In June 2024, I went to the emergency room because the “flu” I’d been diagnosed with a week earlier had turned into abdominal pain that didn’t feel right. After a litany of tests and scans, a doctor told me the flu was persistent, but the pain was “just my cancer.”
My what?
In the blurry moments that followed, I heard phrases like “five-inch tumor,” “we assumed you were in active treatment,” and “this is urgent.” I walked into that ER expecting to go home with a prescription and instructions to rest. Instead, my life came to a complete standstill.
Until then, I’d been like so many working parents juggling family and work commitments. No one in my family had ever been diagnosed with cancer. I didn’t know where to begin, and within days, I was too sick to decide. I returned to the ER unbelievably weak and learned I had stage 4 diffuse large B-cell non-Hodgkin lymphoma with a rare double B-cell mutation. My oncologist described it as “explosive” because of how quickly it could grow and spread.
I spent a month in the hospital before I was stable enough to go home. Twice, my family was told to prepare for the worst. I made it through, but I was scared, exhausted, and determined to seek a second opinion.
That brought me to City of Hope. I knew the name because my industry had supported them for years, but this was personal. My husband and I met Dr. Rodriguez, and I remember the conversation clearly. He didn’t sugarcoat my diagnosis, but he believed I could beat it. He encouraged me to continue chemotherapy close to home, near my family, and keep his team informed so we could pivot quickly if needed.
We did need to pivot. I responded to chemotherapy, but the cancer was still there. I left my local hospital with no treatment options left and walked into City of Hope, where Dr. Rodriguez gave me three paths to explore. I cannot overstate what that hope meant to me in that moment.
By then, I spoke a language I never wanted to learn intimately familiar with words like platelet count, good blood return, and metal mouth. I’d lost my strength, my hair, and, on days when I couldn’t manage simple tasks alone, most of my dignity. It had already been an unbelievable battle, and the next part would be even harder.
We first considered CAR-T therapy. Because of its potential side effects, Dr. Rodriguez recommended trying an autologous stem cell transplant first. Collecting enough of my stem cells took two eight-hour sessions. It was grueling, but we got there. On April 16, 2025, I received my cells back.
That day is one of my favorite memories from treatment. The procedure took hours, and it was just me and the two nurses caring for me. I asked if I could play the “fighter” playlist that had carried me through my hardest days. They welcomed it, and the three of us sang our hearts out to songs from every decade and genre. Were we on key? Absolutely not. But for those hours, we felt like equal partners in the fight, and I couldn’t imagine a better soundtrack for my “Rebirth Day.” I’ll always be grateful for that memory.
Recovery didn’t happen overnight. Slow progress showed up each day with a little more energy, a little more strength, and a little more independence. Even now, more than a year in remission, I’m still rebuilding. One way I’m doing that is by participating in Walk for Hope in Zion, IL this October.
For years, I supported City of Hope without ever imagining I’d become a patient. Long before cancer made me pray for a miracle, someone had helped fund the treatment that would ultimately save my life. Now I’m walking for whoever is next…the person who will hear “you have cancer” tomorrow and the family hoping desperately for a way to save someone they love.
If you’re facing cancer, you don’t have to figure out your whole future today. Just breathe. Take one minute, one hour, and one day at a time. Ask questions. Seek specialized expertise. Let people help. There may be more options and more tomorrows than you can see right now.
About the Author: Barb Gargano is a wife, mom of two, and dog mom of three, with a full-time career in customer experience. Diagnosed with stage 4 non-Hodgkin lymphoma in 2024, she is now in remission following a stem cell transplant at City of Hope. When she finds a spare minute, she loves watching her Chicago Cubbies or settling in with a good book. Barb runs on coffee, humor, and Post-it notes, and appreciates life’s chaos as much as its beauty.
