F. Linda Cohen, from Baltimore, now lives in Franklin, Michigan. She attended UMBC and attained her Masters’ Degree from Oakland University, Rochester, Michigan. Linda, a retired reading specialist, with a specialty in dyslexia, published a book documenting her parents’ story in February, 2019. Cohen’s book, "Sarinka: A Sephardic Holocaust Journey From Yugoslavia to an Internment Camp in America," is currently in the libraries of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington D.C. , Yad Vashem Holocaust Museum in Israel, the Zekelman Holocaust Memorial Center and other community and school libraries.

Cohen was diagnosed with small lymphocytic lymphoma in 2009. 

Linda Cohen

Linda Cohen is a survivor of small lymphocytic lymphoma and was diagnosed in 2009. Catch up on all of 

As this year winds down and we begin to think about celebrating the holidays, it is often a time of deep gratitude for me. In that spirit, I want to appreciate and acknowledge the one person who has had a profoundly positive impact on me throughout my 16-year journey with chronic small lymphocytic lymphoma — my husband, Rick.

Rick and I have been married for 52 years. I’ll never forget how he hugged me so tightly after I received my diagnosis. At the time, we both read that the “average” lifespan was 10 years. He looked at me and said he would be with me every step of the way — and he has stayed true to his word. 

He came with me to each set of infusions that I needed three different times over the 16 years. He sat beside me during radiation treatments when my cancer entered my lacrimal glands above my eyes, and again years later when it reached my cheeks. Through it all, he cheered me on when I needed it the most.

As time went on, I began experiencing many sinus infections, and my doctor informed me that I needed to begin IVIG — a medical treatment of concentrated antibodies (immunoglobulin) to help my now-compromised immune system. These treatments are administered directly into the bloodstream. Rick was all in, accompanying me every four weeks and sitting with me for five hours at a time. I will continue these the rest of my life, with Rick by my side, hopefully.

Eventually, a new subcutaneous infusion became available that could be done at home. Rick immediately encouraged me to pursue it, saying how much easier it would be to do this in the comfort of our own home — and in about half the time. He attended all the training sessions with me to learn how to administer it correctly. Together, we went through six sessions, videoing parts of the process, taking photos of key steps, and jotting down detailed notes. When the nurse finally felt we were ready, we took on the responsibility ourselves.

I cannot thank my husband enough for how supportive he has been along the way. I recently needed knee-replacement procedure — at a fortunate time, since I am currently off my cancer medication, which needed to happen before surgery. Rick simply said, “Let’s do this so we can continue to walk together for years to come!” He never once hesitated or considered how difficult my recovery might be for him. I wouldn’t have been able to get through it without his love, encouragement, attentive care and the meals he prepared for me — breakfast, lunch and dinner!

To have someone like Rick by your side is more than a blessing — it is a true gift. If you’re a caretaker reading my blog, this is what it looks like to really show up for someone. This is what it looks like to help a person feel she’s not a burden, but an opportunity — a chance to demonstrate love, commitment and the simple truth that this person matters.

I realize that not everyone can provide this level of care because of life’s many obligations, but my motto has always been, “If there’s a will, there’s a way” — to be there for someone in whatever capacity you can. This kind of care requires no repayment, yet it sets an example for others to witness — friends, family and even future caretakers — who may someday have the opportunity to show up for you in return.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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The narrative highlights the profound impact of a supportive partner in managing chronic small lymphocytic lymphoma over 16 years. The author expresses deep gratitude for her husband, Rick, who has been a steadfast companion through various treatments, including infusions, radiation, and IVIG therapy. His unwavering support extended to learning new medical procedures and assisting with home-based care. The story underscores the importance of compassionate caregiving, emphasizing that such dedication is a true gift and sets an example for others. It also acknowledges the challenges and rewards of being a caregiver.

I want to appreciate and acknowledge the one person who has had a profoundly positive impact on me throughout my 16-year journey with chronic small lymphocytic lymphoma.

Tribute to My Husband: A Partner Who Shows Up 

I share how walking has helped me through lymphoma, knee surgeries and treatments, and why staying active keeps me physically, mentally and spiritually strong.

I have been a walker long before my diagnosis of small lymphocytic lymphoma sixteen years ago. After that diagnosis — and through every phase of treatment, from infusions to radiation — I was determined to keep walking. Walking has given me a wealth of benefits: physical, psychological, and even spiritual.

About ten years ago, I began experiencing serious knee pain. I received injections until they no longer helped. Eventually, I realized I couldn’t wait until I was unable to walk from the family room to the kitchen—that would already be too late. I decided to bite the bullet and have a total knee replacement. I weighed all the benefits walking had brought me and knew I wanted to stay active. The alternative, inactivity, would only lead to more problems. I won’t minimize the surgery — it was hard work with physical therapy and pushing myself. But ten years later, I can say without hesitation, it was worth it.

Now, however, my right knee is acting up. I can’t fully extend it, and consequently, I’ve altered how I walk. Evidently, I’m compensating and moving my body differently. When I saw my orthopedic doctor, he explained that the pain and discomfort I feel—shin splints, thigh pain, and psoas muscle pain—are all referred from my knee. Since I’m temporarily off my BTK inhibitor (Calquence, also known as acalabrutinib) and, as he kindly reminded me, “you’re younger than you’re ever going to be,” he suggested this is the best time to do another knee replacement.

All I could think was, “Easy for you to say!” He showed me how my knee looks worse this year compared to last year’s X-rays — and how it will only continue to deteriorate.

I went home and gave it a lot of thought. If I knew how long I had to live, it would help me decide! But of course, no one knows that. As I’ve mentioned in other blogs, I like to think of this as another time I’m deciding to buy green bananas. I turn 74 this week, and I’ve decided to bite the bullet a second time. Although I’m ten years older now and have a more compromised immune system, I’m scared — scared of infection most of all, and of how much harder the recovery might be. I’ve had to really talk myself into it.

And while I’m talking myself into it, I want to talk to everyone who isn’t walking for exercise at least a few times a week. I know firsthand how helpful it is to keep moving, especially with arthritis. Walking is the simplest and most enjoyable way to help our bodies.

First, always check with your doctor to make sure it’s safe for you. If it is, start small — just ten minutes a day. Then add another ten minutes later. You don’t have to walk for 30 minutes straight to get the benefits. Walking can lower stress hormones, boost immune cells, reduce heart rate and blood pressure, and lift your mood.

Walk with a friend and the time will fly by with conversation. Walk alone and you may find spiritual peace, reflecting on your gratitude for simply being able to walk. Many would give anything for that gift. Walking strengthens the body, keeps joints flexible, and allows you to connect — with yourself, others, or the world around you. Listen to podcasts or music that inspires you. Notice the beauty of nature through each season. Walking can make you feel more alive.

There are definitely times I feel lazy and have to push myself to get going. But I’m always glad I did — I always feel better afterward. If I inspire even one of you to start walking at least three times a week, it will be so worth it.

Yes… I’ve just convinced myself once again that I need to do this. Am I still scared? Absolutely. But I believe in pushing myself so I can live fully, for however long I’m blessed to have. This surgery, hard as it may be, will help me stay active and continue reaping the physical, emotional, and spiritual rewards that walking has always given me.

Walking has been a crucial part of the author's life, providing physical, psychological, and spiritual benefits, even after a small lymphocytic lymphoma diagnosis. Despite knee pain and the need for knee replacements, the author remains committed to walking, emphasizing its importance for maintaining health and well-being. The author encourages others to walk regularly, highlighting its benefits such as stress reduction, improved mood, and joint flexibility. Despite fears of surgery and recovery, the author is determined to continue walking to live fully and enjoy its numerous rewards.

Walking Through It All: Staying Active With Cancer and Knee Surgery

It has taken me 16 years, but I’m finally truly coming to grips with the fact that I’m living with a chronic cancer that will be with me for the rest of my life. Even now, when I’m off my medication for a kind of “remission” and feeling superficially cancer-free, I’m reminded again that it’s still part of me.

I see a dermatologist every six months for a full body check because I’ve had basal cell and squamous cell lesions in the past. For last few years, I’ve had some pre-cancer areas that were treated and resolved.

I confidently went for my body check recently, feeling on top of things and walking in with no concerns. Then I heard, “Oh, this definitely looks like a basal cell! See … let me shine this light on it and show you the pearly essence.”

My heart sank a bit hearing this dreaded news — again. The PA said she thought she could remove it all, but, of course, it still had to be biopsied to confirm she was correct.She told me she thought she did, but if not, I might have to come back. I was told it would take a week to 10 days.

After two weeks, I began to assume all was fine. Still, I decided to call and confirm. The nurse told me they did not get it all and I would need to have further excision.

After not hearing anything for so long, I hoped and believed all was fine, but deep down, I knew I needed to confirm it. These are the times I’m reminded that cancer is always part of my life. It will never fully go away. I never know when it will rear its ugly head. Once again, I found myself playing the waiting game, but feeling like I was most likely “safe.”

This is what I mean when I say the scares just never go away. I was quite surprised, but I am ultimately happy that this little spot that I thought was nothing was found early and will be taken care of now. It also reinforces how important it is to keep up with these body checks, even when I feel sure everything is fine.

One time in the past, I said to my Mohs surgeon, “No offense, but I really don’t ever want to see you again!”

He smiled gently and replied, “I’m very sorry, but you most likely will. The prevalence is increased with your kind of lymphoma, unfortunately.” I was quite surprised.

I’ve learned to cope by not letting these scares dominate my daily life. I don’t want to lose all the good moments by constantly worrying about what might come next. I have mentioned before, but I feel it bears repeating that each morning, I give myself about 15 minutes to feel gratitude and give voice to my worries. Then I move on with my day and place those fears on the back burner. This didn’t just happen overnight — it took time, effort and awareness. I had to understand that this was the only way to truly live each day fully, or else precious time would be needlessly lost. For me, it’s a lesson worth repeating. It’s how I keep these scares from taking over my life.

Even after all these years, I’ve accepted that the scares will never completely go away — but neither will my resilience. Every new test, every anxious wait, every small scar reminds me not just of what I’ve faced, but of how far I’ve come. Cancer may always be a part of my story, but it doesn’t get to write the ending. I do — each day I choose to live with gratitude, faith and the quiet courage to keep moving forward.

Living with chronic cancer involves ongoing vigilance and acceptance of its persistent presence. Regular medical check-ups are crucial, as cancer can resurface unexpectedly, necessitating further treatment. Emotional resilience is vital in managing the psychological burden of living with cancer. The author emphasizes the importance of gratitude and mindfulness in daily life, allowing for a balance between acknowledging fears and embracing life's positive moments. Despite the constant threat of recurrence, the author maintains control over their narrative, choosing to live with courage and gratitude.

Even after all these years with small lymphocytic lymphoma, I’ve accepted that the scares will never completely go away — but neither will my resilience.

Scares Never Seem to Go Away

I once read a book entitled, “This is Real and You Are Completely Unprepared,” by Alan Lew. The title was written in all caps which grabbed my attention. Although it wasn’t talking about hearing a scary diagnosis, it perfectly described how I felt when my doctor spoke the dreaded words:

Looking back over my 16 years of living with chronic cancer, I can still feel the support my family and friends wrapped around me from the very beginning. At first, I didn’t even understand what “chronic cancer” meant. All I heard was, “You have cancer.”

But from the very start, there were defining moments of support — moments so vivid that they remain etched in my memory as if they happened yesterday.

My husband could hardly speak. It was as if he’d been punched in the stomach and all his words were tied in a knot he couldn’t untangle. He knew he couldn’t fix this one for me. He was a mess. Neither of us said much on the drive home from the doctor’s office. Later that evening, though, he came over, wrapped me in his arms, and sobbed. In that embrace, I felt the depth of his love and the weight of his helplessness.

My oldest daughter burst into tears the moment I told her. Perhaps I made the mistake of breaking the news over the phone, but I also knew she was with her best friend, who would help her through the initial shock. Within days, she arrived with a binder full of information — diet suggestions, exercise routines, and carefully researched articles about my specific cancer. She had gone into problem-solving mode, her determination written all over her face. Her message to me was clear: “We’ll help you beat this, Mom.”

My middle daughter’s response was quieter, but no less powerful. She simply said, “I’d like to come over and go for a walk with you. Okay?”

I still remember the path we walked and how freely my emotions poured out that day. The rhythm of our footsteps, the comfort of her steady presence — it was as if the simple act of walking side by side helped me release my feelings.

My youngest daughter was in her final year of law school. She called and said softly, “I’m so sorry, Mom.” I could hear her sadness, but I also sensed she was holding back, keeping a part of herself protected so she could stay focused on the demands of school. Even so, she checked in more often than usual, and each call was a reminder of her quiet but unwavering love.

It struck me how differently each of them processed the same news. Each response was unique, shaped by who they were at that moment in their lives. Yet when I think back, their first acts of support rise to the surface immediately, with no effort at retrieval.

As time went on, I shared my diagnosis with friends, and they, too, showed support in different ways when treatment was needed a few years after my diagnosis. Some called frequently to check in. Some asked if they could drop off cake or comforting soups. A few offered to accompany me to treatment, though I preferred having my husband by my side. Still, I knew if I did need them, they would be there. My closest friends found ways to stay present by listening, caring, and showing up without fanfare. My more casual friends often said, “Let me know if you need anything,” and though I appreciated the thought, I came to realize how different those words felt compared to the tangible gestures of my inner circle.

Through these experiences, I learned lessons I carry with me to this day. I learned that real support requires sensitivity — that it means respecting boundaries and never overstepping. I learned that offering specific help is far more meaningful than vague promises. And I learned that sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is simply show up, quietly, without expectation, and let the person know you’re there.

It often takes being patient to truly understand how best to support others in their time of need. Unfortunately, life has a way of placing us all on one side or the other at some point. When that time comes, I hope to bring forward the lessons etched into my own experience — the defining moments of support that carried me when I needed it most.

Because while I was, indeed, completely unprepared for those words — “You have cancer” — the love and support that surrounded me reminded me that hopefully you won’t have to face the unprepared, real moments of life alone and you will be open to finding and accepting a support system to help you.

Receiving a cancer diagnosis can be an overwhelming experience, leaving individuals feeling unprepared and vulnerable. The support from family and friends plays a crucial role in navigating this challenging journey. Each person's response to the news is unique, reflecting their personality and circumstances. Meaningful support involves sensitivity, respecting boundaries, and offering specific help rather than vague promises. The power of simply being present and showing up without expectations is invaluable. These lessons in support and empathy are essential for both those facing illness and those offering assistance.

I reflect on how my family and friends showed love in different ways during the early days of my chronic cancer diagnosis.

Linda Cohen

Tribute to My Husband: A Partner Who Shows Up

Walking Through It All: Staying Active With Cancer and Knee Surgery

Scares Never Seem to Go Away

The Defining Moments of Support After Hearing ‘You Have Cancer’

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