Blog|Articles|July 16, 2026

When the Caregiver Becomes the Patient

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Key Takeaways

A pediatric brain tumor trajectory evolved into secondary MDS requiring a prolonged donor search and umbilical cord blood transplant, highlighting cumulative treatment burden and caregiver endurance over 13 years.
Stage III rectal cancer prompted neoadjuvant-intent chemoradiation, repeated surgeries, and lifelong ostomy adaptation, reframing identity from advocate-at-bedside to patient receiving complex supportive care.
The patient’s coping strategy leveraged meaning-making and modeled resilience from prior caregiving, using her son’s treatment tolerance as a motivational comparator during periods of low psychological reserve.
Post-treatment survivorship and grief were operationalized into a social enterprise and foundation delivering culinary training, workforce pathways, and mentorship for underserved and medically impacted populations.
A dissemination strategy extends beyond print to mobile classroom deployment and planned short-film development, aiming to translate lived experience into scalable community education and hope-oriented messaging.

After losing her son to cancer, she faced Stage III rectal cancer herself. Today, she shares how grief, faith and purpose became a legacy of hope.

Cancer entered my life long before I ever became a patient.

When my son, Miles, was just 2 years old, he was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Over the next 13 years, our family learned a new language—surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation, MRIs, hospital rooms, and hope. Later, Miles was diagnosed with myelodysplastic syndrome (MDS). After a 10-month search for a donor, he received an umbilical cord blood transplant. Despite his incredible courage, we lost him at just 15 years old.

As his mother, I believed my job was to be the strong one. I advocated for him, comforted him, prayed with him, celebrated every victory, and stood beside him through every setback. I never imagined that years later I would hear the words, “You have cancer.”

I was diagnosed with Stage III rectal cancer.

Suddenly, I wasn’t sitting beside the hospital bed. I was in it.

I underwent chemotherapy, radiation, multiple surgeries, and now live with a permanent ostomy. There were days I questioned whether I was strong enough to keep going. Then I would think about Miles.

As a little boy, he faced treatments that many adults would struggle to endure. He rarely complained. He smiled when he could, encouraged others, and taught me more about courage than I ever taught him.

During my own treatment, I often asked myself, “If Miles could do this as a child, how can I not keep fighting?”

That thought carried me through some of my darkest moments.

Today, I am grateful to say I am cancer-free. My journey changed me, but it did not define me.

In 2015, I founded Sweets 4 Miles Bakery to honor my son’s memory. What began as a tribute has grown into the Miles 2 Go Foundation and Sweets 4 Miles Culinary Academy, where we use culinary education, workforce development, and mentorship to help youth, adults, seniors, people with disabilities, caregivers, veterans, and cancer survivors discover new opportunities and hope.

I have also written Miles Between Us, which tells Miles’ story, along with Crown Through the Fire and The Bag Didn’t Break Me, which share my own journey through grief, faith, and cancer. My vision now includes launching a Mobile Culinary Classroom that brings education directly into underserved communities and developing Miles Between Us into a short film so Miles’ courage can continue inspiring families around the world.

Cancer took me on two very different journeys. The first taught me how to be a caregiver. The second taught me how to accept care from others. Together, those experiences have shown me that healing is about more than surviving. It is about discovering purpose in the pain and using your story to bring hope to someone else.

If my family’s journey can help even one caregiver feel understood, one patient feel less alone, or one family believe that hope is still possible, then every step of our journey continues to have meaning.