This piece was originally posted on Facebook on Monday, June 16, 2025. I added it to my new blog at a later date.

For the past five years, I have considered June 16th as D-Day. No, not the D-Day remembered for June 6th, when the Normandy landings occurred during World War II—but my own diagnosis day. I choose to share my story for several reasons.

I don’t share this to draw attention to myself. I share it to raise awareness about the importance of seeking medical attention. Please—take any medical concern seriously. Maybe it turns out to be nothing, and all you’ve lost is an hour at the doctor’s office. But what if it’s something serious, and they catch it early? Don’t leave anything—big or small—unchecked when it comes to your health.

I also want to commend the incredible team at Emory Hospital. I strongly recommend them to anyone seeking care or a second opinion. The doctors, nurses, and staff do yeoman’s work—and I’m living proof of their excellence.

And finally, I share this to encourage you to seek mental health support if you need it. Don’t be ashamed. Don’t hesitate to reach out for a counselor, therapist, or medication. Why live in misery—or under a cloud of anxiety—when help is available? If the first person or medication isn’t a good fit, try another. Just don’t give up. At the very least, connect with a friend. Please call me if you need someone to talk to or even vent to. I am always available: 706-639-3001. Now, here is my story.

My Cancer Journey — June 16, 2020

2020 was a challenging year for many. The global pandemic had a profound impact across the world. But for me, it was also the year that transformed my life—in a very different way.

In late March, I began having what I assumed was an abscessed tooth. Like many, I disliked going to the dentist and figured I’d be fine. Plus, dental offices were closed due to COVID. I had a telehealth visit and was prescribed an antibiotic. But weeks passed, and my condition didn’t improve. I should’ve gone to the ER. But I thought I was tough—I had a high pain tolerance—so I didn’t.

After what felt like forever, things began to reopen in May. I finally got in to see a dentist. After reviewing X-rays, the dentist noticed something concerning and referred me to an oral surgeon that same day. Several visits later, my condition continued to worsen. I was eventually referred to an ENT specialist.

On June 11, 2020, I met with Dr. Hunt. He ordered a CT scan, followed by a PET scan. Then, on Tuesday, June 16, after a biopsy, I received the official diagnosis: head and neck cancer.

Because of the tumor’s size and its location at the base of my mouth, Dr. Hunt recommended either Emory in Atlanta or Vanderbilt in Nashville. I chose Emory—it was closer. My first appointment at Emory Midtown was Tuesday, July 14th—a date I won’t forget because it’s my younger sister’s birthday.

Due to COVID, I was unable to have anyone accompany me. My wife and mom waited at a nearby hotel while I spent the day undergoing scans and consulting with surgeons and oncologists. Late that afternoon, my surgeon told me the news I’ll never forget: it was a very advanced, aggressive form of cancer. The tumor was roughly 5 cm. Without surgery, I had about eight months to live.

I faced that moment alone, aside from a FaceTime call with my wife and mom. The surgeon explained that the upcoming surgery would be life-changing.

The next day, I returned home. On the way back, I got a call—my surgery was scheduled for Wednesday, July 29. Dr. Kaka, my surgeon, even postponed his family vacation to perform it.

On July 27, I returned to Emory for pre-op labs. My potassium and magnesium were dangerously low. They admitted me early through the ER. On the morning of July 29, the surgery was nearly canceled due to staffing shortages. But Dr. Kaka advocated for me. After a delay, the surgery moved forward.

It lasted nearly eight hours. They removed the tumor, but I lost my lower lip and all lower teeth. Bone from my left leg was used to rebuild my jaw. A skin graft was taken from my thigh. Later, I learned they got clear margins, and only 5–6 out of over 50 lymph nodes showed cancer.

I spent two days in the ICU before being transferred to a regular room. The hardest part? Being without my family. We FaceTimed, but I couldn’t speak. On July 31, I had a PEG tube placed—which I still use today. From November 2019 to July 2020, I lost about 50 pounds. I was discharged on Thursday, August 6—my grandmother’s birthday.

In follow-up visits, everything pointed to a successful surgery. I didn’t need chemo, but I did undergo 32 rounds of radiation from September to October 2020 at the Amos Cancer Center in my hometown. I stayed with my mom during treatment—she was incredible. My sister and her husband also supported me; they were amazing. Back home, my wife kept everything running and cared for our two daughters—Julie, who was 7 then (now 12), and Caroline, who was 3 (now 8).

Today, I’m considered NED—No Evidence of Disease. During one follow-up, I learned that my case was presented at a national medical conference. Some doctors told my surgeon they might not have attempted the operation due to its complexity. I’m forever grateful that he did. And now, just four months from now—if nothing returns—I’ll be considered cancer-free. Not bad for someone given a 50/50 chance to live five years, even with successful surgery.

The journey hasn’t been easy. 2024 was my hardest year yet, battling anxiety, depression, and PTSD. I still can’t eat by mouth—even after swallow therapy. Though I don’t aspirate, I still can’t manage it. In December 2024, a scan suggested recurrence in the upper paratracheal lymph nodes. A January biopsy proved it was not cancer—but the fear stuck with me.

I still don’t know what caused my cancer. I’ve never smoked, used tobacco, or drank much alcohol. It wasn’t HPV-related either. That mystery—and the chance of recurrence—still lingers. But in 2025, I made a decision: I wasn’t going to let fear steal my peace. With therapy, medication, and support, I’ve reached a better place. I no longer need weekly sessions. And I’m about to finish my Master’s degree this fall after completing student teaching. My goal? To teach middle or high school social studies or history.

Cancer has shaped my life. In 2014, I lost my best friend—more like family—to chronic myeloid leukemia (CML). I’ve often asked why God chose me to survive when others didn’t. Cancer has taken so much, but it’s also given back. I’ve made new friends, deepened old connections, and grown in gratitude for the people around me.

Thank you for reading my story.