About the Journey

In January 2016, I returned for what I believed would be the final semester of my MFA studies at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. After completing my degree, I intended to begin teaching, hoping to assist others in developing a personal language that would enhance their ability to express and articulate themselves visually. However, a storm was brewing within me—quite literally, I later realized—which would put these plans on hold as I embarked on a battle with cancer.

On a beautiful day in late March, while I was on my way to school, I experienced a full-blown tonic-clonic seizure. What had begun as an ordinary day quickly turned into a series of events that would drastically change my life. While in the hospital and being prepared for various tests, I had another seizure. At that moment, I knew something was seriously wrong. On an instinctual, perhaps even primal level, I understood that something had shifted within me, and it was clear that this situation needed urgent attention.

I would spend the next few days in the hospital undergoing numerous tests to determine the exact cause of my condition, its origin, and the appropriate treatment plan. After various scans and examinations, metastatic lesions were discovered in my lungs and brain. I would later learn that the origin of these lesions was testicular cancer.

I was diagnosed with stage IIIC testicular cancer on April 1, 2016.

One night, while lying in the hospital and unable to sleep, I began reflecting on my life. My thoughts were clouded by various medications, hazy from emotional trauma, and scrambled as I tried to make sense of everything that had happened in such a short time. I wondered how I would tell my family. What would chemotherapy be like? How could I be so close to completing my MFA yet feel so far away? How was it possible that, despite living such a healthy lifestyle, I had developed cancer? How long had it been there? How long had it been spreading?

The doctors in Chicago were advocating for immediate treatment. However, I was resolute about returning home to New England, where I believed I had a stronger support network of family and friends.

Three days after leaving the hospital, I flew back to Maine. Less than a week later, I started chemotherapy treatment.