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 

Living with chronic cancer means navigating the holidays with extra caution — but also with deeper gratitude for every moment I’m able to show up. Every year when the holidays roll around, I feel deeply grateful for another year. That’s the blessing in disguise — for me and cancer. It’s always there. I live with it.

Hearing the words, “I’m afraid it’s cancer, but at least it’s indolent,” changed me. There are so many different kinds of cancer. If you’re lucky enough to have one you can live alongside — or better yet, one that can be cured — then, in my humble opinion, there is so much to be grateful for.

When we’re able, my husband and I like to go away for the holidays, which means preparation — lots of it. A few weeks before we leave, I become extra cautious, always afraid of getting sick before the trip.

Next week, for example, there’s a holiday concert I would love to attend. My whole family will be there. This musical group hasn’t come to my community in years, and I was thrilled when I heard they were coming. But then reality set in. We’re supposed to leave the next morning. They are expecting over 1,800 people to be in attendance. I know what decision cancer forces me to make. There’s no way I can take a chance being in an indoor space with that many people. Add to that the number of kids who went home sick from my grandchildren’s school last week — there’s just too much going around right now.

Flying is another concern because of my very compromised immune system. I will, of course, wear a mask — even though hardly anyone ever does anymore. I’ll likely keep it on the entire flight, skipping food and drinks. I’ll sit by the window, with my husband stuck in the middle, helping create some distance between me and the stranger in the aisle seat. Then I’ll hope and pray I didn’t pick up anything on the plane that could ruin our holiday once we arrive.

Travel is stressful. Many times, I’ve ended up in an urgent care facility just days after arriving. My doctor has been very honest with me about the risks. Still, I’d rather try to navigate it all than accept that travel is off-limits. I’m not ready for that yet.

We live in an area with harsh winters, which means dining out is always indoors — something I have to avoid. Getting away somewhere warm, even briefly, allows me to eat outdoors and enjoy time with family or friends. That alone feels like such a gift.

The bottom line is this: I navigate what I can because I still want to live my life. I’m grateful for every day, and being with family and friends is what matters most to me — especially during the holidays. But everything requires extra planning and caution. I keep masks with me at all times, just in case. Even attending a school holiday program for my grandchildren takes thought and preparation, because it’s always a risk.

Sometimes, if the risk feels too high, I ask my husband to videotape an event for me. But I try to go whenever I can. You know why? I have FOMO: Fear Of Missing Out! It’s true. I hate missing anything, especially when my grandchildren are involved. I hope that makes you smile. Maybe you can relate.

This is the season of lights, kindness, delicious snacks, gift-giving, and love. I want to experience all of it — and feel it deeply. Living with chronic cancer means learning how to balance joy with caution and gratitude with realism.

May we all make the effort to enjoy the holidays while navigating them wisely. May we be gentle with ourselves and with one another. And may your holiday be filled with hope, healing and a glow that carries us gently into the new year.

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

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Living with chronic cancer requires navigating the holidays with caution, yet embracing gratitude for each moment. The author shares the challenges of managing health risks, such as avoiding crowded events and taking precautions during travel, to maintain well-being. Despite these challenges, the desire to experience life, especially with family, remains strong. The balance between joy and caution, and gratitude and realism, is emphasized. The author encourages others to enjoy the holidays wisely, with kindness and hope, while acknowledging the personal nature of their experience.

Living with chronic cancer means navigating the holidays with extra caution — but also with deeper gratitude for every moment I’m able to show up. 

Navigating the Holidays When Cancer Never Quite Leaves 

There’s an exclusive club no one wants to join, yet many of us find ourselves in it without warning. Hearing the words “You have cancer” can feel like the ground has shifted beneath you. Even when you suspect something is wrong, the moment it becomes real can still be shocking. When I first heard these words, a chill shot shot through my body, even though I already suspected it. It was the same reaction I had when someone I loved was near death. I thought I was ready and prepared myself, but when it actually happened, it still took my breath away. Sometimes, even when we know something intellectually, we are still unprepared emotionally. It’s as if we had no idea it could happen. Our minds may prepare, but our hearts rarely do.

In those early days after my diagnosis, I struggled to fall asleep. My thoughts raced, my fears got louder, and it felt as if cancer followed me into every room, concluding with my bedroom each night. One day, after a Costco run, my husband, Rick, walked in holding a box. Inside was a season of 

; this was a show he knew always made me laugh.

“It’s for us to watch,” he had told me. “One episode each night before bed, so we can fall asleep laughing.”

And somehow, it helped. Laughter became a soft landing at the end of each day. That small ritual didn’t erase my diagnosis, but it helped me breathe through it. That simple act of kindness reminded me that healing doesn’t always come from medicine — sometimes it comes from someone who shows up, sits beside you, and helps you find moments of joy you didn’t think possible.

Looking back, I appreciate how safe I felt sharing my true feelings with Rick, because when others asked how I was doing, I often said, “I’m fine,” even when I wasn’t. Many of us do that. We protect others from our pain while quietly carrying the weight ourselves. Another survivor once told me, “You don’t always have to say you’re fine.” She then shared an acronym for the word 

You can choose your own words for each letter; you can choose words that reflect how 

 truly feel. It’s a gentle way to be honest without giving a long explanation.

Of course, you may not want to share this with everyone. But finding a trusted friend or connecting with other survivors can make a tremendous difference. Talking about what you’re really feeling is healthier than bottling it up, which only adds more stress, and stress is something none of us need while facing cancer.

One of the most important things I learned was to tell myself, 

 It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. It’s okay to have days when you’re not fine. It’s okay to be honest about the hard parts.

Sometimes we simply need to permit ourselves to feel the truth of what we’re going through. And in that honesty, we often find strength we didn’t know we had. One of the most powerful things I learned was to tell myself, 

Because that’s where healing begins — with honesty, compassion, and permitting yourself to be exactly where you are today.

Receiving a cancer diagnosis can be an emotionally overwhelming experience, even when anticipated. Emotional preparation often lags behind intellectual awareness, leaving individuals unprepared for the reality. Support from loved ones, such as shared laughter, can provide comfort and aid in coping. Honest communication about feelings, rather than masking them, is crucial for emotional health. Acknowledging that it's okay not to be okay allows for genuine emotional processing and healing. Connecting with trusted individuals or fellow survivors can alleviate the burden of isolation and stress.

Facing my cancer diagnosis, I learned it’s okay not to be okay and found comfort in laughter, honesty, and the support of loved ones.

It’s Okay Not To Be Okay Through a Cancer Diagnosis 

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.

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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.

Linda Cohen

Navigating the Holidays When Cancer Never Quite Leaves

It’s Okay Not To Be Okay Through a Cancer Diagnosis

Tribute to My Husband: A Partner Who Shows Up

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

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