One of the sweetest humans you will ever meet, my dear friend Rachel, is battling stage 3 cervical cancer at 34 years old. Something so unexpected has come with expenses that Rachel and her husband Matt could use some community help on. Rachel has written more details about her story below. Please donate if you are able to help and thank you so much for sharing and reading.

If you prefer a direct donation, Rachel has venmo:

@RachelHume20

I have a cervical tumor from cervical cancer, and positive lymph nodes in my groin, meaning the cancer has spread to my lymph nodes. I am currently undergoing 6 and a half weeks of external radiation therapy Monday-Friday, weekly doses of chemotherapy, and immunotherapy every 21 days. I take 25 pain pills every day. I have days where I can barely walk from the pain. I have had to invest in a rollator and a wheelchair for my mobility. I have to constantly be eating and drinking to have enough calories to sustain myself, and because of the nausea from the chemo, eating is the LAST thing I want to be doing. My entire body aches from the second I wake up until I go to bed. I am constantly sweating or freezing. I am in a constant state of fatigue and mental fog that makes doing the simplest things insanely difficult.

Around April of 2024 is when I started to feel like something was going on with my body. I became completely unable to work, due to numerous physical symptoms and chronic fatigue that completely stumped my doctor. I went to specialists, and had tests run, and the best answer they could provide was I had cytomegalovirus with symptoms. I continued to have physical and psychological symptoms for the rest of the year, and it took a severe toll on my body.

By my annual physical in January, I was in a severe state of depression and my body was in so much pain. We did some routine bloodwork, and my results came back as abnormal. My doctor made a treatment plan and I was feeling optimistic that my recovery was just around the corner. I was booked for a follow-up appointment in 2 months, and things were looking good.

Shortly afterwards, I began to experience heavy clots and bleeding that went way beyond what I had ever experienced before, and I was 99.99% sure I was anemic from blood loss. But I was told that my polycystic ovarian syndrome was likely the cause, and that my medication should sort itself out within a few weeks.

By the end of March, I was severely anemic from blood loss, so much so that I was barely eating and getting up to walk a couple of feet made me dizzy and out of breath. I had lost 20 pounds between the end of February and the end of March. My hair was falling out, my nails were brittle and broken, my whole body ached, and I was exhausted just doing the bare minimum required to function.

I went to my follow-up appointment in April and did more bloodwork and a pap. My bloodwork and my pap were flagged for abnormal results. My bloodwork showed I had a hemoglobin level of 7.6. (Anything less than 7 is when they do a blood transfusion in the hospital.)

My iron levels were dangerously low at 8% (normal is 20-55%) and my CBC results were all coming back as ABNORMAL. I had my first iron infusion a few days later, and that helped a bit. But then there was the phone call about my pap results. The phone call where the doctor calls you personally. It’s never good. I remember hearing the words “looks like cancer” and my mind going completely blank. The immediate dread and panic I felt completely took over and I had a rushing pounding sensation in my ears. I don’t really remember how the rest of the call went, but I was put in for a rush referral to a gynecologist for additional tests.

I do remember hanging up the phone and crying. Sobbing. My whole life had turned upside down in a 5-minute phone call. I called my husband, and I completely broke down and told him that there’s a very real possibility that I have cancer. He immediately came home and we worked on getting in to the gynecologist as soon as possible.

April 18th was the beginning of my steady health decline. I saw the gynecologist, who referred me to gynecology oncology. More waiting. More discussions of “looks like cancer” and “just to be safe.” I had a follow-up with my PCP, and had more bloodwork and an EKG done. My bloodwork was flagged and my doctor said that I need to go to the Emergency Department right away for a transfusion and some tests to make sure I didn’t have any blood clots. So, we went to the closest hospital (big mistake) and they gave me an iron infusion and then they told me that coming was essentially a waste of time. Because the blood bank would not approve a transfusion with my hemoglobin levels, and it’s “bad blood anyways.”

The iron helped, so I got set up to have 4 additional rounds of iron infusions. And then we get to the beginning of May. The infusions were not fully covered by insurance and cost about $2,200 per infusion. Which adds up very quickly.

I met with the gynecology oncologist, and she attempted to take a sample of the mass on my cervix. She barely got a sample and I was bleeding so bad she scheduled a surgical biopsy because she was afraid that I was going to lose a catastrophic amount of blood. She said, “I haven’t seen bleeding this bad in a very long time.” Not exactly what you want to hear from an expert in gynecological matters.

So that was May 6th. May 9th I had my first surgery, the biopsy. It was not fun, and the results were inconclusive. More tests needed to be done. My case was presented to a tumor board. (Cases that are atypical have a panel of doctors and specialists reviewing your treatment in conjunction with your oncology team.) More bleeding and more pain. Dealing with insurance trying to determine where I could get my MRI. For cost reasons.

I finally got my MRI scheduled for May 20th. The results were that I had a cervical mass 6.7cm that was basically taking up my entire cervix and going into my uterus. More tests were ordered and I needed to have a PET scan. More waiting ensued.

4 days later was my first trip to the ED for pain. I had never been in pain this bad. It was excruciating. It felt like I had been stabbed from different angles by hot pokers. It woke me up from sleep. They admitted me, ran a bunch of tests and determined that my tumor was growing into my nerves so I was experiencing nerve pain in my pelvis, back, upper thighs, and stomach. This was the beginning of my chronic pain. For the next 5 weeks, I went to the ED an additional 4 times for breakthrough pain. Each time the pain took longer to get under control, and ended up with me taking higher and higher doses of pain medications. To the point where I am now taking 25 pills a day to keep the nerve pain at bay. Now I have spent $900 on prescriptions, and a couple thousand on emergency department visits. My out-of-pocket costs aren’t astronomical, but they’re adding up very quickly.

After my MRI, I had my PET scan, and it showed that my lymph nodes were showing signs that the cancer had spread. This meant I needed to do a more aggressive treatment plan, which includes immunotherapy. Immunotherapy, in essence, is activating your body’s T cells to fight the cancer cells. But in order to do this, it means your body’s immunity to outside illnesses is basically gone. So you become immunocompromised. But it greatly increases the chances of success in your treatment, so it’s what we decided to do.

June 24th was when I got my official cancer diagnosis. And that was when all the scary discussions started to take place. Radiation. Chemotherapy. Immunotherapy. Fertility. Children. Menopause. Medications. Surgeries. Side effects. Treatment plans.

It was so overwhelming. I was drowning in information and decisions. But I wasn’t alone. I am so grateful to my husband for literally holding my hand through this entire “journey.”

In the end, we made the decision that we are not going to have biological children. That is something that I am still grieving and processing at my own pace. This meant that I could have surgery to move my ovaries out of the radiation zone (Diagnostic laparoscopy with bilateral ovarian transposition) and remove my fallopian tubes. It would also help to prevent my body from going into early menopause, with an 85% success rate.

The surgery happened on June 11th. I was supposed to be discharged the same day, but of course my body decided that was too easy. I was getting worse the longer I stayed in the hospital, not better. My bleeding intensified and my pain kept getting stronger. Eventually, I experienced the pain crescendo. Laparoscopic gas pain. I literally thought I was dying. I couldn’t breathe or talk. Just moan and cry. I had the entire PACU in my sad little curtain room at 11pm, wondering wtf is wrong with this woman. So more scans and tests and pain meds were administered until finally at 1am I was admitted to stay overnight. I had a very weird night, but the care I received was incredible and I am so incredibly thankful that I was in the hospital and not at home when that pain occurred.

So I had major abdominal surgery and I felt like poop for a good long while. (My scars are healing up nicely though) and after a few weeks of recovery, I was finally going to start radiation and meet with my radiology team. My initial radiology consultation was very scary. External radiation didn’t bother me. Internal radiation scares the heck out of me. And I spent most of that consultation being scared out of my mind. But my radiologist is amazing, and I love her, so that definitely helped. (Shoutout to Dr. Gottumukkala) She snagged a cancellation appointment for me, so I could get set up for radiation asap. And I got to do another CT scan and get all set up for my radiation appointments. Including getting my radiation tattoos. I felt pretty badass.

This is where I kind of was delusional and thought I was going to be some bad-ass super cancer warrior who wouldn’t let anything stop me from having a “normal” summer. Yeah, that dream died a cold, hard death. Radiation sucks. It’s a big loud machine with lasers. It hurts like a sunburn. And as you progress the deeper the pain goes. It’s superficial at first and then it worms down into your bones and joints.

And then there’s chemo.

Chemotherapy is hell. Being pumped full of toxic chemicals in a room full of people who are also in various stages of cancer is probably one of the most depressing experiences I’ve had. I only have to do chemo once a week, and it takes an entire week for me to recover from one day. The nausea is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. It’s debilitating. And you are sweating or freezing or some hellish combination of both. It’s hours of being uncomfortable and exhausted. And then right after I get to go be radiated. Good times. (< This is sarcasm)

I am just starting week 4 of radiation and I can honestly say that this has been the most stressful time in my life. I’m worried about my partner, my family, my friends, my cat, my life, and lastly my bills.

I haven’t been able to work since April of 2024, and it has really affected our finances.

I’m spending about $200 a month on medications, and my husband is a type 1 diabetic so we have our fair share of additional medical expenses. I’m fortunate enough that most of my $150,000 (so far) in medical bills has been covered by insurance. I do owe about $4,000 currently, and I’m expecting that number to go up significantly due to a change in our insurance as of July 1st. Which is right before I started all my cancer treatments.

If you’re in a position to donate, it would be incredibly appreciated. If you’re not in a position to contribute, but you can share I would be eternally grateful.