Cruise booked. Excursions mapped out. Specialty restaurants selected. The countdown to our 30th wedding anniversary celebration in August was on! My husband and I spent hours picking, planning, and mapping out our 7 day cruise. Bermuda, here we come! This, along with the end of my 30th year of teaching around the corner, June 2023 was filled with excitement and anticipation. Then, the diagnosis. Sarcoma slammed us, shattering our plans.
The diagnosis led me to the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, where I quickly partnered with a team specializing in sarcomas. By the end of June, I underwent a full hysterectomy at Brigham and Women’s Hospital. Not long after, the surgeon called with the pathology report, confirming an unusual sarcoma called PEComa. He explained that if the cancer had been fully removed, follow-up scans would be all that was needed. However, if any cancer remained, specialized care would be essential. An August CT scan and an appointment with senior oncologist Dr. Andrew Wagner were promptly scheduled.
Instead of cruising to Bermuda, I was home, resting and healing, hopeful that the skilled surgeon had, as he believed, removed it all. The days stretched long, and daily my mind raced with uncertainty.
At my August appointment, Dr. Wagner reviewed the scan report with us. “Two small nodular areas of soft tissue in the pelvis, which may represent postsurgical change, are suspicious for early recurrent disease.” Were the areas scar tissue from the surgery, or had the disease returned? More agonizing waiting. Another set of appointments and scans were rescheduled for the end of September. Waiting, I discovered, is truly the worst part.
So, at the end of August, I found my distraction: preparing and opening my classroom to wide-eyed fourth graders. They were eager to begin their school year in a new building, forming new friendships. I was thrilled to be surrounded by the vibrant energy of these soon-to-be 10-year-olds, relieved to be pulled away from the constant “what if” thoughts. Teaching demands your complete focus on the present, on what’s directly in front of you. My mind couldn’t wander in the classroom. But the nights were a different story, stressed with those “what-ifs.”
Then, on September 20, 2023, the confirmation came. The nodules had grown. It was not scar tissue but indeed PEComa, a rare cancer with an incidence rate of only 0.3 per 1,000,000 people diagnosed annually. My sarcoma team, led by Dr. Wagner, quickly became my lifeline as I received my busy treatment schedule. I started on a newly FDA-approved drug called nab-sirolimus, which offered promising results for PEComas. I stopped teaching. For ten months, this treatment successfully held the tumors at bay. When the tumors eventually began to return, I underwent two robotic surgeries, meticulously removing them from my pelvic region
Not long after the surgeries, scans showed the cancer had spread to my lungs. In February 2025, my treatment shifted to a more aggressive round of chemotherapy—a battle I’m still in the thick of. But there’s hope: the tumors have shrunk! I’m staying the course with this treatment and holding onto that momentum. That’s the thing you learn about having sarcoma. The cancer often does not go away after treatment. Sarcomas are commonly hidden deep in the body, so sarcomas are often diagnosed when they have already become too large to expect a hope of being cured. Sarcomas are sometimes curable by surgery (about 20% of the time), or by surgery with chemotherapy and/or radiation (another 50-55%), but about half the time they are totally resistant to all of these approaches. (Sarcoma Foundation of America) It’s a constant rollercoaster of ups and downs, changes, and challenges in treatments.
I’ve learned to anticipate the rough side effects of this chemotherapy, and I’m prepared with strategies to manage them. Honestly, despite everything, I’m feeling pretty good.
The anniversary trip was canceled, and I didn’t finish two school years, but my heart is overflowing with gratitude for the incredible care from my medical team. I have the most caring, compassionate team supporting me at Dana-Farber: under the direction of Senior Oncologist Dr. Andrew J. Wagner, there are dedicated nurse practitioners, a psychiatrist, a therapist, and my infusion nurse, Mary, with whom my husband and I share many laughs during the long infusion hours. I feel a true sense of compassion and connection with them all.
And then there’s Kevin, my husband. He’s my rock, my “medicine,” my love, and always pulls me towards the positive when I’m down or worried. He hasn’t missed a single treatment drive into Boston, and just to keep me humble, he still won’t let me win our Sudoku challenges. My kids, Jake and Julie, are frequent visitors, always bringing hugs and, of course, seeking a free dinner. Their presence and love make me incredibly happy. My friends and family are relentless in their love, their encouragement, their unwavering inclusion, and their ability to make me laugh. Laughter is, quite simply, my best medicine, both mentally and physically.
I will keep pressing on. Giving up isn’t in my nature.
This June 2025, Kevin and I have rescheduled our cruise! We will finally celebrate our 32nd anniversary in Bermuda this August. I’ve since retired from teaching, embracing a new chapter. All is truly good. Bermuda, here we really come!
Words of Wisdom:
We never truly know how much time we have. So, now, I treat every single day as a gift. I find joy in the ordinary, transforming the mundane into something extraordinary: the first sip of coffee, the clean scent of fresh laundry, the symphony of nature outside my window, the comforting taste of favorite foods. I’ve learned to slow down, to truly savor life, to feel the profound gratitude of being alive. Yes, I allow myself to feel the anxiety, the fear, and the sadness that cancer brings, but I refuse to let those feelings trap me. I acknowledge them, then I let them go.
