My sarcoma journey officially began in January 2026, when I was diagnosed with a high-grade soft-tissue sarcoma in my right thigh. Sarcoma was a word I barely knew, and suddenly my life became filled with scans, appointments, radiation, surgery and medical terminology I never expected to learn.
I completed 25 radiation treatments, followed by major surgery in March to remove a tumor that was more than 15 centimeters. The surgery was successful, and approximately 85% of the tumor had been destroyed by treatment. After everything I had been through, I finally felt like I could exhale.
I believed I was entering the recovery chapter of my story.
Then, just a few months later, everything changed.
New spots appeared in my lungs. More testing followed, and by July I learned that the sarcoma had spread.
Going from believing I was on the other side of cancer to hearing the word metastatic was difficult to process. There was fear, anger, tears and the overwhelming question of, “How did we get here so quickly?”
My cancer has also proven to be extremely rare. Even today, I don’t have a simple name to give people when they ask exactly what type of sarcoma I have. Extensive molecular testing has uncovered unusual characteristics in my tumor, and my doctors continue working to better understand it and determine the best treatment options.
Living with that uncertainty hasn’t been easy.
But somewhere along this journey, I realized that I can be scared and still have hope. Those two things can exist at the same time.
Cancer has changed my body, my priorities and the way I look at time but it hasn’t changed who I am.
I’m still a mother, grandmother, fiancée, family member and friend. I still love traveling, creating, celebrating the people I love, laughing and making plans for the future.
I don’t share my story because I want people to feel sorry for me. I share it because sarcoma is rare, and behind every diagnosis is a real person trying to make sense of something they may never have heard of before.
I don’t know exactly what the next chapter will look like. There will be treatments, scans and probably more unanswered questions.
But there will also be birthdays, family gatherings, trips, laughter, celebrations, time with my children and grandchildren, and hopefully many beautifully ordinary days.
My sarcoma story isn’t finished.
I’m still here. I’m still hopeful. I’m still making plans. And most importantly, I’m still living.
Word of Wisdom
Listen to your body and never be afraid to advocate for yourself. Ask questions even the same question twice until you understand the answer. Give yourself grace on the hard days, celebrate the good ones, and don't spend so much time worrying about tomorrow that you forget to live today. Cancer has taught me that time is precious. Take the trip. Make the memories. Take the pictures. Protect your peace. Love your people loudly. Stop saving joy for later. Most importantly, remember that a diagnosis becomes part of your story, but it does not have to become your entire identity. Your story is still being written.
