Read Time: 4 minutes
Author: Tylar Bonnell
From time to time, Huntsman Cancer Institute invites guest commentary from our community. The views reflected in these commentaries are those of the author and do not necessarily represent the official views of Huntsman Cancer Institute.
My life was quiet and healthy. I exercised regularly, ate a plant-based diet, and kept up with annual checkups. I had even been recently promoted! But a persistent chest pain emerged that made breathing and swallowing difficult, like something was blocking the way.
Just to be safe, I visited urgent care. Their diagnosis? Inflamed cartilage where my ribs met my sternum. It seemed realistic. I'd recently helped a friend move heavy furniture, and lifting awkwardly could explain the pain. Painkillers and muscle relaxers offered no relief for weeks. Then, I noticed a hard lump on my sternum. It felt strange, but I wasn't familiar with that area. Maybe it had always been there?
I noticed a hard lump on my sternum. It felt strange, but I wasn't familiar with that area. Maybe it had always been there?
Following my gut, I pressed my primary care doctor, recounting the urgent care visit and the persistent chest pain. He echoed their conclusion, attributing the bump on my sternum to the inflammation and dismissing the pain as anxiety. "You're 22. You’re too young for anything serious," he told me. Despite repeated assurances, my intuition gnawed at me.
”You're 22. You’re too young for anything serious.”
On August 31, 2021, my world shifted. A golf ball-sized lump in my armpit, discovered while getting ready for work, shattered any sense of normalcy. In disbelief, I rushed to see a different doctor that same night. After a quick examination and x-ray, the doctor delivered a life-altering diagnosis with stark confidence: "I'm extremely confident you have lymphoma."
The diagnosis plunged me into a chaotic whirlwind. My body, once a vessel of control and freedom, felt hijacked by the disease. A whirlwind of tests—blood draws, scans, biopsies—consumed the next month. On October 7, 2021, the storm settled with a devastating truth. I had stage 4 Hodgkin lymphoma.
The storm settled with a devastating truth.
I had stage 4 Hodgkin lymphoma.
Two weeks later, chemotherapy began. Compared to the initial diagnosis, it felt almost surreal. The physical toll was brutal—hair loss, excruciating gastritis, bone pain—making even basic functions a struggle. Yet, the emotional side effects were a different kind of torment, one that lingers even two years later.
Being an AYA (Adolescent and Young Adult) cancer patient has shifted the focus of my world. It now revolves around my illness, where even basic tasks like climbing stairs or using the bathroom become herculean feats. The constant specter of pain, from neuropathy to joint aches, and the ever-present fog of anxiety are daily companions, a relentless reminder of the disease two years into remission.
Now 25, I try to reclaim my place. Stuck in a time warp, I watch peers confidently map their futures, marriages, and careers. My reality is colored by uncertainty. Every follow-up, every scan, hangs heavy. Will I have to drop everything to start all over again? The fear of an unknown future is paralyzing. How far can I plan when the next trip to the doctor could land me back in treatment?
The fear of an unknown future is paralyzing. How far can I plan when the next trip to the doctor could land me back in treatment?
The betrayal of my own body was a brutal lesson in dependence. Once fiercely independent, I found myself relying on others financially, physically, and emotionally. It shattered self-conceptions, but also opened a door. Simple victories, like grocery shopping alone again, became triumphs after treatment.
The first grocery trip by myself after treatment was a revelation. Being able to park wherever I wanted without the thought of not making it back provided freedom. I also found I could finally walk freely with my dogs in the park. These seemingly mundane victories, reclaimed pieces of independence, became stepping stones back to myself.
These seemingly mundane victories, reclaimed pieces of independence, became stepping stones back to myself.
My experience underscores the critical link between mental and physical well-being. Survivor's guilt snuck up on me during chemo. A dear AYA friend passed away just a month before I finished treatment. Her vibrancy and potential fueled the agonizing question: why me? The trauma of cancer, coupled with this loss, sent my mental health spiraling. I'm still navigating the aftermath, a powerful reminder to prioritize mental well-being alongside physical care.
If you're struggling, don't hesitate to reach out. Songwriting became my outlet, but there are many paths to healing. Find a support group, an online community, connect with those who understand. The AYA community, though born from tragedy, offers a powerful bond. These online friendships, forged in shared experience, have become a lifeline.
The AYA community, though born from tragedy, offers a powerful bond. These online friendships, forged in shared experience, have become a lifeline.
But the most transformative choice has been working as a return patient coordinator at Huntsman Cancer Institute. Going back to my old job felt like fitting a circle into a square. The trivialities that once held weight now seemed insignificant. This experience ignited a passion to advocate for patients.
Having walked the path myself, I understand the unique challenges they face. As a return patient coordinator, my openness allows me to connect with patients, offering comfort and addressing their fears. This job isn't just a paycheck; it's a chance to turn my trauma into purpose. Here, I can truly help others, and that purpose fuels my fight against survivor's guilt.
This job isn't just a paycheck; it's a chance to turn my trauma into purpose.
Though cancer stole my old life in 2021, it gave me something in return: a chance to rebuild. Working at Huntsman Cancer Institute, I found a purpose, a community, and a renewed zest for life. My health, confidence, and self-love are flourishing. This experience is a stark reminder to cherish your loved ones and cherish yourself. When life throws obstacles your way, remember that you are your strongest supporter.
When life throws obstacles your way, remember that you are your strongest supporter.
