After hearing the words “It’s cancer,” the weight of the diagnosis didn’t fully hit me until I realized I had to say it out loud — to the people I love most.
That might have been one of the hardest parts. I wasn’t just processing my own fear; I was bracing for theirs. I didn’t want to be the reason for their pain, their tears, their sleepless nights. But I knew I couldn’t carry this alone.
My husband was sitting right beside me during the video appointment with the doctor. He heard the diagnosis the same moment I did. I remember looking at him, searching his face for strength while trying to hold myself together. We didn’t need to say much — the silence between us was heavy with everything we were both feeling. But I was grateful I didn’t have to face those words alone.
That same night, we told our kids.
There’s no manual for that conversation — no script that makes it less terrifying. We sat them down and told them I was sick. We told them the truth, gently but honestly. There were lots of tears, hugs, and long moments of silence where the fear just hung in the air. We hugged and cried... A lot! What broke my heart the most was seeing the shift in their eyes — the innocence slipping away just a little too soon.
A diagnosis like this makes kids grow up faster than they should have to. They start worrying about things they shouldn't even be thinking about. That’s one of the things I hate most about cancer — the way it reaches beyond the patient, touching every life around them, especially the little ones. The fear in their eyes broke my heart. We hugged, we cried, and we promised each other that we’d get through this together.
My sister-in-laws came the very next day. No hesitation, no questions — just action. They showed up and wrapped me in comfort and care, helping with everything from meals to simply being present when words weren’t enough. We even went to a Chargers football game together — a much-needed distraction that reminded me how healing joy and laughter can be, even in the middle of uncertainty. Best part? The Chargers won! #gochargers
And then, my parents — they flew in all the way from India that same weekend. As soon as they heard the news, they packed their bags and came to be with me. Seeing them walk through my door brought a flood of emotion I can’t fully describe. Their presence made everything feel just a little more manageable, a little less terrifying.
My mom immediately took over the kitchen, filling our home with the familiar smells and comfort of my favorite foods. Every meal she made felt like a warm hug, a reminder of home, of safety, of being cared for in the deepest way. My dad, without a second thought, took over all the driving — school drop-offs, errands, appointments — he just quietly handled it all so I didn’t have to worry. They stepped in like only parents can, instinctively knowing what to do without me having to ask.
They didn’t try to fix things with words — they just showed up and did what they do best: love unconditionally, give selflessly, and hold me up when I couldn’t stand on my own.
My family became my safety net, catching me in the moments when I felt like I was falling apart. They cried with me, held me, and helped me believe that I wouldn’t face this alone. In the middle of the scariest moment of my life, I was surrounded by love — steady, fierce, and unconditional. And that love became the foundation I leaned on as I prepared to face what came next.
Telling my friends was another wave of emotion. These were the people I laughed with, leaned on, shared everyday life with — and now I had to share this. Some conversations I could barely get through without crying. Others I delivered more matter-of-factly, trying to keep it together. But in every case, my friends showed up with overwhelming kindness. Messages poured in. Flowers and meals started arriving. They checked in constantly. Their love wrapped around me in a way that felt both comforting and surreal.
Cancer didn’t just change my life — it deepened my relationships. It showed me, in the most raw and unexpected ways, just how much I’m held by the people around me.