Like many others, I started 2024 with a resolution: To focus on my health. I was ready to prioritize my physical and mental well-being and become a healthier version of myself.
I never imagined I'd end up fighting cancer.
As a mom to a three-year-old boy, putting my health first hadn't always been easy, as most parents know. At the start of this year, I had been a bit tired, but I thought all moms of young kids must feel pretty tired.
I balance motherhood with an executive-level position in healthcare that is incredibly inspiring to me.
I am an advocate for patients, particularly those in communities of color who are traditionally under-supported, and I champion to have their voices represented in the development of new medicines and treatments.
In a twist of fate and irony, I've been thrust into being a part of a patient community that needs help overcoming health inequities.
An Unexpected Diagnosis
In January 2024, as part of a wellness check, my doctor told me that my blood cell counts were very low, which can sometimes be a sign of an underlying disease.
I was shocked. I had no noticeable symptoms other than fatigue.
My next round of tests confirmed that I had Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML). I looked for second and third opinions to confirm the diagnosis, and they all came back the same: I had AML.
My family and I were in utter disbelief. There was no history of blood cancer in our family.
In the short term, I had to cancel a trip to Taiwan. We were scheduled to leave three days following my diagnosis, and it was supposed to be the first time my son met my relatives.
For the longer term, I had to start planning for a life possibly without me in it.
I had to shift my entire life view. As the primary provider for my family, I started making plans to ensure that my husband, baby, and parents were taken care of in the event that I wasn't around.
Time became a precious commodity.
In a matter of weeks, I began my treatment, spending a month in the hospital in isolation and receiving an aggressive co*cktail of chemotherapy.
The hardest part was being away from my son, Chase, for the whole month. Although I could see him through video chats and joined in during family meals, I still felt so removed.
I couldn't hug him or lay him down in his crib at night when he asked for me. I couldn't cheer him on with each new skill he learned at the playground and tell him how proud I was of the new vocabulary he learned in both English and Mandarin Chinese—all because I wasn't there to witness these "firsts."
My medical team at Fox Chase-Temple University Bone Marrow Transplant Program in Philadelphia took great care of me during my treatment.
While I had to be separated from my family and remain in the hospital to help prevent infection, the entire team supported me, and I was thankful for their compassion, teachings, and every act of kindness.
The nurses patiently explained to me what medications I was taking and why. They carefully plucked off hair from my fuzzy blanket and pillowcase to show support of my decision to slowly let my hair fall out. The janitorial staff made extra trips to make sure I had a clean room.
And at my request, on the day when I got to go home after 29 long days in the isolation wing, I was given a "discharge haircut" in a loving way that cemented the memory for me as a joyous occasion rather than mourning a sad loss.
I've also learned so much from the physician team, social worker, dieticians, insurance case manager, bone marrow transplant coordinator, and countless other heroes behind the scenes, who I may never meet in person.
The way they collaborated with each other and worked with me to ensure I am confident in my treatment options and decisions has helped me emotionally cope with how to confront my disease with courage and hope.
After four rounds of chemotherapy over four months, I'm showing promising progress, but my journey continues.
My doctors told me if the leukemia comes back at any point in the next two years, I will need a blood stem cell transplant to save my life.
Hoping a Stranger May Be the Cure
My medical team and I turned to the NMDP Registry, the most diverse registry of volunteer blood stem cell donors in the world, to launch a global donor search.
Seventy-percent of blood cancer patients don't have a fully matched donor in their family, so they rely on the NMDP Registry to help find a donor.
Finding a blood stem cell donor is especially difficult for people of diverse ethnic backgrounds like me. Only 9 percent of the national registry is composed of people from Asian American, Native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islander (AANHPI) ancestry.
I encourage everyone aged 18 to 40 to join the NMDP Registry. It only takes a simple cheek swab to start. If called to be a matching donor for a patient, you could save a life.
And if you are of Asian ethnicity or ancestry, it might even be my life that you save. In all of my years of advocating for patients and communities of color, this couldn't hit any closer to home for me.
My Culture and Cancer
Through my cancer diagnosis and treatment journey, I've had to learn to navigate the cultural aspects of battling cancer.
After I learned the hardship that AANHPI people face in finding a blood stem cell match, I felt compelled to share my story with my extended friends and family, as well as with my broader community.
I was going to need all the help I could get in order to find a matching donor.
At first, my parents did not want me to share my cancer diagnosis with other people. In my Taiwanese culture, health diagnoses are kept private and are typically discussed with immediate family.
Understanding cultural differences and elevating first-hand experiences of people living with a condition is my career passion. Now, I'm having to apply what I know professionally to help me navigate what I'm experiencing personally.
Through several conversations, I let my parents know that it's OK for others to know about my diagnosis. Finding the courage to share my story will help other Asian Americans going through cancer to know they're not alone.
It might even inspire others to join the registry and lead to better health outcomes across diverse communities.
My Hope for the Future
I want to spread the word because everyone should know that you can make a huge difference simply by joining the NMDP Registry. Potential donors can easily join the NMDP Registry online or text teamvivianpa to 61474.
About 53 percent of Asian Americans, 52 percent of Hispanic, and 71 percent of Black cancer patients in need of a transplant do not have a fully matched blood stem cell donor in the registry.
I'm still searching for a donor, and I'm hopeful.
My community and loved ones have provided such encouraging support, and I will continue to fight hard through my cancer treatment because I have many "firsts" to still experience with my son and my family.
Together, we have more to do together to make this a fair fight for patients like me.
Vivian Cheng Larsen is chief operating officer at Legacy Health Strategies.
All views expressed are the author's own.
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Uncommon Knowledge
Newsweek is committed to challenging conventional wisdom and finding connections in the search for common ground.
Newsweek is committed to challenging conventional wisdom and finding connections in the search for common ground.
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