They told my parents I wouldn’t make it to Christmas. Today, I’m cancer-free, living proof that miracles happen.
My life changed overnight during a routine business trip to New Orleans. Without warning, I lost hearing in my right ear. Back home, an ENT confirmed total hearing loss and immediately ordered an MRI. The next day, I got a call no one wants to hear — three tumors had been found in my brain.
A neurologist delivered even more devastating news; the tumors were inoperable, and the doctor didn’t believe they started here. He told me I needed to check into the hospital immediately. Further scans revealed countless tumors in my lungs, leading to a diagnosis of stage 4 lymphomatoid granulomatosis (LYG), a rare and aggressive blood cancer.
I had always been the picture of health — 225 pounds of solid muscle, a lifelong athlete, a CrossFit regular, a nonsmoker who rarely drank. Yet suddenly, my life was hanging by a thread.
Treatment began with eight rounds of chemotherapy, each cycle leaving me sicker and weaker. When the cancer didn’t respond, I endured a month of targeted brain radiation, followed by more chemo. By November 2020, doctors warned my parents that I likely wouldn’t live to see Christmas: “If the cancer doesn’t kill him, the chemo will.”
With no options left, my medical team tried a stem cell transplant. For two weeks, I spent five hours a day in the hospital donating my own blood for the procedure. In April 2021, my doctors, led by Dr. Estil Vance, performed the transplant, first bringing me to the brink of death with an intense chemo regimen called the MATRIX, then reintroducing cleaned stem cells to rebuild my immune system.
The next day, I woke up and felt different, clearer, stronger, alive. One month later, repeated tests confirmed the miracle; I was cancer-free.
Today, I call every day a gift. I wasn’t supposed to survive, but I did, thanks to my incredible doctors, my family, and the hope that never gave up on me. If my story gives even one person the strength to keep fighting, it’s worth every moment I endured.
Brent
lymphomatoid granulomatosis (LYG)
