🌱 After a year away, I want to share an update.
The last 14 months have been a blur. I had just come off a best-selling book launch, sharing the stories of hundreds of cancer survivors. I spoke with thousands of doctors, experts, and thought leaders. I gave my first TEDx talk in front of a few hundred people. I traveled on assignment to eight vibrant cities across India, wandered through their streets, and received a sacred blessing in the holy city of Varanasi from a mysterious stranger. I even covered the Oscars red carpet in Los Angeles. Life felt expansive. Alive. Unstoppable.
And then, a few months later, it all stopped.
I got the news I never expected: my cancer had returned. This time, stage 4 Diffuse Large B-cell Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma — an enemy I thought I had made peace with ten years ago. I like to say I was always vigilant, but this time, vigilance was not enough.
It started as a routine appointment with my ENT that even my oncologist thought was nothing. What I imagined would be a quick check-up for some nasal meds turned into an unusual discovery in my nasopharynx. An MRI, a bilateral biopsy, and suddenly my world contracted. The MyChart mobile notification arrived on a Friday afternoon, spelling it out in clinical language. Shock. Fear. The stark reality: I couldn’t muster the strength to make it to my 25th-year college reunion in New York City the next day.
I knew this enemy well. After a decade in remission, you come to know its every whim, its every detail. But this time, I would have to face it differently. I leaned into every tool I had: my training as a board-certified wellness coach, daily rituals, research, strategy, my inner resilience, and even AI.
Today, September 30th, marks my second birthdate, what doctors call a medical rebirth. When your bone marrow is completely depleted, the old you essentially disappears — along with the immunity you once gained from childhood vaccinations. The months that followed were surreal: PET scans, MRIs, CTs, bone marrow aspirations, blood tests, chemotherapy, high-dose chemo, and stem cell harvesting. I underwent a 29-day autologous stem cell transplant and faced a sepsis scare with an ICU transfer. I struggled with basic bodily functions like eating and defecating, and completed an additional eight rounds of immunotherapy over five months. Those long days spent in an isolated double-door hospital room felt like a spiritual exile, leaving me 26 pounds lighter and my skin several shades darker by the end. Months of physical therapy helped rebuild strength, combat deconditioning, and manage side effects such as tachycardia.
I knew I had to give everything I had. It was intense. Exhausting. Transformative. And at times, profoundly lonely.
But here I am, a little over a year later, with a complete response (CR) to treatment, enjoying weekly bootcamp classes. Grateful beyond words. Stronger, yes, but also softer. More present. More aware. More alive. I practice mindful detachment while deeply appreciating each moment I’m still given.
This day reminds me that even when life knocks you down, even when the enemy you thought you’d defeated returns, you can rise. We may not choose what happens to us, but we can choose how we respond, and how that response shapes the way we view suffering, surrender, and acceptance. In the quiet moments between hospital rooms, scans, and consultations, I found anchors in silence and stillness, as ancient scriptures often remind us are available anytime, anywhere.
To truly heal, I sought answers not just from my superb medical team, but from the full spectrum of healing: conventional, unconventional, energetic, and even mystical.
And what have I learned? It is possible to rebuild. To turn fear into fuel, pain into purpose, and uncertainty into possibility. What burned me left fresh soil for me to harvest.
Cancer may test us. But it does not define us. I’m no one special — just someone who remains, a witness to the call to keep finding my way back to joy.
May this story remind you that reinvention is possible. 🌟