My life changed forever in August 2017 when I was diagnosed with the Big C. 

But the journey to my diagnosis with Multiple Myeloma was a very difficult one. My husband, Cavanagh, and I were taking a trip to visit family in South Carolina. When we left Texas, all was well, but I knew something wasn’t right when we reached Miami airport.

My feet had swollen painfully, and my back was killing me as we walked from one gate to the next. Although I was worried about coping with the next leg of the journey, we boarded the connecting flight and landed in South Carolina.

I felt absolutely exhausted throughout the flight, the rental car ride, and walking to the hotel room. My husband half-carried me to our hotel room and kept repeating, “Take your time, baby.” The short walk took 20 minutes, and I finally found solace on the hotel room couch. 

But the pain didn’t stop. We went to the emergency room, but they sent me away with pain medication. We went to the hospital three times on that trip and were sent away with painkillers every time.

Once we made it home to Texas after the grueling return journey, I was in so much pain and asked my husband to take me to the hospital. Again, we made multiple trips to Urgent Care. Finally, on my sixth trip to Urgent Care, a doctor said, “You have been here several times in a few days. We do not have any drugs strong enough for your pain level.”

But she took an x-ray of my back, realized I wasn’t trying to get drugs, and scheduled me for an MRI.

I never made it to that scheduled MRI. My husband rushed me to the emergency room a few hours later. We decided to go to the county hospital to hopefully get some better care. That decision saved my life. I was later told by my doctor that my kidneys weren’t working properly and my blood work was all over the show.

I was immediately registered in their system, and they drew blood and took a urine sample. After the preliminary tests, I was soon admitted to the hospital. I was asked by the attending doctor whether I had been in a car accident because my T9 and T12 were broken. The next day, I was wheeled into the operating room for surgery to fix my back.

After the surgery, a doctor wearing a pair of cowboy boots walked into my room and said, “We believe that you have a form of cancer.” Focussing on his footwear, I asked him to not say more until the results were certain. 

I remained in the hospital for two weeks. My follow-up appointment with Cowboy Boots was where I was officially told, “You have cancer.” I couldn’t comprehend my life with a Big C diagnosis and cried for days. My life was changed forever.