One day, I was healthy. The next, I heard the word *cancer*—Squamous Cell Carcinoma (Tongue Cancer). At thirty-seven, I couldn’t understand how this had become my reality.

Three years ago, I barely survived a mental health breakdown, clawing my way back to stability. Just as I found my footing, cancer struck like a sledgehammer.

On Christmas Eve 2024, while the world celebrated, I sat alone, searching life expectancy for tongue cancer. Diagnosis confirmed. Surgery scheduled. By the time the day arrived, it had grown aggressively.

Surgeons removed half my tongue and 50 lymph nodes. Speaking, swallowing, recognizing myself—it all changed. And still, it wasn’t enough.

Radiation followed. Six weeks of torment. Blistered mouth, vanished saliva, tasteless food. Even getting out of bed felt impossible. And still, I am not cancer-free. I await my next PET scan next month.

Now, as I fight to survive this illness, I face another brutal reality—**homelessness**. My landlord has given notice to vacate, unable to afford her repayments. I don’t have the income to cover higher rent, and I have nowhere to go.

This journey has been devastating. But I want to pause and say: *Thank you.* To everyone who has donated, shared, and supported—you have given me hope when everything feels hopeless.

I continue to face immense financial struggles, and the long-term effects of treatment prevent me from working. If you’re able to support, my goal is simple: **survival.** Anything to keep me off the streets and allow me to endure what remains of this battle.

No miracles. Just dignity.

Thank you for reading, and for your ongoing care.

#FuckCancer #NoOneDeservesThis #CancerAwareness