Rachel Martin

The waiting in between scans heightens my scanxiety, even though I've had no evidence of disease for 2 1/2 years.

After being diagnosed with a neuroendocrine cancer, I underwent seven phases of resiliency.

Being there for someone who is in need does more than you think.

After cancer and chemo, I tell myself all the time that nothing matters more than your health.

The countdown to my CT scan has begun.

I was diagnosed with cancer just as the pandemic hit.

Sure, knowledge is power, but there’s comfort in naïveté, too, when it comes to expectations for cancer care.

After being no evidence of disease for about a year and a half, I am now fearing that I’m not fearing enough.

A cancer diagnosis often means putting your life in the hands of people you hardly know.

The day I got diagnosed with cancer, I went from “person” to “patient” — and the title has followed me ever since.

In part of the “Star Wars” saga, a character mentions that rebellions are built on hope. After being diagnosed with cancer, I’ve realized that the same is true for patients with the disease.

We cancer survivors are complicated — not more complicated than others who have faced their mortality head-on, but there’s a certain bucket we get put in when we let others know about our diagnoses.