Help A Stage 4 Survivor Regain Her Independence

Hello, this is the hardest thing I've ever had to do, but it's time.

Help Michelle Rebuild After Beating Stage 4 Cancer

On January 7th, 2020, what would've been my late father’s birthday, I received the news that changed everything—I was diagnosed with Stage 4 metastatic breast cancer. Not just one type, but two. It had already spread. Just over a month later, on February 11th—my deceased best friend's birthday—I underwent a double radical mastectomy and was sent home with drainage tubes, bandages, no use of my left arm and a broken heart, but also a fighting spirit.

Every week was a blur of 2 to 3 appointments, and I was barely healing from the surgeries when I began chemotherapy. My oldest daughter, pregnant at the time, became my caretaker overnight, as well as an acting mom to her 11 year old sister. She bathed me, fed me, drove me everywhere, took care of us and never once complained—losing the use of my left arm due to the 27 infected lymph nodes that had to be removed, meant I couldn't drive not to mention the amount of meds I was now on. Her strength was unimaginable and her faith unshaken.

As I battled 16 rounds of chemo over two years, she showed up for me every single day. My youngest daughter, however, was silently drowning—struggling with the trauma of nearly losing me, seeing each step of it, the pain of her father walking away never to so much as call to check on her after hearing my diagnosis, and the worldwide pandemic shutdown. The emotional weight of it all was just too heavy for her. But she hid it all away so I could get better. I wish she hadn't done that. My little family has been thriving a lot in a short time.

My chemo started on April 6th—my mother’s birthday. Mom was my comforter, she never left my side, even as it shattered her heart to watch me suffer. I’d hear her crying quietly by my bedside when she thought I was asleep, always praying. And those prayers worked, Momma. I’m still here. I might be broken but I'm still here.

Four days after my first chemo, my grandson was born—a little light in the darkest time of our lives. He brought hope, laughter, and a reason to keep pushing forward.

Then came 30 rounds of daily radiation. My daughter still drove me every single day, waiting in the car for hours due to pandemic restrictions, always with a smile, always saying, "We've got this, Momma."

And we did. In November 2024, I heard the words I never thought I’d hear: “You’re in remission.” I finally heard the sound of the ringing bells power.

But remission doesn’t mean life is whole again. Cancer took a lot—my health, dignity, my confidence , my income, most importantky it took my sense of independence. We wore out two vehicles getting to treatment. I’ve lost almost everything… but not my hope.

Now I need help getting back on my feet. I’m a survivor, yes—but now I want to LIVE again without asking for a ride to every destination necessary for basic human survival. A reliable vehicle is the first step toward rebuilding my life. I want to get to doctor’s appointments, be there for my children and grandkids, and move forward though in the back of my mind is a constant reminder of always knowing it could return at any time. Being on total disability I can no longer work to provide. Without a running vehicle, I can no longer get to the grocery store or to any of mine or my youngest daughters appointments, as she still a minor fully reliant on me. My oldest daughter has to work throughout the week now so she can no longer take us. Perhaps I should've asked for help sooner, but God put this on my heart now.

If my story touched your heart, please consider helping me start fresh. Whether it’s a donation or a share, it means the world. Cancer tried to take my life—but it didn’t take my soul. Help me rise again.

Thank you for reading, and thank you for believing in the power of second chances.

With love and endless gratitude,

Michelle