I was 21, when the doctor uttered the words that changed everything: “You have cancer.” I had gone to the hospital after weeks of unexplained fatigue, fevers, night sweats, weight loss, skin changes, and strange lumps. The diagnosis? Stage 1B Hodgkin lymphoma. I remember sitting frozen in the doctor’s office, watching my mother’s tears fall beside me. I was supposed to be worrying about exams, not chemotherapy. Despite the initial shock, I made a conscious decision to view that day with optimism. After months of not knowing what was wrong, at least I had an answer. That day marked the start of my healing journey. According to the National Cancer Institute, up to 25 in every 100,000 Americans diagnosed with cancer are under the age of 24. I never imagined I could be a cancer victim at such a young age until I came across that statistic. I was in school, full of dreams, but my world suddenly revolved around blood tests, scans, and treatments. School became a blur of hospital visits and long nights crying into my pillow. I lost my hair, my strength, and even some friends, but I never lost Jesus. Treatment was grueling. The doctor explained I had an unfavorable form of the disease; it required intense therapy. I began with several cycles of ABVD chemotherapy, and every month, I had to move fifty miles to the nearest chemo center in Philadelphia, where I was living at the time. Midway through, PET/CT scans checked my progress, and more treatment followed—including radiation (involved field radiation therapy or IFRT) aimed at the… Read More