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My mom got cancer, and I became her caregiver at 34. It showed me I still need my mom.

For years, my mom and I were likened to the Gilmore Girls because of our bond. But there's no episode where Rory has to tell Lorelai she has cancer.

It was a reality I was forced to confront in early 2025, when my mom had to have a hysterectomy due to a large tumor pressing on her uterus. Her surgical oncologist informed me over the phone that it was cancerous while she was still in the operating room.

Initially, I felt optimistic, assuming that the cancer must be gone after the tumor removal. He explained that they had biopsied some other concerning lymph nodes in her body and wouldn't be able to rule out cancer entirely until those were tested.

When my mom woke up from the procedure, I assumed the surgical oncologist would return to inform her of the news. He never came back, so I had to tell my mom — the woman who gave me life — that she did, in fact, have a cancerous tumor, and that we both had to wait several weeks to find out if there was any cancer left in her body.

The roles were reversed that day. I became my mom's sole caregiver. Three weeks later, we found out she had a rare form of uterine cancer — Stage 3 adenocarcinoma.

Even though it was traumatizing to hear my mom's diagnosis, I'm grateful I was there by her side. She credited me afterward for being able to think of informative questions to ask during the appointment, as she was in pure shock — one way I never anticipated my journalistic skills to come into good use.

I knew my mom was a very straightforward woman, having spent 20 years in the Air Force as an aircraft maintenance technician. I understood how she found comfort in stressful situations — and that was actually understanding what she was dealing with, the truth that wasn't sugarcoated.

Turning on my journalist side honestly helped me cope as well, so I went straight into question mode. What did adenocarcinoma mean? Why didn't it go away when they removed my mom's uterus and the large tumor that led to this situation in the first place?

Adenocarcinomas are tricky. They're essentially in the glands of different organs. My mom began to understand why she needed chemotherapy.

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I went with my mom when she got her port: it's a small device surgically implanted in cancer patients for easier bloodstream access during chemotherapy. My mom and I both love Marvel movies, so I joked that she was like Iron Man.

Dive deeper

  • For years, my mom and I were likened to the Gilmore Girls because of our bond. But there's no episode where Rory has to tell Lorelai she has cancer.
  • It was a reality I was forced to confront in early 2025, when my mom had to have a hysterectomy due to a large tumor pressing on her uterus. Her surgical oncologist informed me over the phone that it was cancerous while she was still in the
  • Initially, I felt optimistic, assuming that the cancer must be gone after the tumor removal. He explained that they had biopsied some other concerning lymph nodes in her body and wouldn't be able to rule out cancer entirely until those were
  • When my mom woke up from the procedure, I assumed the surgical oncologist would return to inform her of the news. He never came back, so I had to tell my mom — the woman who gave me life — that she did, in fact, have a cancerous tumor, and
  • The roles were reversed that day. I became my mom's sole caregiver. Three weeks later, we found out she had a rare form of uterine cancer — Stage 3 adenocarcinoma.
Read the original article on Business Insider ↗

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