More Than Our Story

The Moments That Changed Me

Table of Contents

Prologue

I can’t pinpoint exactly when they began, only when they became part of my life: spasms that made my right eyelid flutter. At first, I dismissed them as being tired. Looking back, they were the earliest signs of something more sinister.

In the fall of 2020, I woke up to a pillow bloody; I had bitten through part of my tongue. Had I had a nightmare? It seemed odd that something so severe hadn’t woken me. That led me to try to figure out what was happening. My general practitioner referred me to an ENT, who said it looked like tongue cancer. It was the first time I’d ever heard that word used in a sentence about me. I convinced myself it was just a bite—cancer doesn’t appear overnight, or so I thought.

A few days later, it happened again: blood on my pillow, another bite, and a shoulder so sore it felt like someone had tried to pull it off. During client calls, I struggled to speak, handed off my speaking duties to colleagues, and remained unclear about what was happening.

By Christmas, the impact on my life was undeniable. I was living with my two-year-old son, who was excited about getting a Christmas tree, but I was too exhausted to get off the couch. My father had to come over, pick him up, and bring home a tree. That moment really hit me.

THE WHISPER OF DISCOMFORT:
Trouble rarely arrives with a blaring siren; it usually begins as a subtle whisper of discomfort and quiet shifts in our behavior. Looking back, I can see that my fatigue was my body’s way of signaling distress.

The Moments That Changed Me

My Diagnosis

On the morning of December 17, 2020, I was at my desk when it happened: my first awake seizure. Fortunately, I was on a video call with colleagues, who immediately called paramedics and had me rushed to the hospital. A quick CT scan there revealed the truth: a plum-sized tumor was growing in my brain. An MRI the next morning confirmed the diagnosis and was followed by a consent form for immediate resection surgery. I stayed calm. After all, what could I do? I chose to believe this was not the end of my story, but the beginning of its next chapter.

DIAGNOSIS:
It all suddenly made sense—the bitten tongue, the bloody pillows. I had unknowingly lulled myself into a false sense of security, now stripped away by the truth: a brain tumor.

My Rebirth

Most people remember waking up from their surgery; I was already awake, so there was no clear moment marking the transition from before to after. The surgeons warned that recovery would be difficult, and the road to regaining my independence would be hard-fought. In the end, though, it taught me a great deal about myself and revealed a deep inner strength I hadn’t fully recognized before.

Mentally and physically, I struggled, longing for life to return to normal, yet having to give myself grace to accept my new reality. My mind and body became a battleground. I had almost no control over the right side of my body, most of my ability to speak, and my memory was in shreds. It was hard accepting how far from “normal” I had become. I worked hard with speech-language pathologists and occupational therapists, gradually regaining full strength. I still get overwhelmed, and my speech breaks down, but I was reborn with a renewed desire to become my best self and help others realize their own potential, too.

A cancer diagnosis is a profound existential shift. While many people grapple with questions of identity and purpose, I found mine in creating More Than Our Story— a platform to inspire others by sharing our experiences. I also reached a place of peace with my mortality, choosing to make the most of every moment and to seek out beauty in adversity.

STRENGTH IN SUPPORT:
I need to acknowledge my unwavering support system, made up of friends, family, and loved ones. Without them, I’m not sure where I would be—certainly not this far along.

Building More Than Our Story

As More Than Our Story continued to grow and I spoke with more incredible people, my sense of purpose and resolve deepened. I felt honored that so many people trusted me with their stories of tragedy, resilience, triumph, and loss, and their trust always humbled me. Over time, I learned an immutable truth: we are more alike than we think; we just need to open up and share. We need to reach out, especially when we least feel like it—if not to talk, then simply to listen to someone else’s story, and in doing so, to feel less alone. For the first time in my life, I felt I had found my purpose.

STRONGER TOGETHER
I am forever grateful to everyone who has trusted me with their story. Every single one of you is a hero and truly inspirational.

Survivor’s Guilt

Recently, I’ve started feeling guilty. Some of the people I had the privilege of speaking with, and some of those whom I had hoped to have passed. Every time my insurance company calls, I feel a knot form in the pit of my stomach. I understand, they need to allocate their budget to those who need it most. I have no illusions about my situation: my cancer is incurable, I’ve passed the median life expectancy for my diagnosis, and I feel great, yet I feel guilty for still being here. I wonder whether I’ve done enough to deserve this; honestly, I don’t know. How can I be sure I’m helping enough, starting enough conversations, and inspiring people to be their best? For now, I have to trust the process and give myself grace, that what I’m doing does make a difference.

WHY?
Survivor’s guilt is the quiet question that lingers: Why them and not me?

Conclusion

Maybe I’ve been contemplating my mortality more than I realize. Still, it feels good to put this into words for others to read and, hopefully, relate to—sparking even a single conversation or thought. That’s what I hope comes from this exercise. 

For now, I have nothing but optimism, hope, and the desire to keep inspiring people.

EVERYDAY HEROES:
View all the incredible people I’ve had the honor and privilege of speaking with >>
View PROFILES >>
EMBRACING LIFE WITH CANCER:
Read my article Embracing Life With Cancer >>
View ARTICLE >>
Picture of Daniel

Daniel

Daniel is an extremely curious person, a wealth of random knowledge and facts. Extremely passionate about a vast array of interests ranging from health to history, science to athletics, everything culinary and the list goes on. Trust us, you would want to be on his team for Trivial Pursuit. Daniel is also years into his battle with brain cancer. He experienced a seizure while on a Zoom call at work in late 2020 and quite literally, his life changed within minutes. After his operation he started to talk about his story but had always known it was more than just him. From then, More Than Our Story became a PROJECT that has evolved into the starting point it is today.

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