“He cried, and the only thing he asked was, ‘Are you going to die?’” Misty recalls. “I told him the doctors would do everything they could to help me, and that I was going to fight with everything I have. But I also had to be honest — because there are no guarantees.”
That honesty defines Misty’s approach. From managing difficult conversations to enduring the physical toll of chemotherapy, she refuses to sugarcoat her experience. Once fiercely independent, she now leans on her children to help with everyday tasks that have become nearly impossible — cooking, cleaning, even bathing.
“The neuropathy from the chemo is brutal,” she says. “There are days when I can’t even stand. I’ve had to use a walker because the pain is so severe. You lose your pride, your independence — all of it.”
But the hardest part, she says, isn’t the pain. It’s missing the milestones. Being unable to attend her kids’ school events. Sitting out the soccer games and recitals, knowing her compromised immune system makes any infection potentially life-threatening. The helplessness is crushing.
“You feel useless. Like a burden. Like you’re watching your family continue to live life while you sit there, too sick to join in,” she says, her voice breaking.
That’s why the school nurse’s call hit her so hard.
“It just gutted me,” Misty admits. “It was like someone knocked the air out of me. As a mom, your whole world is your kids. And hearing that my son was too scared to sleep because he thought I might die? There’s no preparing for that.”
After that call, Misty immediately arranged for her son to see a therapist and began having regular, honest conversations with him about her health. “I don’t believe in lying or pretending,” she says. “He needs to feel safe to ask questions — and I owe him truthful answers.”
Despite the pain, the fear, and the crushing weight of medical bills, Misty is determined to give her family moments of normalcy. Every Sunday, the family gathers for dinner — a tradition she fiercely protects, even if she’s too weak to cook.
“Sometimes I sit in a chair in the kitchen while my kids do the work. Sometimes I can only give instructions,” she says. “But we’re together. And that’s what matters.”
She’s also had to confront a harsh reality: the emotional and financial cost of cancer doesn’t end with survival.
“People think if you survive the treatments, the battle is over,” she says. “But the truth is, you’re left mentally and financially wrecked. I had to start a GoFundMe just to keep us from losing our home. That’s the side of cancer people don’t talk about.”
For Misty, surviving cancer isn’t just about staying alive. It’s about staying connected — to her children, to her sense of self, to the truth.
“I’ve learned to ask for help. That doesn’t make me weak — it makes me human,” she says. “And I tell other parents going through this: be real with your kids. Let them see your fight. Let them grieve the changes. That’s how healing begins.”
Though her future remains uncertain, Misty’s purpose is crystal clear: “I’m not just fighting for me. I’m fighting for them — my children. And as long as I can breathe, I’ll keep going.”