I learned I have a very rare, aggressive form of soft-tissue sarcoma that metastasized after treatment. Phyllodes tumor is so rare that half the oncologists, surgeons and doctors I’ve seen have disagreed about exactly what category of tumor it is, what treatments are available and whether it can even be considered a breast cancer. (The consensus among my oncologists: It is a cancer in the breast but not of the breast.)

Phyllodes tumor is so rare that when I received my diagnosis, all the scientific literature agreed on just one thing: If it metastasizes, the prognosis is “universally fatal within three years.” When the first biopsy showed that that tumor was benign, pathology after surgery revealed it as high-grade malignant and then I faced metastasis within a matter of months, a lot of people seemed surprised that I laughed and joked through the entire experience.

My family had to get used to my dark jokes about my own death and mangled body after surgeries and treat- ments that may or may not work. My oncologists seemed relieved that I could still laugh and look to the future. My primary care provider was concerned that I might not be processing my emotions. My nurses smiled and told me that “attitude is everything.”

Here’s the thing about my diagnosis: Yes, it was shocking and dismaying and daunting at times. But it was also an opportunity to acknowledge the absurdity of life in general and really learn about letting go. It became a wonderful opportunity to remind myself to laugh, because whether I have a week left or three years or, miraculously, even longer, I don’t intend to have that amount of time pass in misery, fear and stress. I intend for my time to be filled with joy and stupid jokes. I intend to see this time as the ultimate lesson in how ridiculous life can be, and I’m going to embrace that. Because let me tell you, life is ridiculous.

In the span of one year, I went from being an athletic dancer and model to having body parts cut out of me and wondering what music I would want played at my funeral. I went from “thank goodness it’s benign” to “oh dang, looks like we’re at ‘universally fatal’ status.” I went from being relieved at finding out AIM chemotherapy — Adriamycin (doxorubicin), ifosfamide, and mesna — was actually working on my metastasis to being told we couldn’t continue chemo because my body wasn’t rebounding fast enough. I went from healing from additional surgery and chemotherapy to finally having a chance to rebuild my life ... straight into lockdown for COVID-19.

Did I mention that life is ridiculous? The week my blood counts were finally recovering adequately from chemo and I was about to go back to work, dance and my other activities is the same week that COVID-19 emerged in the United States, in my state, in my region. I went from self-quarantine and wearing a face mask everywhere straight into ... self-quarantine and wearing a face mask everywhere.

I like to joke that “A Series of Unfortunate Events” was supposed to be a cute fiction, not an accurate description of my life. When people compliment me that I don’t “look sick,” I joke that it’s because I’m dying on the inside, not the outside. I love jokes and dark humor because while I’m laughing, I know I’m still living.

We can’t control everything that happens to us, but there is one thing we can control: how we react to it. And I intend to laugh. I’m going to laugh in the face of death, and I’m going to laugh as long as I live. We can’t always know when we are going to die, so we might as well smile until it happens.

If we’re really lucky, we might even be smiling when it happens.

Life can be ridiculous, one survivor writes.

Laughing in the Face of Cancer and Death

Jessica Lough

My melanoma journey began in the summer of 2018, though I didn't realize it at the time. While at the beach, I noticed a new mole on my thigh. I didn't think much of it and forgot about it until eight months later, in March 2019. Curious about the new mole, I Googled its significance and learned that new or changing moles should be checked by a dermatologist. Trusting my gut, I made an appointment.

At the dermatologist's office, the doctor reassured me that it was likely nothing but decided to biopsy the mole just to be safe. Two days later, I received a call asking me to come in. My heart sank, knowing that bad news was likely. The diagnosis was melanoma, and at 31 years old, I found myself grappling with the reality of cancer. I was quickly referred to a surgeon, who scheduled scans and surgery to remove the cancer and test nearby lymph nodes.

Our hope was that the cancer hadn't spread beyond my leg, but a week after surgery, I learned it had reached my lymph nodes, advancing to stage 3. The fear and uncertainty were overwhelming, but I knew I needed to stay positive. I made a pact with myself to maintain a normal life, enjoy the things I loved and strengthen my faith in God. Prayer became my solace and I developed a deep personal relationship with God.

After surgery, I was declared cancer-free but underwent a year of immunotherapy to prevent recurrence. This treatment, a monthly infusion to boost my immune system, was challenging but manageable. By May 2020, I completed immunotherapy and began regular scans every three months.

In May 2023, a routine ultrasound revealed an enlarged lymph node in my groin. I had a gut feeling that melanoma was back. Tests confirmed a recurrence, but thankfully, it hadn't spread beyond the lymph nodes. I underwent another surgery to remove 17 lymph nodes, one of which was positive for melanoma. Despite the physical challenges, including developing lymphedema and cellulitis, I remained thankful and optimistic.

I started targeted therapy to prevent further recurrence, but the side effects were severe, and I had to stop after two months. This was a difficult period, but I continued to share my story to raise awareness about melanoma. Nearly 90% of cutaneous melanoma cases are linked to UV exposure from the sun or tanning beds.

Currently, I'm not undergoing any treatment but have regular scans and blood work to monitor my health. Although melanoma has brought many challenges, it has also taught me valuable life lessons and strengthened my faith in God. I am reminded daily of God's presence and am grateful for everything He has done in my life.

In closing, I want to leave you with one last thought: “Nothing is permanent. When you’re in the thick of a really bad time, whether it be cancer treatment or any other challenge, it can be hard to remember that this, too, shall pass. You learn the most about yourself when life really sucks. Enjoy the good times when they come, and when the bad times come, know that it won’t be forever.”

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A personal journey with melanoma began with the discovery of a mole in 2018, leading to a stage 3 diagnosis. Despite surgery and immunotherapy, a recurrence occurred in 2023, necessitating further surgery and targeted therapy. The experience highlighted the importance of early detection and the significant role of faith and positivity in coping with cancer. The narrative underscores the link between UV exposure and melanoma, emphasizing awareness and prevention. The journey is a testament to resilience, with regular monitoring continuing to ensure health stability.

I was diagnosed with stage 3 melanoma at 31, faced recurrence and now share my journey to raise awareness, stay hopeful and trust in God’s plan.

Melanoma Taught Me Faith, Gratitude and That Nothing Is Permanent

Starr Crutcher

What does it mean to live one’s life to the fullest with stage 4 cancer when there is no cure in sight? In late summer of 2015, I was introduced to Mary Gooze. I knew Mary had terminal breast cancer and was swimming in every lake she possibly could to raise awareness for this disease. The diagnosis was grim, and Mary and her husband, Rob, felt the best chance of hope was to raise money to go directly to late-stage breast cancer research on a local level.

Mary, a retired teacher, had received a breast cancer diagnosis and was treated in 2012. Twenty months after Mary’s initial diagnosis, she was training for one of her now-routine swims when she was told her cancer was back — and it had metastasized. As she entered the water, Mary felt stronger and stronger, giving her the idea to start an initiative called One Woman, Many Lakes. The goal: to raise awareness, to educate and to raise much-needed funds for research.

After several meetings with researchers and clinicians at the University of Wisconsin (UW) Carbone Cancer Center, the Goozes put all their philanthropic and fundraising efforts toward the More for Stage IV Fund, which they created at UW-Madison to open more opportunities for survival for women like Mary.

Six years after we met at the UW Carbone Cancer Center, the Goozes have raised $2 million for stage 4 breast cancer research, funding new projects on immunotherapy, liquid biopsies and improved treatment options for patients with stage 4 disease. They have provided funding for over 75 researchers and engaged the community to rally around this often-overlooked cause.

Through her swims, Mary has met politicians, journalists and other patients thriving with stage 4 breast cancer who are inspired by her. She has encountered community members who ended up holding private fundraisers in their homes. Mary also now holds onto the spirits of young women she’s connected with who have sadly passed away — women like Heather McManamy, whose obituary went viral and who wrote, “Cards for Brianna: A Lifetime of Lessons and Love from a Dying Mother to Her Daughter.”

Mary has swum in lakes as far away as Ireland, Iceland, Kauai and as close as Lake Monona in Madison, Wisconsin — all in the name of raising money and awareness. Before she enters the water, she says a few words about why she is swimming and always ends her talk with the benediction: “Research is our best hope.” A lot of people with this swimmer’s diagnosis would stay home and rest. Maybe they would do a little virtual fundraising. But taking to the lakes is a unique and personal spin on shedding a light on Mary’s disease.

Through these adventures, Mary has influenced and inspired so many other women with stage 4 cancer who have taken on fundraisers of their own — all for the More for Stage IV fund at the cancer center. Numerous women have been inspired to raise money for their birthdays, with one setting a goal to raise $40,000 for her 40th, and another woman attempting $50,000 for her 50th. Both surpassed their goals. Meanwhile, Rob and Mary have always been open to matching a certain amount during these fundraisers. They decided to raise $70,000 for Mary’s 70th this past summer.

On top of that, Rob surprised Mary on her 70th birthday by establishing a $2 million endowment in their names to a breast cancer oncologist who will now focus on metastatic breast cancer research in his lab.

Anyone who encounters the Goozes leaves inspired and with hope. Mary has mentored so many others who have a similar diagnosis. They go to the nation’s capital, peer-review breast cancer research and are active in so many ways. After one meeting with a gym owner, the gym held a night of awareness for their fund, several of their attorneys hosted a fundraiser at home, a group of volleyball players organized a tournament and a group of artists did an art show with proceeds going to More for Stage IV. This is just a small sample of people in our community who have been touched by Rob and Mary’s story.

While Mary is living with this, it does not define her. She and Rob continue to travel all over the world, hiking and swimming, kayaking and fishing. They are also involved in many other organizations, Rob having been the president of the Madison Rotary, on the board for Special Olympics and treasurer for Three Gaits, a therapeutic horseback riding nonprofit. The couple also support the Madison libraries, the Madison housing nonprofit Porchlight and the American Red Cross.

Metastatic breast cancer research is underfunded because a lot of research dollars go to prevention and early-stage cancer. Through the More for Stage IV fund, we have been able to advance our knowledge and research of this devastating disease and bring that same hope to patients across Wisconsin and the world.

For more news on cancer updates, research and education, don’t forget to 

A retired teacher with breast cancer is recognized for her dedication to raising money and awareness for metastatic breast cancer by swimming across as many lakes as possible.

One Woman, Many Lakes: Swimming to Raise Awareness for Metastatic Breast Cancer

Janie Winston, B.S.

For the past 2 years, I have worked alongside Carmela Cuccurullo, NP. I have never seen someone in hard-soled clogs move as much as she does. You will find her running to and from the treatment floor to guide the infusion nurses at the Ruttenberg Treatment Center. She can often be seen rushing to manage treatment and address conflict while helping care for the two dozen patients in clinic.

It is even more remarkable when you consider that Carmela works in a department that accounts for 25% of all treatments received in one of Manhattan’s busiest treatment centers. With the cross-coverage she provides, she has personally worked with approximately 41% of all patients within the multiple myeloma department.

Not only does she dive headfirst into the most challenging situations of every clinic, but she is also the primary team’s first point of contact for this patient population. On any clinic day, you can arrive at the office to find Carmela already running through the huddle list, finding the most challenging patients, pointing them out and exclaiming, “I’ll see them!” From the most anxious patients who make a scene in the infusion center, to family members needing monthly treatment calendars to keep on top of their loved one’s schedules, to the patients in wheelchairs whose transport sent them to the wrong hospital, Carmela invests her time.

One notable case of the care that she provides is a patient Carmela has encountered since 2022. “QZ” was a frequent no-show patient for treatment and follow-up appointments alike, his course complicated by being barely middle-aged and already having received half a dozen lines of therapy. He had chronic fatigue, acute kidney injury, frequent transfusions to address his anemia and pathological rib fractures. Add the financial burden of commuting to several different clinic sites within the five New York boroughs to receive comprehensive care, and you can appreciate why this patient would appear irritable and nonadherent. He stared at the ground as the laboratory assistants drew his blood, his clothes often were disheveled, and he barely uttered a word except for a few grunts when greeted. Giving him care was by no means an easy task, but would Carmela take the easy route? No. Enter Carmela, already reviewing recent local laboratory results while coordinating the patient’s treatment plan in Brooklyn, scheduling a bone marrow biopsy in Chelsea, and texting the social work team to assist with transportation to get this patient to his follow-up on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. She is ready to meet this challenge ... but the patient never shows up. Upset and frustrated, as any health care provider would be, Carmela is back on the phone rearranging schedules, making sure that the next time the patient comes into the office there will be no excuses because she is taking ownership of this patient’s care coordination. She even calls the patient directly to make sure he has everything he needs for the next visit and understands how critical it is that he shows up. This is a seemingly endless cycle of disappointment. Countless clinics have ended with Carmela frustrated enough to stop caring and disassociate herself from this thankless task, but she never stops.

Fast forward one tireless year later, a new treatment and an almost new person as QZ strolls into the clinic smiling. His once-stooped posture is now straightened, no doubt to show off the fashionable outfit he is wearing. As he sits in the exam room, I remark how good it is to see him. He replies with a sly grin. Then I asked if he had seen Carmela, and the patient paused. His eyes dart away and, with embarrassment, says, “No.” Many of us are familiar with this look of embarrassment when you are ashamed of your behavior. It is the same look as when you know someone has bent over backward to help you, been one of your biggest supporters and now that you have a moment of clarity, it might be time to say, “Thank you.” After returning to the clinic huddle, I mention to Carmela that our patient is looking better than before and that she should say hello. Carmela stares at her computer screen and nods, saying, “Sure, maybe,” which I have learned is the equivalent of a victory lap for her. For once, she does not need to end the clinic flustered, rifling through her papers to make a contingency plan for this young man. All the effort she put into him was finally paying off.

This is why Carmela is an Extraordinary Healer: She does not look for credit or brag about her work, nor does she just sit back and enjoy her success. Carmela lives in the struggle that is oncology nursing and bears the weight of responsibility for patients on her shoulders. As a mentor, she is a true example of what it means to coordinate patient care.

Carmela Cuccurullo, NP, exemplifies dedication and resilience in oncology nursing at the Ruttenberg Treatment Center. She manages a significant patient load, providing cross-coverage and personalized care, particularly in the multiple myeloma department. Her commitment is highlighted through her relentless efforts with a challenging patient, "QZ," whose transformation reflects her impact. Despite numerous setbacks, Carmela's persistence and coordination skills eventually lead to the patient's improvement. Her humility and dedication to patient care make her an exemplary figure in the field, embodying the essence of an extraordinary healer.

For the past 2 years, I have worked alongside Carmela Cuccurullo, NP.

Unmatched Energy, Every Single Day

Carmela Cuccurullo, AGPCNP-BC, OCN

I am an author and poet. My husband has gone through several health crises since he had COVID-19 in 2020: a stroke in 2022 caused by undiagnosed diabetes, and just as he regained full footing and beat both, 2023 started with a routine colonoscopy and diagnosis stage 4 colon cancer, with several small spots on the liver.

He is through two rounds of treatment, the first with immunotherapy. He is under the care of Cleveland Clinic, and is due for another MRI, with surgery to follow.

Theodore, (Ted), or as loved ones call him, “Bear,” was so surprised by this as he was always athletic, healthy and never sick until COVID. The love of my life played flag football on a team with our sons until 2020 shut everything down.

His mental health is great, he insists he is fine and will get through this fine. He continued to bowl on his league and stayed in his position as tournament director for what we believe is the oldest remaining Brothers Bowling Tournament in the US.

It is an odd sense of pride for him as the cancer center nurses continue to be surprised by his strong resolve, and seemingly lack of side effects. I can see him struggle a bit cognitively, but he is still sharper than me on any given day.

I have attempted to document this journey, and as a poet, the poems just came about.

Below are a series of poems written about our ordeal with cancer and kicking it to the curb.

Here are a series of poems written about our ordeal with cancer and kicking it to the curb.

'Oddly Specific' and Other Poems About Life With Cancer

Thasia Anne

It is with immense pleasure we submit this letter to recommend Kirstin Hettinger, B.S.N., RN, OCN, for the Extraordinary Healer Award for Oncology Nursing. 

Kirstin has dedicated her nursing practice the past eight years to caring for patients with acute leukemia. When reading the nomination criteria for this award, Kirstin immediately came to mind for her unwavering positivity, compassion and expertise. I had the privilege of working alongside Kirstin and have witnessed the extraordinary care, hope and healing she provides to her patients and their loved ones as a bedside oncology nurse.

The diagnosis of acute leukemia is very unexpected and for many an area of complete unknown. Many individuals who receive a diagnosis of leukemia were living life as normal the month before, the week before and, in some cases, even the day before they are admitted and start treatment. The nurse is the first point of contact for this fearful patient.

Imagine you just received a diagnosis of leukemia; you have no idea what the next steps will be or what your future holds, but you’re greeted with a smile from a nurse who reassures you that “You are in the right place, and we will help you through everything.” That extraordinary nurse is Kirstin.

Kirstin is the nurse who meets each patient with a smile and puts them and their families at ease with her presence. The expert leukemia nurse plays a critical role in the patient’s ability to understand, adapt and successfully manage how they are feeling physically and emotionally from initial diagnosis through treatment. I have witnessed Kirstin’s ability to use her expertise and compassion to guide a newly diagnosed patient through their treatment process as if they were her family or friend.

Kirstin provides high-level, compassionate care with a holistic approach, which is incredibly important for patients with acute leukemia because of their extended hospital stays. Treatment requires four six-week stays, which are often extended due to complications. Kirstin provides healing and hope to patients with cancer and their loved ones. She has the uncanny ability to treat all individu- als as if they are her family. She is open and honest with her patients; she meets them at their level and always provides care guided in compassion and empathy.

Nurse colleague Erin Bennett, M.S.N., RN, OCN, SNIV, shares, “Kirstin Hettinger is by far one of the best, most well-rounded nurses I have ever had the pleasure of working with. She goes above and beyond for both patients and her colleagues. Her expertise personally molded me into the nurse I am today, and for that I am eternally grateful. Kirstin is approachable, kind and always willing to lend a helping hand. There is something special about Kirstin that always makes it feel as though she cares about you like you are her own family, whether you are a patient or colleague.

“Whether a patient is newly diagnosed, in active treatment or transitioning to end of life, Kirstin’s compassion and empathetic nature provides comfort and understanding to the patients. She is always the first nurse to sit down with the patient and their families to embrace difficult conversations together. She goes above and beyond to help the patients and family members gain a better understanding of their diagnosis and what to expect. She instills hope, while also providing realistic expectations.”

Kirstin has unwavering and palpable positivity. She comes to work with this each day and immediately has an impact on the unit dynamic. She serves on shared governance councils, is a charge nurse and is one of our unit’s most-requested nursing preceptors. Kirstin has precepted countless new graduate nurses during her career and is always embracing this role as she helps new staff assimilate into the unit culture.

Kirstin has persevered through the COVID-19 pandemic through staffing impacts and changes while never losing her innate ability to bring positivity to an interaction with patients, family members and her colleagues. Kirstin’s passion of caring for patients with leukemia radiates throughout the individualized care she provides them.

From nurse colleague Michelle Orovets, M.S.N., RN, OCN: “Kirstin’s expertise in caring for the acute leukemia population is so great that I found myself listening to her teach new graduate nurses and learning something new often, while simply enjoying hear- ing her teaching methods. New graduate nurses are ensured a better understanding of critical thinking, time management and true empathy for patients by having Kirstin as their preceptor.”

Nurse colleague Danielle Dunnington, RN, OCN, explains: “Kirstin’s expertise on our unit has always been an extremely valuable resource, but during the past few years, when we have seen changes in nursing such as nurses transitioning from the bedside, it truly has kept our unit running. She shares her knowledge while training new staff and has also been a unit resource we rely on. Kirstin is the nurse everyone hopes to have by their side when they are working.”

Nurse practitioner Donica Truitt, M.S.N., APRN-CNP, shares: “Many patients with leukemia require monthlong hospital stays, which push our patients to their mental and physical limits, which Kirstin takes into consideration with her practice. Her positive, radiant personality instantly puts her patients at ease. She provides reassurance, instills confidence and acts as a coach with little effort, because it is second nature to her. Despite increased nursing responsibilities over the past couple of years, I have seen Kirstin continue to pro- vide the same level of high-quality care and dedication no matter how busy she may be.”

We hope you consider Kirstin Hettinger, B.S.N., RN, OCN, for the Extraordinary Healer Award for Oncology Nursing because she truly embodies the qualities of expertise, compassion and helpfulness each day in her nursing practice. Kirstin, even in times of struggle, uses her innate positive nature to move herself and others forward. I cannot think of anyone more deserving of this honor than Kirstin.

Imagine you just received a diagnosis of leukemia; you have no idea what the next steps will be or what your future holds, but you’re greeted with a smile from a nurse who reassures you that “You are in the right place, and we will help you through everything.”

The Oncology Nurse Who Radiates Positivity

Amy Noe, B.S.N., RN

Joyce Spitz, RN, was so inspiring. She helped me get through with my chemotherapy treatment. With her, there was no dull moment. She was always smiling and ready to assist in any way possible. That explains why she's the most liked; everyone that came in contact with her liked her. She was so nice and gracious to anyone that came there. Because of her, I looked forward to going for my chemo session every time I knew she was in charge of my section.

There are a whole lot of wonderful things I could say about her but sometimes it's just hard to put things into words. She took her time to get to know me personally not just as a patient but as a family friend. She got to know my wife and they connected. Joyce always asked about her and my son each time I was there. I don't miss my chemo treatment, but I truly miss Joyce.

The more reasons why I am nominating her for this award is not only because of her kindness towards me and everyone else, but to celebrate her and appreciate her for everything she does there. She would go out of her way to make sure you are comfortable. Joyce would ask if you need your feet up. She would ask if you needed a blanket. Joyce goes above and beyond for anyone in her section, and she sometimes would go to another section to help out. What amazed me was that she did all these things effortlessly and with a great passion for what she does as an oncology nurse.

I couldn't have asked for a better person. Joyce really helped me get through my chemo treatment. I could go on and on writing about her, but I will have to stop here. I wish and hope she gets nominated because she truly deserves it and more.

Editor’s Note: This is an essay submitted by Chinedu Onugu for the 2021 Extraordinary Healer Award. 

 to read more about CURE®’s Extraordinary Healer® Award for Oncology Nursing event on April 30, 2021.

A patient wrote about his oncology nurse when receiving chemotherapy, whose personality helped him look forward to his sessions.

Oncology Nurses Help Patients Endure Cancer Treatments During Tough Times

Chinedu Onugu

Over the years, as I chatted with colleagues about my far-fetched interest in community-focused work or international health care, I was often met with, “Do you know Ludmila?” She became almost an enigma, someone who I wasn’t sure existed or who was too far beyond my reach. I was grappling with what seemed to be a contradictory notion: to find a position that bridged the gap between academic institutions and community-based work that focused on marginalized groups.

I had recently taken a nurse director role with the hope of bringing more diversity and equity to our infusion world, but realized I knew little about who that included or the barriers they faced. And then suddenly, in a twist of fate, Ludmila Svoboda, M.S.N., M.A., B.S.N., RN, OCN, entered my world in two different ways.

I had recently become a mentor for our newly licensed nursing (NLN) program. And who else happened to be a mentor (since the initiation of the program, I should add) but Ludmila! While we were both mentors, we had few chances to meet and get to know one another. Around this same time, she gave a presentation on her work with the Cancer Care Equity Program. I can’t remember the specifics of what she talked about, but I remember feeling more energized than I had in a long time. I promptly emailed her to find some time for us to connect.

As most things go, days got busy, there were too many meetings, and patient issues in clinic needed to be addressed. Our meeting got bounced around and finally fell off the radar. It was our work as mentors that allowed us to finally connect. During a potluck celebration for our new NLN graduates, I had my first chance to really engage with Ludmila. I felt an instant connection with her, like we somehow already knew and understood each other.

Many more months and life events occurred before we connected again. I was in a period of personal struggle and transition. I couldn’t remain in my director role for many reasons but had no idea what my next steps should be. There was so much anxiety and uncertainty within me, and suddenly the metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel appeared. Ludmila emailed me that the Cancer Care Equity Program posted a job for an oncology nurse navigator, in case I knew someone who would be interested. I’m not sure a faster response to an email has ever been recorded and it went something like, “Me, me, me!”

We met to discuss the position and the scope of the work. In just that one conversation, I felt heard, accepted and hopeful.

As I went through the interview process and learned more about the work and the people of the Cancer Care Equity Program, I was blown away, particularly with the patient navigator role. As an infusion nurse, I met patients once all the “pre-work” was done. The patient was aware of their diagnosis, a plan had been created, and they sat with me ready to being the journey of cancer treatment.

I had never stopped to think of what it takes to get a patient to the front door of our institute. Emotionally and physically, it is a difficult moment for anyone who has been diagnosed with cancer. Add to that the structural and financial barriers those from marginalized communities face, and the effort that needs to be put toward making cancer treatment a priority is just astonishing. Prioritizing cancer treatment is, in fact, a luxury, not a given, for many individuals.

Our patient navigators are integral to getting a patient through the doors. We work with the patient prior to their first appointment to start addressing the barriers that may prevent them from coming, whether they be transportation, language, financial or any of the other structural barriers that our patients may face. Our patient navigators continue to reevaluate an individual’s social determinants of health throughout a patient’s care continuum. The patient navigators work tirelessly to connect patients to community organizations, apply patients to foundations that provide financial assistance, and submit letters of hardship so utilities aren’t shut off. They have visited homeless shelters to make sure one is safe for the patient while they are immunocompromised. They have gotten funding for and purchased mattresses and furniture to fill apartments, which they have helped patients to secure. This list could go on for pages, but what they do is little in comparison to the relationships and connections they build with patients, from meeting them at the front door for their first appointment, to accompanying them to provider visits, to visiting them while hospitalized, to supporting them and their family during end-of-life care, if necessary. The commitment and the work that is done are breathtaking.

This work is amazing — don’t get me wrong — but it is amazing because of how Ludmila built this role. She did this work herself for over 10 years, without the support and resources that have been gathered over the years. With her humility, compassion and tireless dedication, she built this patient navigator role and has supported its expansion into multiple disease groups at our institution and at the federally qualified health centers at which we continue to work.

Ludmila has been intentional in creating the team around her, finding those individuals who understand and are dedicated to this work. She works closely with new team members to guide them in their roles. Ludmila deeply believes in each member of our team. She sees the strengths of each individual and helps them hone those skills, while building new ones too, facilitating their personal growth. Ludmila inspires those around her to be their best authentic selves and invest in the work they are doing, which allows them to provide exceptional patient care. She challenges you to build trust, respect and empathy for those who allow us to enter their lives in the most vulnerable of situations. To see her interact with a patient is to see cultural humility and empathy in action.

She is the model of the person and nurse I hope to be. Ludmila brings warmth and compassion to the patient, treating each individual as important. She leans into the individual’s story and follows them into the hurt and struggles they have faced, while simultaneously planning the ways in which we can support them, which foundations they should apply to, and which community organizations they should reach out to.

I can’t think of anyone more “extraordinary” than Ludmila. She approaches her life and her work with an open heart and an open mind. She believes in the best version of each individual and wins over their trust with her warmth and enthusiasm. It is what has allowed her to touch the lives of so many and will allow us to expand this work to so many others in need.


For more news on cancer updates, research and education, don’t forget to 

Ludmila brings warmth and compassion to the patient, treating each individual as important. 

A Transformational Leader and Friend in Cancer Care

Paula Aguilera, B.S.N., RN, OCN

During a morning meditation in February 2020, the words, “Patricia, schedule your mammogram,” crashed into my awareness like a bolt of thunder and lightning. Conveniently, I had not yet scheduled my yearly ritual of 37 years. Thinking that at the age of 77 I was in the clear, I dismissed the fact that one out of every eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer and for women of color, the diagnosis is often more severe.

Yet, as I frequently do, I paid attention to the message and scheduled my mammogram at the Carol Milgard Breast Center the very next day. I truly expected to get the predictable “all-clear” results I had year after year. Instead, I was stunned when the center called informing me my images necessitated a biopsy which was conducted the very next day.

Three days later, Cheri and Judy, two dear friends who I had recently met, accompanied me to find out the results.

A very kind ARNP greeted us. After making us feel comfortable and answering some of my questions, she commenced with the results. Glancing at the report she held, I noticed several symbols indicating negative.

Taking a deep breath, I said to myself, “Phew. The coast is clear!”

However, with her eyes gazing directly at me like a laser beam, she stated: “Unfortunately, we found cancer in your right breast.” The words pierced my consciousness like the sizzle of a branding iron, forever marking me with the term CANCER. Just like that, I became a cancer patient.

Looking at Cheri and Judy, their faces ashen gray, I wondered did my face looks like theirs?

In that moment, I was reintroduced to a revered friend, “mindfulness,” who embraced me like the comforting arms of a lover. Breathe. Relax. Take in all that is around you. Feel the ground. Feel the seat beneath you and listen carefully. Breathing deeply, I allowed the nurse’s words to spill out from her mouth like the warm, flavorful smells of the pinto bean juices spilling from the pot that I remember from my New Mexico childhood. Although difficult to hear, she tried her best to deliver the news softly and carefully.

Stunned, yet somehow soothed, I heard a gentle Northwest rain falling softly on the building rooftop and the voices of Mi Abuelita (my grandmother) and Mi Madre (my mother). Their message: “Don’t worry Mi Hita, (daughter), we are going to take great care of you!” With their words, my journey through breast cancer began. The message from my feminine ancestors, like the start of a mesquite branch fire, created warmth and hope.

I took another deep breath and asked the nurse to give me a moment to absorb the information I just received. Looking at the wall poster of the goddess, Pele, I readily embraced

the power of her fire and light. I know that her light guides me through the darkest of tunnels and whatever may lie ahead. I am empowered to listen to my strong inner voice. So often I have ignored her throughout my life. Not any longer.

“We’ve got this Patricia!” Cheri and Judy loudly declared as the three of us simultaneously hug.

Their encouraging words, as well as the support of my ancestors, are the support I needed to launch the first steps of my journey. While parts of my body felt as shaky as the 1989 earthquake I experienced while living in the Bay Area, my inner self felt a deep cavernous calm and stillness. Everything is going to be okay. I know, deep down in my heart, I know. I AM NOT ALONE!

Stepping into this new journey with the vision of a redefined 10,000 steps, I embraced each step with confidence. Everything I had done in my life up to this point prepared me for the upcoming challenge. I have the power to choose, and I choose to use this experience as a journey for healing past traumas that have occurred throughout my life — traumas that I continually work on yet understand there is more healing to be done.

After returning home that evening, Pepito, my beloved 13-year-old Chihuahua, who always slept in a crate beside my bed, jumped into bed with me for the very first time. He has not stopped sleeping with me since that night. My beloved Pepito has become my “24/7 doctor.”

Completing my meditation that evening, I set the following intentions as my roadmap for my journey:

Meet the journey with faith, prayer and courage. Trust that spirit shall guide me to my inner wisdom.

Keep my lightheartedness and laughter, even when the road is a constant switchback and the next destination not clearly visible.

Take time to play. Celebrate the miracles of each day. Be grateful.

Stay focused. Lead with an increasingly open heart and express kindness wherever I go.

Ignore my nemesis when it seduces me to partake in sugar.

These intentions became my spiritual pharmaceuticals. I have learned that by listening to my inner voice and trusting myself, unexpected miracles happen. I am learning. I am taking risks. I am embracing new ideas and seeking the potential and new opportunities.

On Oct. 28, I am proud and happy to be turning 80. With the ever-presence of my elders, I embrace my cancer journey not as a victim but as a partner in guiding me toward true healing. I know I can count on my medical and support team for helping me encompass the journey with an integrated approach.

and not of CURE®. This is also not supposed to be intended as medical advice.

After being diagnosed with cancer, I set intentions — both spiritual and practical — that helped guide me through the experience. 

Setting Intentions as a Cancer Roadmap

Patricia Benavidez

Last year, while in the midst of receiving radiation treatment, a national headline caught my attention: “Catherine, Princess of Wales, Has Cancer.” I shared it with my friend Amy, who had completed her cancer treatment a few years earlier. Her response was, “Maybe she didn’t eat a healthy diet?” I immediately understood her humor, but she quickly followed up with, “Sorry, bad joke.”

This exchange epitomizes an unfortunate reality: the pervasive myth that healthy people don’t get cancer. It suggests that if you maintain a healthy lifestyle, you’re immune to such a diagnosis. We’ve all internalized this myth to some degree, including healthcare providers. It’s a belief that casts a shadow of shame over those diagnosed when, in truth, cancer can affect anyone.

Both Amy and I received unsolicited criticism regarding our lifestyle choices after our diagnoses. Here are just a few of the real statements we encountered from well-meaning people:

“Do you know what a plant-based diet is?”

“What is happening spiritually that you’re making this happen?”

“Have you considered going to church?”

“That’s why you got cancer, you ate salmon with the skin on it.”

Such comments reveal societal discomfort with illness; the moment cancer appears, people scramble to find an explanation. Although discomfort is understandable, bringing awareness to the harm these comments cause is essential for understanding how to compassionately show up for someone with a cancer diagnosis.

Amy’s Diagnosis: Classic Hodgkin Lymphoma, 2018

I was training for a half marathon at the time of my diagnosis. I was misdiagnosed for nine months, my healthy appearance and energetic lifestyle making it seemingly impossible for my doctor to believe that there was anything wrong. I had to advocate for the tests that led to my diagnosis. Although I felt largely supported post-diagnosis, there lingered an undercurrent of shame, particularly from a friend who is a physician who disappeared post diagnosis. The irony of her own disconnect from emotional support was unsettling. Throughout my treatment, I sought normalcy for the sake of my children, maintaining routines in a bid to control my life amidst the chaos.

Jacey’s Diagnosis: Ductal Carcinoma in Situ (DCIS), 2023

At age 50, after a routine mammogram, I received sobering news — a diagnosis of estrogen receptor positive DCIS, or stage 0 cancer. To this day I am still not certain if DCIS is cancer. It is a controversial diagnosis that needs more research. The current standard of care is to treat it as cancer with aggressive treatments: surgery, radiation, estrogen suppressing medication or even mastectomy. This created a paralyzing conflict inside of me that few people really understood. From those that were proponents of the standard of care, I felt judged for not wanting to undergo treatment. From those that saw DCIS as an overdiagnosis, I felt shamed for not being strong enough to stand up for myself and believe that my lifestyle choices could prevent me from getting cancer.

The truth is there isn’t a population cancer doesn’t impact. No one is immune from cancer. In Peter Attia’s book, “Outlive: The Science and Art of Longevity,” he says, “Of all the Horsemen, cancer is probably the hardest to prevent. It is probably also the one where bad luck in various forms plays the greatest role…” While adhering to a healthy lifestyle is important, it does not provide immunity against cancer. We cannot control every variable; some aspects of cancer risk are simply beyond our grasp.

The antidote to shame is compassion. When a physician acknowledged the randomness of Amy’s diagnosis — “You pulled the bad card” — she felt seen, understood and valued. Shame acts as a barrier to open dialogue about cancer, perpetuating isolation for those affected. It prevents timely diagnoses and hinders healing, both emotionally and physically. When we approach those with a cancer diagnosis, we can strive to convey compassion rather than judgment. By accepting our human vulnerabilities and the realities of cancer we can foster community and support to rally around our friends, family and neighbors who are going through cancer treatment.

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The narrative challenges the myth that a healthy lifestyle guarantees immunity from cancer, highlighting the societal tendency to blame lifestyle choices for cancer diagnoses. Personal stories of Amy and Jacey illustrate the emotional impact of such misconceptions, emphasizing the need for compassion over judgment. Despite maintaining healthy lifestyles, both faced criticism and shame post-diagnosis. The article underscores that cancer can affect anyone, regardless of lifestyle, and advocates for compassion as a means to support those diagnosed, fostering open dialogue and community support to aid emotional and physical healing.

The myth that "healthy people don’t get cancer" contributed to my shame, but I’ve learned that cancer can affect anyone, regardless of lifestyle choices.

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