You Are Not a Statistic: Facing Cancer With Hope, Not Numbers

“What are these nodules I’m feeling in my neck?” I asked almost 16 years ago. I went to my primary care doctor, who told me they were swollen lymph nodes. The only way to know if they were concerning, he said, was to get a biopsy. He referred me to a surgeon who assured me they were probably nothing but offered to do the biopsy to ease my worries.

A few days later, I got a call from the surgeon’s office. They reminded me to come in for stitch removal—and said they’d go over the results at that time. I knew that wasn’t a good sign. I started to worry. My husband told me I was being pessimistic.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he said.

At the appointment, the surgeon told me the biopsy showed small lymphocytic lymphoma (SLL). It was a chronic cancer, he said, but one I could live a long life with — even though there’s no cure.

“You need to make an appointment with an oncologist and go from there,” he added.

I looked at my husband, who looked like he’d just been punched in the stomach. I felt instantly nauseous. Of course, I went home and Googled it. I read that the average survival rate was ten years. I was 57 at the time. All I could think was, 67 is not long enough.

I booked three appointments with different oncologists. The first two were similar — they explained that SLL is an indolent (slow-growing) cancer and recommended a “watch-and-wait” approach if I could manage the anxiety of not starting treatment right away.

“Some people can, and some can’t,” they said.

“You don’t want to use up your treatment options before you really need them.”

I knew I could handle it. Still, I was hoping for something more from my third appointment.

That’s when I met Dr. Lyle Goldman of Newland Medical. From the moment I told him what I had read, he responded differently. He said:

“You are not average. You are not a statistic. You found it early, you’re here already, and we will monitor you closely. I’ll see you every three months. You can live a long life — with treatment along the way as needed. Plus, there are many new drugs on the horizon.”

I turned to my husband, and we both felt it in that moment: This was my doctor.

Dr. Goldman gave me something the others didn’t — hope. He gave me a mindset I could hold onto. And that made all the difference.

Over the years, I did need treatment. I had three different infusion regimens and radiation. Then, about three years ago, I suddenly didn’t feel well. I was losing weight and constantly exhausted, needing daily naps—which wasn’t normal for me. Bloodwork showed my calcium was dangerously high. Dr. Goldman got it under control quickly with an infusion, then ordered a CT and PET scan.

The scans showed my SLL had worsened. My lymph nodes were enlarged throughout my body. Dr. Goldman started me on a BTK inhibitor called Calquence (Acalabrutinib). He explained it was a pill I’d take twice a day, every 12 hours.

“In a week,” he said, “it will melt your lymph nodes.”

It sounded like a miracle — and that’s exactly what it was.

I felt like myself again. SLL was pushed to the background, and life became livable. I continued to see Dr. Goldman every three months, as always.

Recently, I had a specialized test called flow cytometry, part of something called MRD testing (Minimal Residual Disease). It detects even the tiniest amount of cancer cells in the body. My results showed that abnormal B-cells represent 0.01% of my total cells.

That number—tiny as it is—brings up a swirl of emotions: gratitude, anxiety, vigilance. It doesn’t mean recurrence, but it could signal a higher risk of return down the line. The recommendation was to stop Calquence for now. It may be years before I need it again.

As an almost 16-year survivor, I’ve learned this is what long-term life with (and after) cancer looks like. These moments are part of it. They don’t mean panic — they mean pause, listen, and keep showing up for yourself.

This is why I believe in both medicine and mindfulness.

In both data and prayer.

And in continuing to move forward — one strong, informed step at a time.

Dr. Goldman, you were right. I was not just a statistic — and you helped me believe it.

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