Andrea

Honoured Hero: My Journey with Blood Cancer

By a Survivor, a Mother, and a Light the Night Champion

There are certain days in life that stand out—turning points that forever change your path. For me, that day was June 18, 2008.

Just five months earlier, I had achieved a long-time dream of becoming a mom to my beautiful daughter, Jessica. Life was joyful but exhausting, as it often is for single parents. I chalked up the fatigue to sleepless nights and adjusting to life with a newborn.

But as the weeks passed, the tiredness became relentless. Even after rest, I felt worse. Something was off. On June 18, with my parents and baby Jessica by my side, I went to the Foothills Emergency. Blood tests were taken, and shortly after, a doctor delivered a diagnosis that changed everything: Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia—a type of blood cancer.

It was surreal. I was healthy, active, and had no family history of cancer. I was confused and overwhelmed—how could this be happening when I had a five-month-old baby depending on me?

That very night, I was admitted to the Tom Baker Cancer Centre.

At first, doctors prescribed six months of chemotherapy. But just two weeks into treatment, we hit a devastating setback. The chemo wasn’t working. There was a high likelihood the cancer would return. My next option was a bone marrow transplant.

My siblings were tested, but neither was a match. I was left with one last, unfamiliar option: a cord stem cell transplant. At the time, in 2008, it was still a relatively new procedure with uncertain outcomes. But it was my only hope.

Two months after my diagnosis, I chose to move forward with the transplant, not knowing if I would survive the journey ahead.

From September to October, I underwent full-body radiation and intense chemotherapy—the kind so toxic it smelled like gasoline on my skin. All of it was to prepare my body for the transplant.

On November 10, 2008, I received my cord blood transplant.

The weeks that followed were some of the scariest of my life. There were moments when I truly believed I wouldn’t make it. But by Christmas, I started to climb out of the woods.

Now—17 years later—I’m healthy. I’m thriving. I’m here.

Back in 2008, only five or six cord stem cell transplants were done in Canada. I was the only one who survived. I am living proof of the power of research, innovation, and hope.

I am alive because of people who believed in better treatments—people who donated, volunteered, and walked in events like Light the Night.

This October, I’ll be taking part in my 18th Light the Night Walk. It’s more than a date in my calendar—it’s a celebration of life, a remembrance of what I’ve overcome, and a powerful night of solidarity.

Each year, I’m surrounded by my family and friends, walking alongside others who know what it means to face blood cancer—as a patient, a survivor, or someone who’s lost a loved one. Together, we carry lanterns of hope, love, and remembrance.

Light the Night is like nothing else. It’s personal. It’s emotional. It’s inspiring. And for me, it’s a reminder of how far we’ve come—and how far we can still go.