Round Two: A Different Fight, A Deeper Purpose

Facing the News

Fast forward to February 2025, I had a routine check-up—just lab work, a little off, but nothing too crazy. But something in me felt unsettled, so much so that I was in tears when my oncologist stepped in the room after I've already convinced myself of my worst fear. He offered imaging mainly to relax my mind, not expecting much, just for reassurance. We even decided to push my PET scan forward by several months. And praise God that we did.

The weeks leading up to the scan were filled with anxiety. But there was hope, too. I felt great. No symptoms. I was eating well, working out, living my life. It just couldn’t be cancer. There was no way.

Then the PET scan results came in.

It was back. And not just back—it was worse. More aggressive. Spreading to more places in my body than the first time.

I was on my hour-long drive home from the PET scan when I got the notification from my patient portal. I didn’t want to open it while driving, but I knew George had access to it too. He saw it before I did. My phone rang almost instantly, and as soon as I heard his voice, I knew. He was trying to stay strong, but I could hear the tremble, the emotion he was holding back.

"It’s back, Blessy."

Not the words I expected. Not the words I wanted.

I felt like the world was closing in. I wanted to stop driving, to pull over, to do anything but keep going. But I was already on my exit. I had to get home.

When I pulled into the driveway, I just sat there. I knew that the moment I walked through that door, everything would change. Everyone inside would be crushed—including my five-year-old Emily, who understands far more than most would think.

I gripped the steering wheel, staring ahead, my mind racing. And then, through the blur of my tears, I whispered:

"Why, God? Why is this happening? What do You want from me? Please… give us the strength to get through this. Show us the path You have planned. Let Your will be done."

I wiped my face, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.

The moment I did, George rushed toward me, pulling me into his arms. We held onto each other, shaking, sobbing, unable to speak, unable to let go. The weight of everything crashing down at once.

And then I looked up.

Standing in the kitchen were my in-laws, holding Hannah and Lucia—both blissfully unaware of the storm we were about to walk through. They didn’t understand why they couldn’t run to me, why I had to stay distant because of the PET scan radiation. But Emily understood.

She stood there, tears streaming down her little face, crying louder than anyone.

"I’m sorry, Mama… I thought for sure it wasn’t coming back. I just want to give you a hug."

I will never forget that moment. The heartbreak in her voice. The pain in my husband’s eyes. The fear of the unknown pressing down on all of us.

And yet, even in that darkness, a sliver of hope remained. New treatments. New possibilities. A chance that a cure was still out there.

This fight isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

With all my love,

Blessy