From Despair to Hope: My Journey with Leukemia and CAR T-Cell Therapy cont'd

That decision changed my life.

It was January 5th, 2020. I was scheduled to start orientation for my new job on January 7th—at the same hospital where I was now a patient. The ER was overcrowded. I was dizzy, nervous, and scared. Blood tests revealed my hemoglobin was in the 70s. I needed an urgent blood transfusion.

I was placed in a supply room with a hard doctor’s office bed. After receiving two transfusions, I was told I’d been referred to a blood specialist for possible anemia. I was eventually moved to a stretcher in a hallway, facing the trauma room, next to a bathroom. I stayed there for over 24 hours. It was awful.

Then a hematologist came to see me. He asked if I had symptoms like weight loss or bruising. I hadn’t. In fact, I had gained weight due to exhaustion and depression. Still, he said more tests were needed—maybe a blood infection or lymphoma—but reassured me it wasn’t acute leukemia. I often wonder why he was so sure.

Lying in that hallway, watching people die and families grieve, I couldn’t shake the fear. And now, the possibility of cancer? I couldn’t have cancer—I was my daughter’s only parent. Eventually, I was admitted. But with no beds available, I was placed in an overflow room in the cancer unit with three male patients. My stretcher was pushed against a wall, and I received a bone marrow biopsy at my bedside. I was in pain, barely able to function. Something was very wrong.

Then came the news: Acute

Lymphoblastic Leukemia. End-stage.

I was stunned. Out of all the cancers, I never imagined leukemia. It’s not supposed to be hereditary, yet my grandfather died from it in 2008. A close family member was diagnosed with CML in 2007, and three other relatives had blood-related illnesses. My worst fear had come true. My mom and daughter were in the hallway waiting to visit. I was in shock. I asked to see my daughter and begged the staff to tell my mom, because I couldn’t. Watching my daughter’s face as they broke the news shattered me. She was only 11 and clung to me, terrified. I wasn’t going home. The next day, I was referred to Princess Margaret Cancer Centre.