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I was living a fast-paced, fulfilling life. As a dedicated professional in corporate America, I traveled extensively, managing state relationships in the heart of the U.S. My life was a whirlwind of work, visits with friends, and planning exciting trips with my accumulated airline miles. I had no idea that my world was about to shift in away I could never have imagined.
Now, as a 15-year breast cancer survivor, I can look back and see how my journey has been filled with both triumphs and trials. Even before my cancer battle, I had already faced significant health challenges, including endocarditis, which led to strokes, meningitis, and the removal of my spleen. The very next day, I developed sepsis. But despite everything I had overcome, nothing could have prepared me for the emotional and physical toll of breast cancer.
It started with a self-exam. I found a lump in my breast, which struck me as odd—I had just had a mammogram in July, and it was now October. I was on a girls’ trip with my lifelong friends, and I mentioned it to one of my friends. Her immediate response was, “Go to your PCP.” So, I did.
My primary care physician, whom I had trusted for 16 years, wasn’t overly concerned. However, given my medical history, he sent me for a diagnostic mammogram and sonogram—just to be sure.
Then came the day that will forever be etched in my memory: December 11th. When the call came, I immediately fell on my knees to pray and then reached out to my sister, Johnnie, a nurse practitioner at TCU. Over lunch that day, my angel sister and I decided: Let’s get this party started.
Let me back up for a moment—Johnnie had been with me for my biopsy. When the radiologist completed the procedure, she gently placed a hand on my shoulder and said, “I am 99% sure this is cancer. I don’t want you to be shocked when you get the call.” I walked into the waiting room with tears welling in my eyes, only to be met with my sister’s reassuring embrace. “You’re going to be okay,” she whispered. The tears never fell.
Don’t get me wrong—there were moments when I didn’t want to be a part of this “party.” Sitting in that infusion chair, losing my hair, having a part of my femininity taken from me—there were no streamers or balloons here.
My days became filled with surgeries, grueling chemotherapy, hair loss, weight gain, and emotional turmoil. But through the pain and suffering, something else emerged: a deep compassion for others walking the same road. My battle ignited a passion within me to serve and support those in need.
I wasn’t alone. My siblings, my family, and my close friends stood by me every step of the way. Their prayers, their unwavering love, and their kindness became my beacons of hope. Even my mother, who was devastated when she heard the news, transformed into one of my greatest supporters. At first, she asked God, “Do you hate my child?”—a reflection of the pain she felt watching me endure yet another major health crisis. But she, too, became part of my strength.
One of the biggest lessonsI learned was that work was not my life. At the time of my diagnosis, I had been with a Fortune 100 company for 16 years. After my second surgery—and I had just previously signed a major agreement —I got a call from my VP. He informed me that they were posting my job.
I told him, “You’re trying to take away my ability to get healthy. Someone would feed me, but I don’t know anyone who can pay for my chemo.”
One year after that call, I was in Austin with that same VP after a meeting with a major University. As we walked down the street, he looked at me and said, “Ragina, you are totally different from the person I saw last July.”
I simply responded, “No kidding—I had poison running through my body.”
He paused, looked at me, and said, “I’m sorry. I understand now.” I went on to retire from that company after 30 years of service.
During my weakest moments—especially after my fourth chemo treatment—I leaned on my faith and a newfound sense of purpose. Making Chemo Bearable (MCB) was born out of a divine calling to help others find joy in their journey. Through education, care packages, healing spaces, advocacy, and legislative work, I wanted to make a difference in the lives of survivors like me.
Today, as the Founder and Executive Director of Making Chemo Bearable, an ambassador for a national breast cancer organization, and a Certified Patient Navigator, I dedicate my time to fighting for healthcare equity and increased research funding. I meet with Congress members to push for better treatment options and work tirelessly to empower other survivors.
My life scars tell a story—a story of resilience, courage, and unwavering hope.
So, I leave you with this: the journey isn’t easy – rest if you need to, but don’t lose your rhythm. A moment is just that – a moment.
