to, and keep showing up for a life that still holds meaning, joy, and love. Cancer may take years from my life, but it won’t take the life out of my years—because I choose to keep living them, fully.