My Battle with Brain Lymphoma - Annette's Story
Posted: Tue Feb 24, 2026 8:22 am
I’d like to start my story before 2015. At that time, I was working full-time at a university, serving as the treasurer on a not-for-profit board, and acting as a partial caregiver for my mother. Life was busy and full.
At the beginning of 2016, I began experiencing very strange symptoms. While driving, I repeatedly crashed the right-side tire into a curb. I also found that I couldn’t fasten my seat belt—I simply couldn’t get the clip into place. Concerned, I called my physician, who had me come in immediately. That same day, she referred me to an ear, nose, and throat specialist, who determined that my balance was off.
I have a relative who is an ophthalmologist, and he examined my eyes the next day. After the exam, he asked, “Has anyone told you that you should have an MRI?” I said no. He replied, “Well, I am,” and wrote the prescription. I scheduled the MRI, and afterward the radiologist asked my son and me to wait in his office. He then called us in and told us he had found a mass on my brain.
My brother, a retired neurosurgeon, recommended a surgeon in New York City to perform the upcoming biopsy. I eventually had the biopsy, and the diagnosis was lymphoma. The good news—if there is good news in such a situation—was that it was treatable. Even better, further testing showed that there was no cancer anywhere else in my body. We were starting from a relatively good position.
We reached out to a specialized cancer hospital in New York and had an interview there. I was admitted for treatment and learned that lymphoma can be treated with chemotherapy, with no need for radiation or surgery in my case. However, there was a 60–70% chance of recurrence. To address that risk, the hospital was conducting research on stem cell transplants. After being evaluated by the stem cell team, I was accepted into the program.
The process began with very intense chemotherapy designed to wipe out the existing cells in my body. Afterward, my stem cells were returned to me through a transfusion-like procedure. I stayed in the hospital for 45 days and experienced several complications, all of which were treated. Eventually, I was transferred to a rehabilitation facility for about a month before finally returning home.
When I went home, I was extremely weak. Anyone visiting me had to wear a mask, and my blood counts were constantly monitored. I required two platelet transfusions and learned to give myself Neupogen injections to increase my white blood cell count—something I was very proud to master. My nails fell off and regrew, and I lost my hair before it eventually began to grow back.
Now, a few years later, I continue to have regular MRIs. At first, they were every three months, then every six months, and now they are once a year. So far, everything looks good. There has been no change.
If someone asked me what advice I would give to a person going through similar medical procedures, I would say first: be your own advocate. If you hear something you don’t understand, ask questions. Bring someone with you to appointments if possible, because it’s very hard to remember everything while you’re going through such an overwhelming experience. I would also say that when people offer help, accept it. My natural instinct is to say no, but it’s incredibly valuable to let others bring food, visit, and support you. Friends and family make an enormous difference.
Since my treatment, I’ve become more interested in cancer research. I read about new technologies and potential cures—many of which I barely understand—but I know they are promising and hopeful. If my diagnosis had come five years earlier, I likely wouldn’t be here having this conversation. And five years later, it might have been an entirely different story.
Organizations like the National Foundation for Cancer Research, which raise funds to advance research, improve treatments, and work toward cures, play a critical role. Supporting research is a meaningful and worthwhile pursuit, and it offers hope to people like me.
At the beginning of 2016, I began experiencing very strange symptoms. While driving, I repeatedly crashed the right-side tire into a curb. I also found that I couldn’t fasten my seat belt—I simply couldn’t get the clip into place. Concerned, I called my physician, who had me come in immediately. That same day, she referred me to an ear, nose, and throat specialist, who determined that my balance was off.
I have a relative who is an ophthalmologist, and he examined my eyes the next day. After the exam, he asked, “Has anyone told you that you should have an MRI?” I said no. He replied, “Well, I am,” and wrote the prescription. I scheduled the MRI, and afterward the radiologist asked my son and me to wait in his office. He then called us in and told us he had found a mass on my brain.
My brother, a retired neurosurgeon, recommended a surgeon in New York City to perform the upcoming biopsy. I eventually had the biopsy, and the diagnosis was lymphoma. The good news—if there is good news in such a situation—was that it was treatable. Even better, further testing showed that there was no cancer anywhere else in my body. We were starting from a relatively good position.
We reached out to a specialized cancer hospital in New York and had an interview there. I was admitted for treatment and learned that lymphoma can be treated with chemotherapy, with no need for radiation or surgery in my case. However, there was a 60–70% chance of recurrence. To address that risk, the hospital was conducting research on stem cell transplants. After being evaluated by the stem cell team, I was accepted into the program.
The process began with very intense chemotherapy designed to wipe out the existing cells in my body. Afterward, my stem cells were returned to me through a transfusion-like procedure. I stayed in the hospital for 45 days and experienced several complications, all of which were treated. Eventually, I was transferred to a rehabilitation facility for about a month before finally returning home.
When I went home, I was extremely weak. Anyone visiting me had to wear a mask, and my blood counts were constantly monitored. I required two platelet transfusions and learned to give myself Neupogen injections to increase my white blood cell count—something I was very proud to master. My nails fell off and regrew, and I lost my hair before it eventually began to grow back.
Now, a few years later, I continue to have regular MRIs. At first, they were every three months, then every six months, and now they are once a year. So far, everything looks good. There has been no change.
If someone asked me what advice I would give to a person going through similar medical procedures, I would say first: be your own advocate. If you hear something you don’t understand, ask questions. Bring someone with you to appointments if possible, because it’s very hard to remember everything while you’re going through such an overwhelming experience. I would also say that when people offer help, accept it. My natural instinct is to say no, but it’s incredibly valuable to let others bring food, visit, and support you. Friends and family make an enormous difference.
Since my treatment, I’ve become more interested in cancer research. I read about new technologies and potential cures—many of which I barely understand—but I know they are promising and hopeful. If my diagnosis had come five years earlier, I likely wouldn’t be here having this conversation. And five years later, it might have been an entirely different story.
Organizations like the National Foundation for Cancer Research, which raise funds to advance research, improve treatments, and work toward cures, play a critical role. Supporting research is a meaningful and worthwhile pursuit, and it offers hope to people like me.