Cancer has touched my life in almost every way imaginable: daughter, caregiver, sister, survivor, and now patient advocate. These aren’t titles I ever expected to have, but each one has shaped the way I understand what it means to navigate cancer.
My experience with cancer began when my father was diagnosed with Hodgkin lymphoma in 1967. He was successfully treated and remained disease-free until his death in 2011 from an unrelated illness. Watching him go through cancer gave me an early understanding of what a diagnosis can mean to a family—and also of the hope that can come with successful treatment.
Decades later, cancer became a much bigger part of my life.
In 2022, my mother was diagnosed with diffuse large B-cell lymphoma after an unrelated X-ray revealed something suspicious. She lived in Michigan, and I became closely involved in managing her care. When she traveled to Florida to be treated close to my brother, I continued coordinating her care from a distance. After she successfully completed chemotherapy, I brought her to Indiana so I could keep a watchful eye on her. Although she responded to her cancer treatment, other health complications ultimately contributed to her passing in 2023.
While helping my mother through her treatment, my brother was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Fortunately, he is now disease-free.
Then, in 2026, I found myself once again in the role of caregiver, this time helping manage the care of my uncle in Michigan, who was facing a terminal illness along with multiple complex health issues.
And then there was my own diagnosis.
In 2024, I was diagnosed with marginal zone lymphoma, a type of non-Hodgkin lymphoma. Even with a husband who is a physician and a wonderful network of physician friends willing to help guide me, I found navigating my own diagnosis was overwhelming.
It took four different laboratories around the country to arrive at the correct diagnosis and staging. There were tests, scans, pathology reports, lab results, treatment decisions, second opinions, and an endless stream of information to absorb and understand.
After four rounds of chemotherapy, I was fortunate to be declared NED (no evidence of disease) in November 2024. I am now approaching the finish line of a two-year maintenance therapy program.
I was fortunate to have an exceptional medical team and a strong support system. But even with all of those resources, I discovered something that surprised me:
There were still so many questions.
And many of them weren’t medical questions.
Who should I call?
What does this report actually mean?
What questions should I be asking my doctor?
How do I keep track of everything?
How do I make sense of all the information coming at me?
What resources are available?
How do I coordinate everything when different doctors, offices, and specialists are involved?
And perhaps most importantly—what am I supposed to do when I don’t even know what I don’t know?
I began researching, asking questions, seeking second opinions, talking with physicians and other patients, and learning how to find reliable information. I became my own advocate because I had to.
Over time, I realized that the skills I had developed while managing the care of my family—and then navigating my own cancer—could be valuable to someone else.
I also began thinking about people who don’t have a radiologist for a husband, a large network of physicians, family members who can help, or someone who has the time and energy to make phone calls, organize medical information, research options, and simply help them figure out what comes next.
If navigating cancer was overwhelming for me with all the resources I had available, what must it be like for someone trying to do it alone?
That question stayed with me.
After helping several family members—and myself—navigate the complicated emotional, physical, and practical challenges that come with cancer, I realized I wanted to help other people going through similar experiences.
Not as another doctor. Not to tell someone what treatment they should have.
But to be the person beside them who can help make the process feel a little less overwhelming.
In 2024, I began talking with a friend who had worked as a patient advocate. I started asking myself: Could I do this? Is there really a need?
The more I learned, the more certain I became. There is a need.
Cancer can make you feel as though your entire world has suddenly become medical—appointments, tests, pathology reports, medications, insurance questions, treatment decisions, and unfamiliar terminology.
My goal as a patient advocate is to help you navigate that world.
I know what it is like to sit on the other side of the desk. I know what it feels like to hear a diagnosis and wonder what happens next. I know how difficult it can be to process information while you’re frightened, exhausted, or simply trying to keep life moving.
Most importantly, I know that sometimes you don’t need another person telling you what to do.
Sometimes you just need someone in your corner. That is why I became a patient advocate.