Before I was born, my life was already being shaped by a journey I could not yet understand. My passion for community oncology began long before I knew what the words meant. It began with my family, with my father, and with a cancer diagnosis that changed the course of all of our lives.
My father was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin lymphoma at just 30 years old. Before his 30th birthday, he was living what I call the American dream. He had built his home, married my mother, and had a beautiful baby girl at home. Life was everything he had worked for.
Then, one day, everything changed.
My father was rushed to the emergency room on the verge of a massive heart attack. What doctors discovered was unimaginable: a tumor, the size of a grapefruit, wrapped around his heart.
I was not there to understand what was happening, but the story has been told to me throughout my life. I remember hearing about the pain my father endured and how, despite everything happening inside his body, he continued to fight. My father had always been strong. He would do 100 push-ups, but behind that strength was a body being attacked by cancer.
My mother stood at my father’s bedside in the hospital and heard words no family should ever have to hear:
“Get your black dress ready.”
Those words changed everything.
My mother was devastated. My father believed he would never see his girls again. In that moment, hope seemed almost impossible.
But then came a moment that would ultimately change the trajectory of our entire family.
A nurse told my mother to wait outside my father’s room because a doctor was rounding one who worked with New York Cancer and Blood Specialists. Instead of my mother continuing to sit beside her husband wondering how much longer they had, she waited for that doctor.
The following day, my father was taken out of the hospital setting and treated by the very physician that nurse had told my mother about, Dr. Michael Theodorakis.
That moment became the beginning of a second chance.
My father was given approximately three days to live. Yet the team in community oncology refused to accept that as the end of his story.
He was treated by a team that cared. A team that believed in possibilities when the circumstances looked impossible. A team that did not give up on him.
My father’s treatment was intense. He underwent chemotherapy and radiation, including treatments that took an enormous physical toll on his body. He fought through pain, fear, uncertainty, and exhaustion.
And he survived.
The man who had been given days to live was given something far greater: time.
He was given the opportunity to come home to his family. He was given the opportunity to watch his daughters grow. He was given the opportunity to live a life that cancer almost took away.
But there was another part of the story that would eventually become the reason I am here today.
After my father’s treatment, Dr. Theodorakis sat down with my parents and explained that, because of the intensity of the treatment my father had received, having more children would not be possible.
My parents accepted that their family was complete.
And then, against all expectations, I came along.
I am the daughter who was never supposed to be possible.
I am the miracle that came after cancer.
And the place where my parents shared the news that they were expecting their miracle baby is the very organization where I work today: New York Cancer and Blood Specialists.
That is why community oncology is not simply a career to me.
It is personal.
It is my family.
It is my life.
I began my journey with New York Cancer and Blood Specialists as a young woman because I wanted to give back to the organization that had given my family something priceless. My father’s life was saved through community oncology, and I wanted to dedicate my own life to helping ensure that other patients and families experience the same hope that my family was given.
As my career has developed, so has my passion.
Today, I work in patient experience and advocacy, where I have the privilege of listening to patients, addressing their concerns, advocating for better care, and working alongside teams to improve the patient experience. Every complaint I receive represents an opportunity to make something better. Every patient who feels unheard is an opportunity for me to listen. Every family facing fear is a reminder of why compassion matters.
I also have the opportunity to advocate for community oncology beyond the walls of our organization. Through my involvement with the Community Oncology Alliance, I have participated in conversations with policymakers and legislators to help emphasize why access to community oncology matters.
I tell my story because I want people to understand that community oncology is about more than where cancer treatment takes place.
It is about access.
It is about hope.
It is about relationships.
It is about having world-class cancer care close to home, surrounded by people who know you, care about you, and refuse to see you as just another patient.
My father did not need to travel across the country to receive extraordinary cancer care. He received it in his community. He received it from people who believed that his story was not over.
And because they believed in him, I am here.
I often tell patients to never give up hope because I have seen firsthand what hope can do. I have seen what happens when a medical team refuses to accept that there is nothing more they can do. I have seen what happens when expertise is combined with compassion.
I never had cancer myself, but in many ways, cancer has defined the woman I became.
It shaped my purpose.
It shaped my career.
It shaped the way I advocate.
And it gave me a reason to fight for patients and families who are walking through the same uncertainty my family once faced.
My father’s cancer diagnosis could have been the end of our family’s story.
Instead, it became the beginning of mine.
Today, when I walk through the doors of New York Cancer and Blood Specialists, I do not simply see my workplace. I see the place that gave my father hope. I see the place that gave my family more time. I see the place where my parents once believed they would never have another child and where they eventually shared the news of their miracle baby.
Me.
That is why my work in community oncology will never stop.
Because I know what is at stake.
Behind every diagnosis is a family. Behind every treatment is a person. Behind every statistic is a story. And sometimes, behind one patient who is given three days to live is a future daughter who has not even been born yet.
I am living proof that community oncology matters.
I am proof that hope matters.
I am proof that access to high quality cancer care close to home can change generations.
And I will continue to tell my story, advocate for patients, support community oncology, and fight for the care every patient deserves.
Because my life was changed by a team that cared enough to say, “We are not giving up.”
And now, for every patient and every family I have the privilege to serve, I refuse to give up either.