The Day That Changed Everything

On July 29, 2020, I underwent a life-saving cancer surgery at Emory Midtown Hospital. It lasted over eight hours, rebuilt my lower jaw, and gave me a future I wasn’t sure I’d have. Yesterday marked five years since that day—a quiet milestone, but one filled with deep gratitude and reflection.

The Days Leading Up

I was admitted on Monday, July 27th, due to dangerously low magnesium and potassium levels. My last real meal—chicken pot pie from the hospital cafeteria—was that afternoon. I didn’t know it then, but it would be my final meal before a feeding tube became my lifeline.

COVID-19 was in full force. Visitor restrictions meant I was alone in the hospital, with FaceTime as my only connection to family. The isolation was heavy, but the nurses became my surrogate visitors—kind, attentive, and quietly heroic.

A Surgery Almost Canceled

The morning of my surgery felt delayed. At first, we thought it was my bloodwork. Later, I learned the real reason: a shortage of nurses. My surgery was nearly canceled.

But Dr. Azeem Kaka—my oncologist and surgeon—advocated for me. He changed his vacation plans to be there. He believed in me when others might not have. That belief saved my life.

Dr. Kaka would later present my case at a national conference. Many doctors told him they would have opted against surgery due to the advanced nature of my cancer. Without it, I had 6–8 months to live.

The Procedure

Sometime after 9:00 AM, the surgery began. I don’t remember it, but I was told it lasted over eight hours. The tumor—over 5 cm—was removed from the base of my mouth. My lower jaw was rebuilt using bone from my left leg and a skin graft from my thigh.

Dr. Kaka was only 35 years old. I still marvel at the complexity and courage it took to perform such a procedure.

Recovery and Isolation

I woke up in the ICU, swollen and disoriented. I spent two days there before receiving my feeding tube on Friday, July 31st. 

No visitors. No hugs. Just screens and voices. But the nurses—those angels in scrubs—made sure I never felt completely alone.

I remained in the hospital until August 6th, then went to my mom’s home in Columbus to recover. In September and October, I completed 32 sessions of radiation.

Five Years Later

Yesterday, I spent the day quietly at home with my daughters. I took Julie to an appointment. It was ordinary—and that made it extraordinary.

I also received a text from a friend—another survivor of head and neck cancer, also treated by Dr. Kaka. She introduced me to someone newly diagnosed, someone who reminded her of me. He was diagnosed and had surgery all within the last six weeks and is battling anxiety, as I am.

We texted. Then we talked. On the very anniversary of my surgery, I got to tell someone: You are not alone.

Why I Write This

I write to remember. I write to honor. I write to remind others—especially those facing the same diagnosis—that there is life after the valley. There is hope. There is connection.

Five years ago, I was given a second chance. Today, I use it to walk alongside others.

If you or someone you love is facing head and neck cancer, or any cancer diagnosis, know this: you are not alone. There are survivors, advocates, and friends waiting to walk with you.