On January 4, 1989, my two-year-old daughter noticed something unusual on the back of my neck. We had just finished taking down the Christmas decorations, ensuring we could fully celebrate her birthday on January 9 without any holiday reminders. That morning, after showering together, I wrapped my hair in a towel and gave her a piggyback ride. At first, I didn’t realize what Wendy was pointing at.

“What’s that boo-boo, Mom?” she asked.

Curious, I turned to see a small, dime-sized mole.

“Great, another mole,” I replied. “I’ll call my dermatologist in a few days.”

I didn’t think much of it then; I had plenty of moles, and most had been removed without issue. I finally contacted my dermatologist, Dr. Rolf Johnsen, on February 2nd.

(Dr. Rolf Johnsen passed away peacefully at CHOMP on July 23, 2024, after a remarkable 96 years.)

After just one look, he promptly referred me to Dr. Roger Bartels, a plastic surgeon.

(Dr. Roger J. Bartels peacefully passed away in 2013, leaving a legacy of adventure.)

Dr. Bartels removed the mole and sent it for a biopsy, and once again, I felt no alarm. At that time, I was 34, married, and living in Pacific Grove, California, where I ran a temporary legal agency for attorneys. Driven by ambition and fierce competitiveness, I constantly needed to embrace life fully. I was adept at achieving my goals, and the stress that came with it didn’t faze me. Highly organized and perfectionistic, I approached everything with a high level of achievement.

Dennis and I thrived in a fast-paced, work-focused environment, with our self-worth tied to our accomplishments. Setbacks frustrated me quickly, as I was primarily focused on completing tasks and reaching objectives.

With our shared mindset of “live hard, play hard, work hard,” we made a strong pair. My employees viewed me as someone who took charge, ensuring everything was done to my standards. I never gave a second thought to hypertension, anxiety, heart disease, or job stress. Like my father, Dennis identified as an atheist. Despite the countless memories, dreams, and hopes we shared along with our child, I set aside my spiritual practices to sustain our marriage.

While occasional disagreements with your partner are normal, constant fighting or clashes over fundamental values shouldn’t be overlooked. It’s a significant warning sign when disagreements arise because you feel your values are being compromised in the relationship. It’s perfectly normal for couples to have different opinions on various topics. However, the relationship may struggle to endure when you can’t find common ground on fundamental values like family, loyalty, and trust. I made all the compromises while Dennis refused to meet me halfway, leading to resentment, which I kept to myself.

On February 20th, Dr. Bartels called and asked Dennis and me to meet him at his office that afternoon. The request filled me with a sense of foreboding.

As Dennis and I sat in the waiting room, exchanging uncertain glances, I kept repeating that everything would be okay and the answers would come soon.

When we entered the doctor’s office and sat across from him, his hands folded and his expression tense, the weight of the moment became clear. My dark mole was melanoma, rated 3.7 on a scale of 4.

Although it was currently localized, surgery was urgently needed. There was genuine concern about the cancer spreading. Life takes an immediate turn upon hearing the words, “You have cancer.”

At that moment, it was challenging to think of anything else. Shock and numbness overwhelmed me, and it felt almost unreal. Cancer uniquely impacts everyone, often defying logic. You might find yourself questioning why this has happened to you. There’s no correct or incorrect way to feel. It’s common to experience denial when you’re first diagnosed, as accepting the reality of cancer can be difficult. Initially, denial can be helpful, providing a bit of space to process and adapt to the diagnosis.

I immediately responded, “Oh, I don’t have cancer. Let’s rerun those tests.”

Dennis just responded, “Okay. What’s next?”

There’s no way to predict what your cancer journey will look like. Along the way, you’re likely to encounter some fears and uncertainties.

I was referred to Dr. Grant Swanson, an oncologist, with an appointment set for February 23rd. We were advised to get our affairs in order before I entered the hospital. The possibility of recovery, which I had been holding onto, suddenly felt distant. The reality of facing death within the next five to ten months loomed over me.

When we got home, I headed straight to the liquor cabinet and poured myself a shot of tequila.

Maybe the doctor’s news wasn’t as grim as it seemed, I tried to convince myself. Then I stepped into the shower and broke down, letting the tears flow. As I sat on the back patio of our garden, a wave of panic surged through me. Despite the doctor’s words, I couldn’t bring myself to imagine leaving my daughter behind at such a young age. I knew I needed to find some strength, though I wasn’t sure where to begin.

Dennis joined me on the patio and said, “I need a drink.”

“You need a drink?” I replied. “I think I’m the one who needs it.”

He poured us both another shot of tequila, and we sat quietly in the shaded garden, surrounded by the flowers he had so lovingly planted.

The ocean breeze carried the sweet fragrance of the blossoms, soothing us. After two shots, I started to feel a little lighter.

The next few days were spent with our daughter—walking along the beach, playing at the park, and simply being together as a family.

I began to relax, but that calm slowly faded as the day of my appointment with Dr. Swanson approached.