It’s the month that changed my life forever the month in 2017 when I was hospitalized, terrified, and without answers. I remember the loneliness, the uncertainty, and the pain that consumed me as I waited for a diagnosis. I didn’t know then that I was facing stage four lymphoma cancer. I just knew I was trapped in a cycle of fear, with no roadmap forward.

Even now, years later, January still makes my stomach turn. No matter how much time passes, my heart races as the memories creep back in. It’s like my body instinctively remembers the fear before my mind even processes it.

I see my daughter, signing for floral deliveries at the hospital, trying to bring brightness to my darkest days. I see videos of us singing together, finding comfort in music when words weren’t enough. I see my husband bringing me dinner, determined to make a hospital room feel a little more like home. And then, I see myself—staring into the mirror, tears streaming down my face, trying to understand why I was in so much pain. Those moments are inevitable to return every January, uninvited but impossible to ignore.

But through it all, I’m still here.

January 25th marks the anniversary of my diagnosis, the day my world flipped upside down. It was the moment I had to make a choice to fight or to surrender. I fought. I endured. I survived. And now, I stand on the other side, grateful beyond words. Grateful for my life. Grateful for my second chance. Grateful that my story can serve as hope for someone else who is fighting their own battle.

Every January, I hold my breath, just trying to make it through. And every year, I do. I survive the memories. I suvive the pain. I survive the weight of what this month represents.

So, today, I raise a glass to myself and to every survivor who understands what it means to endure. Cheers to ano her January that I have survived. Cheers to life, to resilience, and to the hope that keeps us moving forward.

If you are in the middle of your fight, I want you to know there is life beyond the pain. There is strength within you that you haven’t even discovered yet. Keep going. Keep believing. And one day, you too will raise a glass and say, “I survived.”

With love and gratitude,

Shanee’

A Birthday with a Mission

There’s something powerful about celebrating life while standing alongside those who truly understand the battle. Surrounded by my loved ones and my cancer community, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. We weren’t just there to walk—we were there to inspire, uplift, and remind others that no matter where you are in your fight, you are not alone.

Fighting & Fabulous in Red

To make the day even more special, we all rocked our red shirts from the Fighting & Fabulous Valentine’s Day col ection. A bold and beautiful statement of strength, unity, and love. We wore them with pride, knowing that we were walking not just for ourselves but for every warrior who has fought this fight. Seeing a sea of red moving together was a reminder of the power of community and the strength that comes from standing together.

Laughter, Love & Purpose

We laughed, we talked, and we walked three things I once worried I wouldn’t be able to do again when I was battling stage four lymphoma. But there I was, alive, thriving, and making every step count. The energy was electric, and the joy in the air was undeniable. The best part? People recognized us from the previous year. Survivors, supporters, and families stopped by to share their stories, tell us how much they loved seeing us again, and remind us that our presence mattered. That kind of recognition is priceless. It proved that what we’re doing bringing awareness, offering support, and spreading hope—is making a difference.

Make Your Birthday Worthwhile

As I reflect on that day, I challenge you to rethink how you celebrate your next birthday. Instead of just marking  nother year, make it mean something. Do something new, something with purpose. Gather your tribe, step outside your norm, and create a memory that feeds your soul. Whether it’s volunteering, starting a tradition, or bringing awareness to a cause close to your heart, make your day count.I promise you—celebrating with purpose is the most fulfilling gift you can give yourself.

Stay Fighting & Fabulous, and may your next birthday be your best yet. God bless. ❤

When I realized that sleep was no longer an option, I decided to get up and get myself together. I picked my clothes out for the day and packed my hospital bag as I sobbed the entire time. It was as though someone had died because truth is told, every time I had to check into the hospital, I felt as though another part of me was dying along the way. Me being me, a woman who was used to being so strong and resilient for a living, I tried everything within my power to keep my true feelings from my husband. I knew that this process of separation was just as hard on him as it was on me. As soon as I heard him waking up, I quickly ran into the restroom in the hopes of gaining control of my feelings, but instead, I cried so hard that I had a full-on anxiety attack. I poured my heart and soul out on the bathroom floor. I desperately gasped for air to stop myself from hyperventilating because I was so upset with this process and so tired of leaving my family. After a long cry attack and a moment of prayer on the ground, I finally gained enough strength to gather myself and proceeded to get ready for my morning hospital check-in. I never put much effort into how I looked upon check-in knowing just how much the treatment was about to tear me down. However, that day I wanted to try something different. I wanted to get dressed and make myself feel good and try to mentally psych myself into believing that I was “normal.” So, I threw my wig on, put on a cute matching legging fit, and went about my day.

Every time I checked into the hospital, which was every fourteen days, I had to call the oncology unit to make sure they had a bed available for me. I also had to determine what time I had to take my walk of shame, I mean check-in. Just like any other day, I made my morning call at 8:00 am and was hit with the mysterious news that my chemotherapy treatment was not approved by my medical insurance. This was a complete shock to me because this had never been an issue. While part of me was so thrilled that I could not check-in at that moment, the other part of me was pissed knowing that this would set me back and throw off my schedule for completion. I took my anxiety medication and allowed the nurses and hospital team to figure things out. Finally, at noon, my husband received the dreaded call from the doctor’s office that things were worked out and I should head over for treatment. The news made me so sick to my stomach, knowing that I had to return.

As soon as we arrived at the hospital, I immediately became angry. Angry that I was back. Angry that my cancer had still not gone away. Angry that I would not be able to pick my daughter up from school. Angry that my husband had to sleep alone for the next week. Angry with life in general. I did not want to see anyone, nor speak to anyone, because the truth was I was not as excited to see the hospital staff as they were to see me; I knew my face vividly showed my emotions. However, I just could not help it this time around. I stormed into my hospital room with so much rage. As I was getting situated, I looked upon the whiteboard to see who my day shift nurse was, and instead of seeing the nurse’s name, I saw a message that read “something about the name Jesus,” which instantly calmed every ounce of anger in my spirit. My soul quickly snapped out of it and I relaxed to enjoy the last few minutes I had with my husband before he had to pick up our daughter from school. We said our goodbyes as the waiting game began for my treatment to get started.

For some reason, I felt as though my spirit was truly battling itself because nothing seemed to be going right. The nurses attempted to put my picc line in place and soon realized that the scar tissue on my veins was so bad from prior treatment that they could not place a picc line in, which was a first. For the reason that my treatment had to go on, I had to allow them to place a central line in my neck so that we could move forward, which was a process within itself. After two failed attempts, I was informed that my central line had to wait until the next day, which made me scream on the inside feeling so defeated by everything that was taking place that day. In true Nae form, I wasn’t having it. I told them that I was going home if they could not figure it out because there was no need for me lying in the hospital alone if my treatment could not move forward. Lo and behold, another team came in and they got things figured out after hours of preparation and attempts.

When the doctors finally left my room, I was able to get more comfortable and settled into my confinement. One part of me felt so defeated knowing that I had been there for hours and my treatment had not yet started due to all of the day’s complications. The other part of me reminded myself of the message on the board. So I fixed my invisible crown and reminded myself of how far I had come and how I was closer to the finish line than the starting point. I took long, deep breaths to try to keep my composure. Shortly after, my night nurse finally came in the room so that we could officially get things started. Oh boy was I excited to see her knowing that the countdown could officially begin as to the number of hours I would have the medication pumping through my body.
Upon the nurse’s entry, we said a quick hello, which was very strange for a nurse that I had seen so many times. Usually, the nurses would chat with me, catch up with me, laugh with me, and even cry with me. However, on this night the nurse seemed a bit different. As she went on with her questionnaire to get things started, she looked up at me in complete shock. It was almost as though she saw a ghost and said, “Oh my gosh Shanee’, I didn’t even recognize you with a wig on. You look so different.” At that very moment, my entire soul shattered. My heart popped out of my chest. I could feel the tears forming in my eyes as I processed what she said to me, thinking, did she really just say that? Do I look that different with hair? No, the hell she didn’t! Who says that? My mind went on and on as tears started to fall down my face with no sense of control and no end in sight. She went on to ask me questions and I answered to the best of my ability as I stared out of the window crying, trying everything in my power not to make eye contact. I was so devastated. I was so hurt. I was so sad that the one time I attempted to wear my wig and not show my bald head, my own nurse told me she didn’t even recognize me. It was as though she personally confirmed that people now only recognized me in the eyes of a sick cancer patient and my heart couldn’t handle this reality. While she didn’t recognize me looking partially decent with hair, I never recognized myself without hair, so this harsh truth did not sit well with me at all. I cried my eyes out all night staring at my reflection through the window, not knowing who I was even looking at. I cried so much that night that I cried my eyes dry, which I didn’t even know was possible.

While I know her comment was not meant to be hurtful, her comment shattered my soul. Her comment spoke volumes. Her comment made me question every ounce of beauty I thought I was feeling and made me feel like an absolute beast. Her comment damaged a part of me that I never knew existed.

As life revealed itself by giving me cancer, forcing me to sit in the hospital for nearly forty days with no release date or diagnosis insight, to then follow that time with recurring hospital week-long visits, I finally got to know exactly what anxiety was all too well. The lonely days, the never-ending pain, the same atmosphere, and the inability to live were just a few things that tore into my soul the most.

It all started as a blur for me. I didn’t quite know how to explain the feelings I had after being diagnosed with cancer, as I patiently waited for my very first pet scan to better understand the severity of this disease. I honestly thought the feeling was simply fear in thinking that I could actually have a higher stage cancer and not be able to fight through the severity, which would completely explain this feeling at the moment. I cried, I panted, I prayed, I talked to myself, I spoke with God, I bit my fingernails, and lost a lot of sleep. Seeing that I was in the hospital, sleep was never a part of the plan with the constant interruptions that come with being hospitalized. Suddenly, this foreign feeling of fear made complete sense to me.

As time passed and I fought through each and every treatment, I prayed continuously that God would never dare to take me through hell on earth, chemotherapy, to not fully heal me and deliver me. I obsessed about this thought each and every day that I fought to survive. I just prayed, wished, hoped, dreamed, and constantly thought about the end result of my efforts for survival and that scared me tremendously.

As days went by and I drew closer to the conclusion of my chemotherapy treatment, I started to feel that same fear in wondering how my pet scan results would come back. I thought about this daily. I cried over this. I talked to my nurses and doctors daily about the number of patients they have seen fully make it through chemo successfully. I researched it at every chance that I got. I lost so much sleep thinking that this journey was finally about to come to an end… but what if it didn’t? What if my test results did not come back in the way that I wished? These never-ending thoughts scared me. I had to encapsulate my feelings to show bravery, faith, and belief as I mentally shrunk within my own mind daily feeling trapped by the fact that one test could ultimately make or break my life. I felt myself forming different personalities in my head. One personality was the fighter that knew she could conquer anything at any given point in life. The other personality was the realist; always having reality at the top of my mind. She was the much more dangerous personality of the two and she showed up often. She was someone that only I knew and I had to fight with her constantly to keep her intact. I was mentally fighting her while physically fighting the pain, agony, and sorrow of cancer. Once I heard the great news that I was cancer-free, this personality seemed to diminish by the day as life continued to show me why faith over fear should always be the way of living.

As months went by, life became more normal by the day. Although I found many challenges in my daily life, I was so happy to be alive. So much so that I didn’t mind putting forth the additional effort to work harder towards gaining the old-new me again. That was up until about late October. In late October 2017, I noticed that this feeling started rushing through my soul again. The feeling of fear, only this time it was much more prominent and it came with a vengeance. The fear hit me so hard, I realized that this was deeper than fear. This was scanxiety.

Scanxiety is having anxiety about upcoming scans or health-related tests. As I was quickly approaching my six-month follow-up pet scan appointment, I knew that this was exactly what I was experiencing.

I was now minutes away from my moment of truth. I was minutes away from my death sentence or freedom. I was minutes away from knowing if I could continue to live or if I would have to look death in the face again. My heart was racing; my breathing pattern had changed. I couldn’t look anyone in the eyes at that moment in time. Every sound was bothering me, every noise was making me anxious, and I was fighting back tears not knowing what the outcome of this visit would soon be. As much as I wanted to think positive, my mind and body just did not allow me to do anything more than worry. Worry about the fact that this time last year my life was changed forever with the devastating news and here I was nearly a year later, forced to face my fate, yet again.

My hands were trembling, tears would not stop falling, and I felt so alone when I truly desired the most support. I needed someone to hug me, to cry with me, to wipe my tears, help eliminate my fears, but the fact of the matter was nothing would make me feel better than hearing positive results that day. My soul was trembling. I felt like a newborn child lost in a world on my own, not knowing how to express my thoughts to anyone outside of writing them down. I needed God to soothe me, but for some reason, it seemed like even He was taking a break from me. Although this may have just been his way of telling me that He already had me covered, He sure in hell hadn’t shared that bit of detail with me to give me some peace of mind.

My heart was about to beat out of my chest as I got ready to take this drive of terror to the hospital. While I prayed for peace, my mind was just way too disruptive in that very moment to make that a reality. I truly needed help. I desperately needed good results that day. Trust this, my biggest fear was that if these results were not the results that I desired, I honestly did not believe that my mind, body, or soul had it in me to fight cancer a second time around, which only left me with one other option. I was so sick and tired of being sick and tired and could not fathom the thought of my cancer ever returning. As I exited my car for this appointment, I reminded myself one final time that He had not brought me this far to leave me now.

Once I walked into the hospital I saw Carolyn and gave her a big hug. While I wanted to cry my eyes out, I knew crying was not going to help her situation whatsoever. I started asking questions to learn more details about what was going on. Unfortunately, it seemed as though the hospital had already given up on her, which was strange, but oh so familiar. You see, when I experienced the worst pain in my existence, I went to the ER. After running several tests, the doctor informed me that I needed to go home, take some aleve, and follow up with my primary doctor. I raised absolute hell knowing that something was wrong and I desperately needed help. When they finally took the time to do their job, they discovered that “something” was wrong, but couldn’t quite pinpoint what that something was. However, they finally admitted me into the hospital and after being lied to for a week (which is a blog within itself) I checked myself out against doctor’s orders. I went to Loma Linda hospital, which refused to give up on me until they discovered my issue and helped me find a solution. Having gone through all of this, I just knew that Carolyn was in a similar situation. I just knew that the doctors did not know what they were talking about and that being at a community hospital was not a good idea. So I suggested that she also pack up and head to the best of the best, Loma Linda, where she could find better solutions. Carolyn heard this and seemed so hopeful in the plan and a day or so later she also went to Loma Linda to move forward with her treatment plan.

After a few short days of being at Loma Linda, I went to visit. It was at this time that I learned that there was nothing Loma Linda could do to help her. Her cancer was so far gone that treatment was not an option. I was flabbergasted. The news took my entire breath away knowing that I sent her to a place that gave her a death sentence, instead of speaking life into her, as they did with me. I left the hospital that day and cried the entire night away wondering why life was so unfair, wondering why hospital technology was not more advanced, and wondering why cancer was trying to take yet another family member of mine. I was so frustrated because I had such hope in Loma Linda, such faith in their ability, and just knew that they would be the answer. Unfortunately, I was wrong. I was so disappointed that I even sent her there that I didn’t want to look my cousins in their eyes because I spoke so much hope into the situation. Yet Carolyn needed much more than hope at this point. She needed prayer. So praying is what I did, day in and day out, because it was all so confusing and unsettling to my soul.

For the next few weeks, Carolyn did what she could to fight for her life and hang in there. I remember on September 19th, 2017, my cousin called me at work and said that the doctors did not believe she had much time to live. That was such a surreal moment. I immediately told my boss I had to go and told my husband to please care for our child as I had to head up the hill to see her again. On my drive up, I cried so much asking God why, begging for a miracle, praying the doctors were wrong, and waiting for Him to show up and show out because that’s what God does best. Instead, he gave me nothing in return. No peace, no signs, and no confirmation that my prayers were even going through. I went into the hospital and her hospital room was full. Everyone was talking, crying, praying, and just trying to deal with what was taking place. Carolyn could not speak at the time, but her eyes would open every now and again. There was one moment that I saw her eyes open and decided to go up to her bed and share a few words with her. I got really close to her and said something along the lines of this:

Carolyn, I know that you are scared right now and I am so very sorry that things are happening the way they are. God’s plan is just so confusing at times, but I know you and I know you are worried about your daughters. I just want you to know that they will be ok. I will always be there for them and you’ve done one hell of a job with them. They’ve got this, trust me. I love you so much and please give my dad my love.

It was at this moment that she looked at me as though she heard and comprehended everything I said. She gave me this look of affirmation as though she was telling me to thank you and ok. It was as if we had a complete conversation without any words ever coming out of her mouth. It was the best moment I ever shared with her and something I will always hold so near and dear to my heart. Being in a room full of people talking, it was as though it was just the two of us. In the wee hours of the morning, Carolyn passed away and God called her home.

While many people in my family have died of cancer before Carolyn, this one felt different. It hit harder because I had just gone through stage four cancer earlier that year. I did not understand why I survived and she didn’t. I did not comprehend God’s plan. I felt so guilty even going around her daughters because I felt as though they despised my presence because God had different plans for our lives. While they said nothing nor did anything to make me feel this way, I was in my feelings. This is when I discovered that survivors’ guilt was a real thing.

After crying for weeks about this, they finally announced that Carolyn’s funeral was set to take place on my birthday, which was devastating because “Why was I still here to celebrate another year, while Carolyn would no longer be able to celebrate with us”? This I will never know, but I did know that God told me to say something at her funeral service. I don’t know why God nudged me so much knowing how much guilt I felt, how ashamed I was that I led her to false hope, but He would not get off my back until I committed to saying something at her funeral. This is what I said…

Good afternoon everyone. My name is Shanee Wilson. I’m one of Carolyn’s honorary nieces who will miss her dearly. Let me first just say that I am so thankful to have known such a loving soul like hers. We sure did have some good times in the short amount of time we had together. From our random conversations of forcing each other to get married, the drinks, laughs, jokes, drama, and trips. I am definitely going to miss Carolyn’s down-to-earth, laid back humble spirit, who also happened to be one of my mom’s road dogs.

As many of you know, God called Carolyn home due to stage four cancer that crept into her body, taking her home to rest at last. Although God’s actions may not necessarily make sense to many of us during times of adversity like this, I can honestly say that Carolyn’s path IS the better way! You see, in January 2017, I have also diagnosed with stage four cancer myself, and let me just say that God truly did save Carolyn from all the drama.

He saved her from picc lines by taking her straight to paradise.
He allowed her to avoid chemotherapy to meet him at the cross.
He turned her weakness into wings.
He saved her the shame of hair loss by giving her the confidence of walking alongside our heavenly father.
He took her out of her pain while giving her everlasting pleasure.
He kept her from blood transfusions by giving her eternal blessings.
He’s giving her a well-deserved break from commuting, by sending her to her final destination once and for all.
He took her from feeling fatigued around the clock, to never feeling restless again.
He promoted her from radiation to riches.
He saved her from surgeries and gave her- her son back.
He didn’t want her to be bothered with oncologists as the angels prepared her for early retirement.
He decided to prevent her from feeling lonely by giving her longevity.
He rescued her from cigarettes while giving her… Well actually, I’m lying, she probably bargained with God at the gates of heaven to sneak the cigarettes in on the low.
He saved her from constantly living in fear that cancer will someday return and he personally escorted her straight to his kingdom with a newfound faith.
And most importantly, he allowed her to skip past the fight and routed her directly to freedom.

Freedom from this world. Freedom from this messed-up society that focuses on social media more than being in the present. Freedom from the ignorance the human race has to offer. Freedom from a world full of judgmental people. Freedom from living in fear of being a victim to one of the many tragedies that have sadly become the new norm. Freedom from the struggle. Freedom from the falling foundation that Americans have worked hard to build. Carolyn has the undeniable freedom that we all wish we had. She is free. Now that’s what I call LIVING!

And always remember that although the road may look extremely bumpy right now, you must trust in the Lord at all times.

And, to my beautiful cousins, Toya and Zanika, I love you both deeply and know for a fact that Carolyn raised some true warriors. I know this is hard, but always remember that we serve a strategic God and that all things work together for the good.
Isaiah 66:9 says:

“In the same way, I will not cause pain without allowing something new to be born”.

So now that he has given you both your pain and your newborn’s, it’s time to now live up to your mom’s legacy until your beautiful blessings understand just how much of an impact she made on each and every one of us in this building today.

Thank you and God bless you all.

Call me naive if you must, but I had no idea of just how powerful cancer was, which is very surprising for air jordan 1
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me to believe personally. I say this because cancer runs in my family. I have personally witnessed several people with cancer in my lifetime, but never truly understood the impact cancer had on their minds, body or soul. Now don’t get me wrong when I say I was completely clueless about cancer, because one thing I did know was that the disease was very dangerous. So much so, that five people in my family within my lifetime have died of cancer. While their roles were very significant to me being people like a grandmother, a grandfather, or an uncle, none of them ever shared their experience with me. Specifically, how did they handle the pain or how they were able to get through the days they had here on earth? Therefore, when I was assigned my journey, I knew that I had to share the behind the scene details that people don’t usually discuss as a cancer patient so that I could provide an in-depth understanding of what people like us are suffering through.

The environment that I’ve created is much needed for cancer fighters, survivors, and supporters that know someone battling cancer in their lives. Truth is, the person that you know with cancer is using every ounce of their energy to fight. So, doing things such as explaining in full detail how something may make them feel or for them to clearly articulate their needs, exerts way too much energy at that very moment in their life.

Therefore, I started this blog to share my knowledge, my journey, the ups, and the downs so that each and every one of you can understand exactly what we experience. Many people believe that because I have been cancer-free for four years now that my journey is over and life can resume as normal again. Truth is, my journey with cancer will always be a part of me. My experience with this disease was so excruciating that it took me four years to be able to articulate exactly how the darkest year of my life made me feel. Four years!

As I start to dive in and post content in my safe space, you will better understand the challenges we cancer patients experience, how drastically our mental health has been affected, and the fear of cancer returning that never seems to subside. This blog is not intended to make anyone feel sorry for me or my journey that I was assigned by God. This space was designed to provide other cancer fighters with hope, help provides loved ones with a better idea of what “support” looks like in the eyes of a cancer patient, and give any and everyone a better understanding of what someone like me has gone through.

I have to be honest with you all in informing you that I am not a copywriter for a living, nor do I claim to be in any way, shape, or form. So, if you are looking to critique my writing style or point out my flaws, this blog isn’t for you. This blog is intended for those seeking understanding, a helpful friend, and someone to help you discover faith through the fight. I am simply a cancer survivor who has been appointed by God to share what I think, know, and have experienced and to show others that there is always something they can do to help. So, I encourage you to share your experiences, provide feedback or even post questions because together we can bring light to the darkest of hours. So, buckle up for some uncomfortable topics, behind the scenes feelings, and intense never before heard thoughts because you are in for a bumpy ride!

Stay tuned and God Bless…