Jessica "Jet" Bolz is a former competitive swimmer who was 11 years old when she fought her first cancer battle, diagnosed in 1984 with stage 2A Hodgkin's lymphoma. A relapse of the disease three months after initial treatment and two subsequent primary breast cancers caused by the radiation treatment to treat the lymphoma at age 25 and then at 33, she has spent much of her 36 years of survivorship as an advocate for treatments and cure and a source of hope for the clients she works with as a water fitness trainer and therapy aide (with Jetwaterfitness LLC). Instilling the idea that every moment counts, having an attitude of gratitude and the belief that "YOU CAN" is her main objective, and she believes purpose, as a long term survivor.

Jessica Bolz

Jessica Bolz is a four-time cancer survivor after diagnoses of Hodgkin lymphoma and breast cancer. Catch up on 

Recently I had two doctors scare the heck out of me. I had a very huge fibroid in my uterus and decided since in my 40 years of being a cancer survivor of several different diseases, I was looking for a minimalist approach to help relieve the symptoms of continual bleeding and pain as well as massive bloating by participating in a new type of ablation called the SONATA. Now I’ve been a researcher ever since my first diagnosis. I like to know what is happening and what the“big words” mean.

Surprisingly, I didn’t do that before going forward with this procedure. Maybe because I am so tired of my continual diagnoses and my having to look things up and talk endlessly to doctors. I’m not really sure why. I just knew I was supposedly with the best surgeon for the procedure, one who was labeled a “pioneer” in the field.

From the get-go, I wasn’t thrilled with her. She seemed to contradict herself constantly, but I read all her reviews. I talked with another doctor at my own home facility at Duke about how the surgeon had a 5-star rating, so how could she be anything but amazing? Except…She wasn’t.

The procedure itself was very simple. I was sedated and she stuck a hot prong into the fibroid and heated it so its blood supply would be cut off and thus the fibroid would essentially be eliminated. Initially, everything was fine.

The first month went by and I enjoyed almost no bleeding but then I started hemorrhaging and it wouldn’t stop. I went to the emergency room (ER), spoke to the surgeon and no one seemed to know what was happening to me.

I made an appointment to go back and see my surgeon and as always, I read my report from my ultrasound which showed that the fibroid as well as my uterus had grown!

Bleeding and scared as she walked in, I asked her why my fibroid had grown and why my uterus was bigger. Her answer was “I noticed that and I’m very concerned.” I thought to myself “Here we go again.”

She was going to claim that it may be the “C” word because it’s the easiest way to answer what’s going on and remove any blame from herself for what’s happening to me. I left her office in tears with my father but we both said it didn’t make sense. The fibroid was actually getting smaller before the procedure and then she enflamed it.

I went back home eager to speak with my Duke specialist to dispel what the surgeon had said, only to hear his support of her words “Fibroids don’t get bigger after an ablation! We have to think this is something more serious.”

Hmmm. Strange. I had read about women having embolizations, a similar procedure, and their stories of bleeding heavily and having their fibroid grow. I basically hung up on the Zoom call and thought both of these doctors had thrown me back in the cancer bin as the easy way out.

I scheduled a hysterectomy (surgical removal of the entire uterus) for the next month but in the meantime, I had my 

 and the hysterectomy, of course, went on the back burner.

Just recently and nine months after my heart transplant, I was with friends, and I felt something in my stomach drop. It turned out my body expelled the fibroid; a rarity for the body to do. And guess what… I ran it over to the lab and the pathology came back benign.

I rarely want to go to the ER because as soon as they see my chart they immediately diagnose me with something horrific based on my past. I have to challenge my doctors to think outside the box. Instead of taking the easy way out, I want them to do their homework and look at other things it could be.

Too many of us, besides the real events, have to go through scare after scare from doctors or surgeons who just don’t understand how to look at a survivor’s body any other way. I urge anyone I counsel to get second and third opinions, but most of all, to do their own research. I was glad I got to go back to them with my own studies of other women who have benign events like mine so I could help myself from not living as a victim or in fear.

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Articles

A patient with a history of cancer sought a minimally invasive procedure, SONATA, to address a large uterine fibroid. Despite initial success, complications arose, leading to increased bleeding and fibroid growth. The patient experienced frustration with medical professionals who suggested cancer recurrence without thorough investigation. After a heart transplant, the fibroid was naturally expelled and found benign. The experience highlights the importance of patient advocacy, second opinions, and thorough research, especially for cancer survivors. It underscores the need for healthcare providers to consider alternative diagnoses and avoid assumptions.

When you’ve had cancer do doctors assume every ailment is cancer for you? 

After Cancer, My Doctors Assume Everything I Have Is Cancer 

Survivorship: it’s a positive word that elicits the idea of success, winning and, as a four-time cancer survivor myself, the idea that everything is fine.

The reality for survivors is much different and my personal experience has even made me feel shunned and guilty by others who are neurotypical and dismissed. Survivors are constantly walking the tightrope of continuing to live.

When I was diagnosed with Hodgkin lymphoma as an 11-year-old, I never thought about the late-term side effects. What I wanted to hear was that I was going to live. But if I survived, how was my life going to be?

Yes, there was a reprieve for 12 years after a relapse right after radiation treatment in 1985, but there were constant x-rays and check-ups for the first five years and the anxiety of waiting for results all the time left me with a legacy of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

Let’s move to 12 years later. Was I warned at age 11 that I was at a higher risk for breast cancer down the road? Yes. But at that point and age, I just dismissed it. Here I was at 25 with a diagnosis of breast cancer in my right breast! I didn’t even focus on the fact that it could kill me. This was typically a disease for women who are older than me, so I thought, and now would have to have my breast removed. I couldn’t wrap my head around what was going to teach me the true meaning of survivorship.

Survivors would have to constantly be on alert. Survivors would have to struggle to find doctors who understood their long-term side effects. Survivors would get criticized by doctors or be on the receiving end of ridiculous statements like, “Wow you’ve been through so much. If I was you, I would have just given up.” (By the way, that was my anesthesiologist who I brought a grievance against.)

As life moved on, I was able to achieve so many goals and at the same time, my survivorship kept knocking on my door and ringing my bell or trying to climb through my window. I would get kudos for being such a strong woman and all I could think of was that this was not a title I asked for nor wanted.

I met my group of friends at Hodgkin’s International some time ago and for the first time, I felt like I was on the right planet. One where others were just like me, where we could share our stories and empathize with the pain, worry, sadness and handicaps that come with survivorship. 

It seemed that the longer I lived, the more of my complications from chemo and radiation were coming back to haunt me. On Nov. 6, 2023, I had a massive heart attack and died. I was brought back by Duke paramedics, and thankfully my heart hadn’t broken down beyond repair. With the help of my spiritual beliefs, Duke doctors and my son who is my health proxy, I survived and got yet another chance with a new heart.

Yes, I am proud of being a cancer survivor, but others misunderstand that we are not exactly fortunate, lucky or blessed. Survivorship is an entirely different way of life and the fight is for your entire existence.

Survivorship, often perceived as a triumph, presents a complex reality for cancer survivors, marked by ongoing challenges and psychological impacts. The journey involves navigating late-term side effects, PTSD, and societal misconceptions. Survivors face the constant vigilance of health monitoring and the struggle to find empathetic healthcare providers. Support networks, like Hodgkin’s International, offer solace and understanding. Despite achieving personal milestones, the specter of past treatments looms, as seen in the author's heart attack. Survivorship is a lifelong battle, misunderstood as mere fortune or luck.

As a four-time cancer survivor, I can tell you that survivorship means many things to each survivor.  

How Do You Survive Cancer Survivorship?  

When I was a little girl, my mother placed my sister and I in brownie camp to keep us socially busy. I was never very fond of it, except for the badges you could acquire if you showed you were accomplished in something and you wore those patches like decorated army officers on a sash. I started to make it my business to collect as many as I could, sewing, hiking, swimming, crafts…. What else could I find to win another patch? Maybe some psychologist would say that was an early display of a need to satisfy ego or aesthetically show others I was worthy, but all I know is it felt great. Years later I would be diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma at 10, in the middle of a very successful competitive swimming career where I was now collecting medals instead of badges.

It feels warm when we have a sense of accomplishment and even more so when someone acknowledges it. The first time I heard I was a “survivor” I was still an adolescent; naïve, in the process of learning emotions and reactions to things and now something more serious than anything else we face, the knowledge that we are only here for a limited time. This “survivor” title felt like the best brownie badge or medal in swimming I could have received because I had worked with everything. I had to get there, mentally, physically and emotionally. I would have that badge awarded to me 3 more times in my 39 years as a survivor and 4 more bouts of cancer. I realized as time went by, I wanted to utilize my survivorship to help others to feel empowered by example. “You can do whatever you want if you believe” was the mantra flowing in my mind and out of my mouth to my clients as I trained them. 

Every now and then I would get that “special” client. It’s the type of human who “knows it all”, is a “psychologist without the credentials”, a preacher and a teacher without any of. The pretense or self-reflection to realize what is coming from their own mouth is a complete contradiction to their own behavior. This particular woman would explain all her worldly adventures, brag about her strength and tenacity and love of herself and would pity me for not having boundaries and “allowing others to cross them”. I didn’t see myself that way, but as an empath and knowing my place as her trainer, I did a lot of biting my lip. Then recently, she said something that ignited an anger in me I had never felt before.

“My one wish for you Jessica is you would not define yourself as a cancer survivor”. It implies you are on the receiving end. You are thriver and you aren’t weak. You are here now to serve others.” Although the second part of or her statement was truth, all I could think was “HOW DARE SHE!!!!?”If it’s her perception that being a survivor is a weak work, then she’s entitled to it, but I see it as the biggest honor that I could share and even have labeled on me.She followed up by saying “what’s worse is saying the word “warrior” ...“You do know my website is jetwarriorfit.com?” Again, you shouldn’t be angry. Or feel like this is about you. This is about service to others. Why can’t I be proud of who I am at the same time encouraging and motivating others. Could I chalk it up to her older age or her own ongoing depression or just the fact that she was very verbose and always felt that her way was the actual highway? NO. NO. NO. Not this time. She doesn’t get to take a badge away from me that is my favorite one on my sash. And btw, I will scream out my WARRIOR survivor call whenever I can, and I know it is changing lives and continuing to bolster mine. Survivor is my favorite word.

I will continue to say that I am a “survivor,” and that is the best title I could ever receive.

Don't Tell Me I'm Not a Cancer Survivor!

Recently my grandmother passed away. She was 96 years old, and the last of her generation, alive, in our family. My aunt had been her major caretaker for the last 15 years and it was an arduous labor of love.

During the last week of my grandmother’s life, other family members were gathered back into the family circle to say goodbyes and make plans to fly out to New York for her wake and funeral. I had always been quite close with my aunt and confided in her and looked toward her nurturing love where it was absent from my own mother. So, when I got to the funeral home to see my aunt who had done all the prep work and had my grandmother with her in hospice care prior to her passing, I was not prepared for the sandpaper-esque emotional response she was having towards mostly everyone.

Understandably, she was under major distress and had the responsibility for taking on all the duties that are so emotionally draining with illness and, in this case, death. But the ensuing snappish responses towards me and others made me angry and feeling defensive.

I started to think back throughout my life and many of those years being in the midst of major anxiety, stress and distress due to my multiple battles with cancer. Is it OK to be rude to others because of what you are going through? Had I been?

Years ago, I think it was 2006, I was in the chemo treatment room in my oncology office, getting my infusion of paclitaxel for my second primary breast cancer and my fourth cancer battle. A man sat in the recliner next to me and he was visibly and audibly angry. His target became the nurse attending his IV. As he lashed out at her calling her incompetent, I saw her biting her lip and staring at him sternly but holding back because of her need to be professional.

I sat next to him, and my first thought was that he was such a horrible man, but then I thought a little more. This environment, that chair he reclined in, that little tv he was watching some game show on to pass the time, it wasn’t his choice. He didn’t want to be there, and more than that I believed he was scared.

I know I was frightened at first, but I had come to a place in my mind that this room was my safety nest. I was getting well in that room, and I liked that idea. It made me want to sit back in my chair and relax a little knowing this place was saving my life.

But I didn’t feel that way through what I call my “journey” all the time, and there were times where the nurse or doctor hurt me attempting to help. There were other times where I felt that my voice wasn’t being heard. That got me very upset, and I would suddenly spit out words meant to express my angst and frustration and I felt justifiably.

I think that it is never OK to lose your patience, but it’s unavoidable at times because our human response is very primal. When something isn’t right, we get annoyed. When we feel someone has hurt us, emotionally or physically, we lose our patience and get angry.

In a situation where it comes to our health, I think it’s OK to get mad if you know you are not being heard or handled by your medical team properly. Of course, there is a way to do it diplomatically, and that’s the catch. Sometimes we don’t take that breath before we blurt. We feel it, we say it. That that can be OK, too, at times if you can acknowledge what you did and why. If not, it’s important to apologize to that person it was directed at, at least explain why you responded the way you did.

My cousin went up to my aunt at the wake to pay his respects and introduce his girlfriend. My aunt had never really known him well, but he was doing what he could to be kind. He pronounced her name wrong, and she immediately went for the jugular, correcting him. He was embarrassed and quietly slipped away. His girlfriend had already preceded him.

I’m sure my aunt will never apologize for that or care to recognize it because it isn’t on her radar. That man in the chair yelling at that nurse didn’t apologize that day either and he didn’t explain why he was so vicious to the nurse.

I like to think that if we reflect a little more on those moments when we act not our best light because of a bigger situation like a death or an illness, we can free ourselves of the stress and unhealthy feeling it can leave us with. Impatience can cause pain for everyone. Acknowledging it can heal that pain.

When my grandmother passed, I noticed my aunt was ruder than usual, and I wondered if I was like that during my cancer experience... and if the pain I was going through excused that behavior. 

Jessica Bolz

After Cancer, My Doctors Assume Everything I Have Is Cancer

How Do You Survive Cancer Survivorship?

Don't Tell Me I'm Not a Cancer Survivor!

Does My Cancer Give Me a Pass at Patience?

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