By Sarah Grace, 29, Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML), Leukemia, & Lymphoma 

I celebrate a cancerversary, but it’s a complicated feeling. The date I observe is my first diagnosis, lymphoma, when I was 18. It marked the start of a battle that shaped who I am today. 

My first day of treatment was a whirlwind. I was 18, just starting adulthood and suddenly everything shifted. There was no time to process. I went straight from being a typical teenager to hearing words like “chemotherapy,” “lymphoma,” and “survival rates.” That first day felt like the beginning of an unfamiliar and terrifying journey. I remember the fear of the unknown and the determination to beat it, to fight no matter what.

After 11 years of fighting, first facing lymphoma, then leukemia, and now AML (Acute Myeloid Leukemia), it feels like I’m living in cycles of remission and relapse. When I was told that my leukemia had transitioned into AML, it felt like a blow I wasn’t prepared for. I remember sitting alone in my hospital room, feeling utterly defeated. The tears wouldn’t stop. It felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders and I wasn’t sure if I had the strength to keep going. Telling my family was like delivering the news of another storm on the horizon, just when they thought we had weathered the last one. Seeing their faces and knowing the fear they felt was heartbreaking, but we faced it together.

There were times when I felt frustrated with the healthcare system—long waits, confusing terminology, and feeling like a number. But I’ve also met healthcare providers who made all the difference. One nurse in particular went above and beyond, not just taking care of me medically, but taking the time to ask how I was doing emotionally. It was those moments of human connection that reminded me I wasn’t alone in this fight.

The physical changes were relentless. The toll of the treatments from losing my hair to the exhaustion that settled deep in my bones, was harsh. It wasn’t just about my appearance, it was about feeling like I was losing control of my body while also trying to hold onto hope. But with every change, I learned to adapt. Over time, I found a new sense of resilience.

My fight isn’t over, but I’ve come to accept that cancer will always be a part of my story, and life, even in the face of cancer, is filled with reasons to keep going. For me, it’s not just about survival; it’s about acknowledging how far I’ve come through every relapse and treatment, while also remembering the moments of vulnerability and fear. Each year that passes, I reflect on the strength I’ve found, even in the hardest times. My family, my friends, and the possibility of a future where I can live without the constant threat of relapse motivate me.

Cancer has taught me that resilience isn’t about never falling—it’s about getting back up every time you do. It’s about adapting to a new normal after each relapse, about finding light in the darkest times, and about never losing hope, even when the odds seem stacked against you. There are days when it’s hard to keep smiling, but then I think about the moments of joy I still get to experience, the love I feel, and the hope that maybe one day this fight will be over. That’s what keeps me going.