A Story of a Cancer Diagnosis: Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma and Embracing Resilience

Stories of a cancer diagnosis are often filled with fear, uncertainty, and the unrelenting weight of the unknown. Ours was no different. It all began with a simple assumption: This surgery is pretty routine. After all, it’s just a sinus infection. That’s what we had been told, and that’s what my husband, Craig, believed. He had been battling persistent congestion for what seemed like forever, and despite countless treatments, nothing seemed to ease his discomfort. The doctors suggested surgery to clean out his sinuses, a procedure that would bring relief and restore his sense of normalcy. I never once imagined anything beyond that.

I remember sitting in the surgical waiting room, trying to get some work in on my laptop. I was feeling a knot in my stomach that I couldn’t shake. Time stretched, ticked by like a slow-moving clock. The minutes felt heavy, as if they were folding in on themselves. The thought that something was wrong began to take root in my heart, though I couldn’t quite understand why. As I sat there, watching the hands of the clock inch forward, I reassured myself that everything would be fine. After all, it was just a sinus procedure. What could possibly go wrong?

But even as I tried to push away my anxiety, I couldn’t deny the feeling in the pit of my stomach. When the door opened, my breath caught as I saw the surgeon walking toward me. There was something in his expression—something that said, I hate this part of my job. He moved slowly, purposefully, like he was bracing himself for something difficult.

He sat down next to me.

“I’ll be honest,” he said, his words slicing through my thoughts. “Things did not look like what we were expecting.” A pause. “We found some tissue that we’re sending in for a biopsy. But I’ll be honest, I believe it looks like cancer.”

Cancer. My breath caught, and the air around me seemed to grow thick and heavy. It couldn’t be. Not Craig. Not him, the man who had always been the picture of health and strength. I had always imagined a diagnosis like that in a faraway place, never here, never so close to home.

I was left alone, waiting for Craig to wake up from the anesthesia, the weight of what lay ahead settling on my chest. It felt like I was living someone else’s life, as if I was watching it from the outside. Every thought, every moment, was filled with what now? What did this mean for him? What did this mean for us? How would we navigate this?

Craig had always been a giant of a man—standing at 6’4″ with shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of the world. A rock. He was the man who never got sick, the man who could lift anything, the man whose very presence brought a sense of calm and assurance. He was the one who always handled the tough times with unwavering strength, and I always believed that if anyone could face adversity and come out the other side unchanged, it would be Craig.

But now, in this moment, I realized something I hadn’t fully understood before: cancer doesn’t care about strength or stature. It doesn’t recognize the man who has always been the one to carry others. And yet, as I sat there waiting, I had to believe that Craig’s strength—his will to fight—would carry him through this, too.

The next week was a blur. We waited for the biopsy results—each day feeling like it stretched on for a lifetime. The phone call came—finally, after what felt like an eternity. The doctor’s voice was gentle but firm. It was confirmed: Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.

And then, two weeks later, I received my own diagnosis: Multiple sclerosis. Craig’s diagnosis left us reeling, but now we had one more chronic illness to deal with.

Months followed. Hard months. Chemotherapy for both of us. Hospital stays. The sickness that accompanies chemotherapy gnawed away at Craig’s strength, his energy, his spirit. But worse, it gnawed at our lives—the life we thought we were living. There were infections, complications, the rhythm of his sickness punctuated by the sound of sterile equipment and the shuffle of hospital rooms. Our world had been irrevocably altered.

There is no preparing for a life-altering diagnosis—yours or the person you love. It’s as if you’ve been walking a path, feeling the earth solid beneath your feet, only to suddenly find that the ground you thought was stable has crumbled beneath you. The land shifts. The world as you know it is never the same again.

What do you do when your life, once full of plans and hopes, takes a different turn?

• You hold on.
• You breathe.
• You fight—for them, for yourself, for the life you still have, and the life you are yet to create.

As the months wore on, I watched Craig as he faced the challenges of treatment, of uncertainty, with strength. His resilience in the face of such a diagnosis became a quiet anchor in my own life, a reminder of the depths of the human spirit.

And yet, in the quiet moments when we were alone together, there was space for grief. Not just for the losses that cancer and multiple sclerosis brought, but for the lives we had imagined, the lives that were no longer possible. And that grief—soft and unspoken—was just as much a part of the journey as the hope and strength we tried to nurture in our hearts.

In the end, we didn’t get the life we expected. But somehow, we found a life that was our own—a life that was still beautiful in its own way, even if it was quieter, slower, more uncertain than we had ever imagined. We learned to embrace the fragility of our days and to find moments of joy in the unexpected.

Perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, that’s all we can really ask for: to live each day with all the love, grace, and patience we can muster—knowing that, despite the hardest of days, the human heart can endure, and even flourish, in the most challenging of circumstances.

And in that, we find our resilience.

Resources

A cancer diagnosis can turn life upside down in an instant, leaving patients and their families grappling with fear, uncertainty, and a new reality. For those walking this challenging path, emotional and practical support can make all the difference. Whether it’s counseling, financial assistance, or simply finding a community that understands, there are resources that can help ease the burden. In this section, we highlight two invaluable organizations that offer support for cancer patients and their families, providing essential services to help navigate the difficult journey ahead.

CancerCare – Support for Families Affected by Cancer
CancerCare provides practical and emotional support for those affected by cancer. Their services include free counseling, financial assistance, and educational resources for patients and their families.
Learn more at CancerCare

Cancer Support Community
Cancer Support Community is a nonprofit organization that offers support for cancer patients and their families. They provide a range of resources for coping with cancer, including counseling, support groups, and online communities.
Learn more at Cancer Support Community