In September 2024, I lost my job as a software developer. After nearly two years with the company, I was let go due to “reduction of workforce.” My husband still worked full time, but losing half of our household income hit hard, especially with eight kids ranging from 4 to 19 years old.
I told myself we’d be OK. I thought it would be easy to find another job. We’d tighten our belts. Then I got sick.
I blamed stress for symptoms that were actually cancer
After Christmas, I started to feel off. I caught the flu and was sick for about six weeks, and then I developed shingles right after. I could not catch a break. I kept thinking it was just stress.
Things took a turn in late March. I found a lump in my groin the size of a grape overnight. My adductor muscle also felt tight, so I thought it was a pulled muscle at the time, likely from working out at the gym. A month later, I finally saw a doctor who was able to feel the lump and told me it was most likely an inguinal hernia and sent me to a surgeon.
During the waiting period for the appointment, the lump grew to the size of a plum, and it became increasingly difficult to walk. The pain worsened by the day until May 4th, when I finally went to the emergency room.
I was diagnosed with cancer at 37
When the doctor finally came in to tell me the results of the CT scan, he told me it wasn’t a hernia, but that it was several swollen lymph nodes. The ER doctor dropped the “C” word — cancer. That night, I spent alone overnight in the hospital, 37 years old, convinced my life was ending. All I could think about was my eight children and husband.
When I came home the next evening to tell our kids, our car ended up getting repossessed in the driveway because we had fallen behind in payments. I lost all my medication from the hospital that I had been sent home with. I was able to recover them the next morning, but talk about bad luck.
That moment hit so hard. The job loss, the diagnosis, the financial freefall. It felt like the absolute bottom.
I had to keep going
May became a blur of medical appointments. Each test mapped the location of the cancer’s spread. The biopsy confirmed Diffuse Large B-Cell Lymphoma, and the PET scan revealed where it had spread.
After getting my port installed, I started chemotherapy on June 5th, with eight children still needing to be fed, homework checked and reassured that their mom would be OK.
During all of this, my husband became everything. He was juggling full time work while managing our household when I was undergoing active treatment.
Asking for help was harder than chemotherapy
We had to swallow our pride and use every available resource. Food banks, school district assistance programs, we were going anywhere that could help.
For someone who had always worked and provided, it felt like a failure at first. I realized that these safety nets are put in place for those who truly need assistance.
On September 18th, 2025, I got to ring the bell that I was cancer-free. On October 21st, my PET scan came back clean with no evidence of disease. I’m still processing what happened to me over the past year. I’m not the same person I was in September 2024.
I learned that symptoms dismissed as “just stress” need to be taken seriously. That pride can literally kill you if it keeps you from seeking help. That our children are more resilient than we give them credit for, but also more aware than we’d like to admit.
I learned that in today’s world, you can do everything right — work hard, support your family — and still end up having one layoff or one diagnosis away from your life changing drastically.
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