Healing and Hustling with Zandra

One year ago today, I walked into an exam room and had a biopsy that would forever split my life into two parts: before cancer and after diagnosis. I didn’t know it then, but that small sample of tissue would set off a chain reaction that would test every part of who I am—physically, emotionally, spiritually.

I remember that day so clearly. I wore something soft, not knowing I’d soon long for the comfort of anything gentle. I sat in the waiting room trying to stay calm, thinking, It’s probably nothing. But deep down, I had a feeling. A quiet knowing. And when the results came back, my life shifted.

The Year That Changed Me

It’s hard to capture everything that’s happened in the 365 days since. I’ve had chemotherapy, radiation, surgeries, ports placed, and more blood draws than I can count. I’ve sat in infusion chairs while trying to smile, even as my veins stung and my energy drained. And now, here I am—today—at another doctor’s visit, preparing for yet another round of Keytruda and Capecitabine. Another day of treatment. Another day of strength.

But this year wasn’t just about medicine. It was about transformation. It was about learning who I am when life gets stripped down to the bare minimum—when your eyebrows fall out and your skin changes and you forget what “normal” even means.

What I Learned

• I am stronger than I thought.
  I’ve been through things I used to fear and came out the other side. Bruised? Yes. Changed? Absolutely. But still standing.
• My body is not my enemy.
  Even when it betrayed me, even when it hurt—my body has been fighting for me every day. It carries me. It heals. I’ve learned to say thank you instead of only noticing the things that feel broken.
• Rest is not weakness.
  I’ve had to slow down, say no, cancel plans, and ask for help. And I’ve learned that survival sometimes looks like taking a nap, ignoring a text, or sitting in silence.
• Gratitude matters.
  I started counting small blessings on the hardest days—a kind nurse, a warm blanket, a good lab result, a day without nausea. Tiny lights in dark places.

The Things I Experienced

• The first time I walked into radiation, clutching my hospital gown, heart pounding.
• The way neuropathy crept into my fingers and toes, turning the simple act of buttoning a shirt into a challenge.
• My fingernails—changing, hurting, slowly growing back.
• The toll cancer took on my mind—brain fog, fear, the occasional spiral.
• But also… the laughter. So much unexpected laughter. Because even in the hardest times, humor found a way in.

My Support Network

I couldn’t have made it without my circle. My family. My friends. My coworkers who checked in. The nurse who shared that she was also going through chemo—treating others while healing herself. What a warrior.

Melissa, my sweet friend, who came with me to appointments. The folks who brought me meals. The people who listened without trying to fix me. Even strangers—online communities, survivors who reached out, messages that said, “Me too.”

There’s a sacredness in being seen during your weakest moments. And I’ve never felt so seen, so loved, or so carried.

---

A Moment That Shifted Everything

While I was on my cruise recently—my much-needed escape—a waiter stopped at my table, smiled, and casually asked me, “Are you winning?”

At first, I thought he meant a prize. Maybe a game or a raffle. But when I looked confused, he clarified. He meant how I was doing.

Are you winning in life?

I told him I loved the way he put that. Am I winning? That question hit different. It bypassed all the small talk and cut straight to the heart of it.

It gave me a new lens through which to view this year, this journey, this war my body has been fighting. And the answer?

Yes. I am absolutely winning.

Not because everything is easy. Not because it’s over. But because I keep showing up. I keep choosing life, joy, gratitude—even on the hard days. Because I’ve made it this far. Because I’m still here.

---

One Year Later

I’m still in treatment. Still in motion. Still in healing. But I’m also still in victory mode. Still rising. Still laughing. Still becoming.

And every time I feel overwhelmed, I will remember that question: Are you winning?

Yes. I am. And I will continue to win, one day at a time.