Chronic Myeloid Leukemia: A Journey with BeYoutiful Guru

What Cancer Taught Me About Being Human

“This is what invisible suffering looks like in ordinary people all around you.”

My name is Monica. I have Chronic Myeloid Leukemia

But somewhere along this journey, I stopped calling it only by its medical name. I call it Luke. Maybe because giving it a name made it feel less like a cold diagnosis written in a chart and more like something I am learning to live beside every single day.

Luke is not who I am. But Luke is here. Luke is in the exhaustion. Luke is in the uncertainty.
Luke is in the appointments, the labs, the medication, the fear, and the days my body no longer feels predictable. And even though I never asked for this journey, I refuse to let it become just another diagnosis people scroll past or forget. I will not let this story disappear into statistics, lab values, or medical terminology. Because this journey is about more than cancer. It is about humanity. It is about invisible suffering. It is about survival. It is about the grief of becoming someone new. It is about learning what truly matters when life suddenly becomes fragile. And my journey leaves nothing behind; I hope it leaves people softer. Kinder. More patient.
More understanding of the silent battles ordinary people carry every single day. Because this is what invisible suffering looks like in ordinary people all around you. And many of them are still quietly fighting battles no one can see. That is one of the hardest truths to live inside: I cannot always predict myself. I do not live in “why me.” I live in “how do I navigate this?” How do I adjust my day when I have no clue what my body will feel like in a little while? How do I make plans when fatigue can drop in like a weight I cannot lift? How do I explain something I am still learning how to survive? This journey is not a quick fix. There is no quick Band-Aid and no magic pill that makes this instantly go away.

Finding a specialist you trust matters. It changes everything.

And there is one doctor who will always matter deeply in this story. Not because of titles. Not because of awards. Not because of a résumé. But because he saw me. He looked beyond the surface long enough to realize my body was telling a bigger story. For years, symptoms were treated one by one, but he helped connect the dots that changed the direction of my life. To me, he is more than a résumé. He is the doctor who listened when my body was trying to speak. And that gave me something so many people fighting illness desperately need: Hope. Hope that compassionate doctors still exist. Hope that being heard matters. Hope that someone may finally look closely enough to uncover the truth.

Right now, the hardest part is the physical exhaustion.

Right now, the hardest part is the physical exhaustion. Rest is not giving up. Rest is treatment. Rest is survival. When I Am Resting, I Am Still Fighting. Before this, I could push through almost anything. Now I am learning that I cannot always push. Because when you are used to being strong, resting can feel like failing. But I am learning that resting is not failing. There are days when all I can do is sleep. Days when I am vomiting. Days when I am too exhausted to keep my eyes open. Days when the brain fog is so heavy I cannot even think clearly. But even on those days, I am still here. Still breathing. Still fighting. Still showing up in the only way my body will allow. Sometimes being a warrior looks like sleeping for hours because my body cannot do anything else. Sometimes being a warrior looks like throwing up and then whispering, “I’m still here.”

The Grief of Becoming Someone New Cancer brings grief that is hard to explain.

You grieve the person you were before you knew. You grieve the body you trusted.
You grieve the energy you had. You grieve the normal you did not realize was a gift.

And then, slowly, you start learning this new version of yourself. I am learning that peace can exist next to fear. I am learning that gratitude can exist next to pain. I am learning that I can be broken and still brave. Not because this is easy. But because I am still here. What I Need People to Hear: I do not write this because I want pity. I write this because I want people to feel it. Not just to understand it intellectually. Feel it. Feel the exhaustion. The uncertainty. The grief. The fear. The resilience. The invisible battles ordinary people carry every single day while still trying to smile, work, love, and survive. I want people to remember that being a good human is not some grand gesture. It is found in patience. In softness. In grace. In choosing not to make someone’s burden heavier. Because one day, without warning, life may hand you news that changes everything. And on that day, the little things will no longer matter. What will matter is love. What will matter is kindness. What will matter is who showed up gently. What will matter is who chose compassion. Be happy when you can. Be kind whenever you can. Be patient. Be grateful. Because we are not promised anything. Sometimes life changes the day before Christmas Eve.

Cancer changes your view. It teaches you that not everything deserves your peace. Not everything deserves your reaction. Not everyone deserves access to your energy. Protect your peace. Celebrate yourself. Celebrate getting out of bed. Celebrate making it to work.
Celebrate taking your medication. Celebrate making it through another hard day. Even when no one else claps for you, clap for yourself. Because you know what it took. The person who seems distracted may be carrying grief. The person who seems impatient may be scared. The person who seems quiet may be trying not to fall apart. The person who looks fine may be fighting something invisible. This is what invisible suffering looks like in ordinary people all around you. So if all you did today was survive, honor that. If all you did today was rest, honor that. If all you did today was keep breathing through the pain, honor that.

You are still here.
You are still fighting.

Even when the fight is silent.

Even when no one sees it.

Even when all you can say is:

“I made it through today.”

That is enough. And tomorrow, if you are blessed to wake up and try again, take a breath and remind yourself:

I am still here.
I am still fighting.
I am here to fight another day.

My blogs are shared through BeYouTiful.Guru for those who want to follow my journey, understand invisible illness more deeply, and get a glimpse into the story my future book will tell.

This is not just my diagnosis. This is my life. My perspective. My truth. And I refuse to let itbecome just another story people scroll past and forget.

Still here. Still fighting. Still learning how to be human.

— Monica & Luke 💛

My Journey with Luke

Cancer changes the way a person understands time, energy, and even themselves. Before my diagnosis, I was someone who could push through almost anything. I worked long hours, cared for others, supported my family, and kept moving no matter how exhausted I was.

Then my body stopped cooperating.

One of the hardest truths about cancer is realizing you cannot always predict your own body anymore. I do not live in “Why me?” I live in “How do I navigate this?”

How do I plan my day when fatigue can arrive without warning?
How do I explain something I am still learning to survive myself?

Diagnosis and the Long Road

On December 23, 2025, I was diagnosed with Chronic Myeloid Leukemia (CML). That moment changed everything. For more than four years prior, my body had been trying to tell a story no one fully understood yet. I experienced fatigue, nausea, bone pain, bruising, weakness, brain fog, appetite changes, and vomiting. My symptoms were treated individually rather than as pieces of one larger condition.

The turning point came because one physician truly listened.

My dermatologist, Dr. Erik Gilbertson, helped connect the dots and moved the diagnostic process forward. To me, he became more than a resume or title. He became the doctor who finally saw the bigger picture and helped guide me toward answers.

That diagnosis brought an entirely new language into my life:

BCR-ABL
Philadelphia chromosome
Bone marrow involvement
Molecular response testing
Targeted therapy

I began oral targeted cancer treatment using a tyrosine kinase inhibitor (TKI). I remain grateful that I currently do not require a permanent port or intravenous chemotherapy. However, oral treatment does not mean the experience is easy or light. It simply means my treatment looks different than what many people imagine when they hear the word “cancer.”

The Reality of Fatigue and Treatment

The hardest part of this journey has been the exhaustion.

Not ordinary tiredness. Not the kind of fatigue solved with one good night of sleep. This is body-level exhaustion that can make me wake up feeling like I already ran a marathon before the day even begins.

There are days of:

vomiting
severe bone pain
hot flashes
swelling
bruising
headaches
nausea
brain fog
weakness
overwhelming exhaustion

Even on the days I look okay externally, my body is carrying something incredibly heavy.

One of the most difficult emotional adjustments has been learning that rest is not failure.

Before cancer, I believed strength meant pushing through everything. Now I am learning that rest itself can be part of survival. Rest is treatment. Rest is conservation. Rest is fighting in a quieter form.

Sometimes being a warrior does not look inspirational. Sometimes it looks like sleeping for hours because the body cannot do anything else. Sometimes it looks like whispering, “I’m still here.”

Emotional Grief and Identity Transformation

Cancer introduces a type of grief that is difficult to explain.

You grieve:

the body you trusted
the energy you once had
the version of yourself who could push endlessly
the “normal” you never realized was a gift

I am learning a new version of myself now. One who understands that strength does not always mean pretending to be fine. One who realizes gratitude and pain can exist side by side. One who is learning that being broken does not mean being defeated.

Every morning I wake up still breathing feels meaningful now — not because this journey is easy, but because I am still here.

#LEUKEMIA- Monica & Luke 💛

The Importance of Compassion and Human Connection

One lesson cancer teaches quickly is how little many daily frustrations truly matter.

The delayed coffee order.
Traffic.
Minor inconveniences.
Arguments that steal peace unnecessarily.

Cancer shifts perspective. It forces clarity about what deserves emotional energy and what does not.

The things that matter most become very simple:

kindness
patience
consistency
presence
compassion
people who show up gently

For those supporting someone with cancer, small gestures matter deeply. A message saying “thinking of you,” “good morning,” or “I hope today is gentle on you” can become part of someone’s emotional survival.

No one can fix cancer for another person. But people can make the world softer while someone walks through it.

The Financial and Systemic Burden of Cancer

Cancer is not only a medical diagnosis. It is also a financial and logistical battle.

There are:

medications
authorizations
laboratory testing
appointments
copays
insurance denials
paperwork
phone calls
fear surrounding treatment access

My medication costs approximately $16,000 per month.

No person’s survival should depend on whether they understand how to navigate a complicated healthcare system. No one should have to fight paperwork while simultaneously fighting cancer.

This experience has made me deeply committed to helping others one day — helping people locate resources, ask better questions, understand their options, and feel less alone while navigating illness.

Living with CML has taught me that survival is not always dramatic

Often, survival is quiet. It is getting through the day. Taking medication. Resting without guilt. Continuing despite fear.

This journey has also reinforced the importance of compassionate healthcare providers who look beyond isolated symptoms and truly listen to patients. Diagnosis matters. Ethical care matters. Physicians who ask deeper questions matter. Most importantly, this experience has reshaped my understanding of what it means to live fully. We are not promised tomorrow. Life can change suddenly and without warning. What remains meaningful in those moments is not perfection or productivity, but love, kindness, and the people who choose compassion when life becomes difficult.

I am still learning how to live inside this new reality.

Still adjusting.
Still waiting for my body to respond.
Still working.
Still trying to remain present for the people I love.
Still trying to turn pain into purpose.

I am not always okay.

But I am still here.

And sometimes, that is enough.

“Still here. Still fighting. Still learning how to be Human.”

“I have just started my journey” …is making the website itself feel less like you’ve already reached the finish line and more like: ✨ Come walk this journey with me while I learn, struggle, survive, and help others along the way.

Real-time journey
Learning while living it
Sharing resources as you discover them
Helping others navigate systems
Invisible suffering
Humanity
Kindness
Advocacy
Hope without pretending everything is okay

My Story. My Journey. My Purpose. 💞

I was diagnosed with leukemia, and like so many others facing illness or life-changing challenges, I quickly learned how overwhelming and lonely navigating the unknown can feel. This website is not written from the other side of survival. It is being written while I live it. As I continue learning how to navigate cancer, treatment, exhaustion, fear, hope, and healing, I also want to help others find resources, support, understanding, and kindness along the way. Because illness, trauma, grief, mental health struggles, caregiving, financial hardship, and invisible suffering affect more people than we realize. Sometimes people are not looking for perfection. Sometimes they are simply looking for someone who understands. At BeYoutiful.Guru, I share my real journey while building a network of hope, advocacy, wellness resources, and support for others trying to survive difficult seasons of life. If my story helps even one person feel less alone… then every hard moment has purpose.

💞 Still here.
💞 Still fighting.
💞 Still learning how to be human.

— Monica & Luke

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My Story. My Journey. My Purpose. 💞