By Tessa Holyoak, 30, Synovial Sarcoma

This is my story of being diagnosed at age 27 with stage 2 synovial sarcoma in the right sternum and ribcage, then stage 4 synovial sarcoma in my left lung. 

For all of 2023, I experienced chronic chest pain. This was the same year I graduated from USC with my Masters in Social Work, was raising my toddler son with my husband, traveling, and just enjoying my life. I advocated for an EKG and chest X-ray early in the year, but nothing was found. In February 2024, I had chest pain on and off for 36 straight hours. I was in and out of the ER three different times. I received all of the usual chest X-rays and EKGs. Still, nothing was found. 

My third experience with chest pain was so bad, I was given multiple doses of morphine (it was like I was in labor) so I could hold still for the CT scan. I was screaming, crying, and hitting things. “There is a tumor in your chest,” they told me. “We will refer you to the cancer center… I wouldn’t worry about it. You’re too young to have cancer.” I didn’t worry because I was 27 years old and there was no way it was cancer.

A biopsy was done, but it took 4 weeks to receive the results. Then the sample was sent to the for further testing. I was diagnosed with synovial sarcoma. This whole time, I had cancer in my chest and had NO idea. I completed 5 rounds of the red devil/AIM regimen (the worst chemo regimen in the world) along with multiple hospitalizations and blood transfusions. My sister-in-law moved in for the last 3 months of my treatment because my husband was working, being a dad to our 2-year-old son, and taking care of me at the same time. I had surgery in July 2024 to remove the tumor from my chest. The tumor was about 98% dead when it was removed. 

I was NED until July 2025 when we discovered the cancer had metastasized to my left lung. I started seven rounds of Trabectedin chemo and had few, to no symptoms. I also started the necessary tests for tumor sampling right away. In September 2025, we learned I was positive for the HLA blood test. In October 2025, my tumor was MAGE-A4 positive. This was a miracle because I had a 3% chance of qualifying for treatment I needed. We live in Utah, but I recently completed this five week treatment in California that included chemotherapy, TCR T cell infusion, and weekly monitoring at the hospital. 

This treatment was very easy on my body. I lost all my hair again and had minimal to no symptoms, but, I had to be away from my son for this whole time. While I was gone, I made him a book to explain where I was, why I was there, and how the treatment worked. He understands terms such as immunocompromised, T cells, white blood cells, chemo, and neutropenic. I told him to call me when he wanted to instead of forcing video calls everyday. Those everyday calls weren’t helpful for us. They just made us more sad. It was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do; just not think about my son and husband while I was away that long.

A PET scan in June 2026 showed I had gone from four nodules to three that are half the size. I am now in remission from treatment and my next scan is in September 2026 (scans are every three months). I am now 30 years old and cancer has been part of my life for two and a half years. I have done treatment in Utah and in California. My son was 2 years old when all of this started. Now he is turning 5. He is very familiar with the cancer center and with cancer treatment. The other day he asked me, “There’s a lot of bald moms, right Mama?” I had to explain to him it was pretty rare. He is going to kindergarten in the fall and my husband and I know it will only be a matter of time before someone innocently says, “Oh your mom has cancer? My uncle died from cancer.” We simply told him, “Mama has cancer. Cancer can kill people. But Mama is not dying. She is not going to die.” 

While this statement can change and I could die from this, I don’t need my son to carry that while it happens. That’s too much for a little kid. I work as a therapist and I have studied a lot about child development. I think the cancer talk is similar to the sex talk, meaning the door is always open and you can start the conversation early/when age appropriate. No secrets. Kids are very in-tune and aware of what’s going on. He deserves to know. If my health goes in a different direction and the time comes, of course we will be honest with him. I have tried to keep very open communication with my son during all of this. 

This is a lot for a kid to navigate and he is a resilient kid. He also asks about me having another baby and that is heartbreaking. When I was first diagnosed in 2024, my husband and I were getting ready to try for our second child. Cancer takes so much from you. You are grieving so many different things at once that most people take for granted. It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to when he asks, I just need to cry and release the grief every once in a while because honestly, I don’t think I will ever fully be over that. 

Cancer treatment teaches you early on that you will be waiting for results and insurance to approve life-saving treatments, so you have to figure out how to get up and live in the meantime. I had to reframe my thinking from, “I am stuck until I get these results. . . I am so frustrated this is taking so long. . . Why is this happening to me while my other friends get to worry about normal problems . . . This is so unfair,” to “I can either sit here and wait or I can get up and work, play with my son, or enjoy time outside.” I didn’t want cancer to control more of my life than it needed to. Being present is the greatest weapon against cancer. You have the present moment and you can use it. Time is going to pass either way.