So often, it felt as though God was watching out for me. After years as a single woman and a devoted mother, I found myself living what felt like a storybook romance. Over several months, I grew close to a kind man named Eric Johnson—someone who treated me with deep respect and honor, both personally and professionally.
As our relationship blossomed, we both knew this was the kind of love people search for their entire lives. My path felt brighter, filled with hope and happiness. On June 20, 2009, we were married, beginning a joyful chapter together.
In the winter of 2023, Eric developed what seemed like an ordinary cold. An initial X-ray showed no pneumonia, but doctors recommended a follow-up scan. In August 2024, a CT scan was performed, followed by a PET scan.
My world imploded.
At an appointment at Moffitt Cancer Center, a physician delivered life-altering news: Eric had lung cancer. Initially, we were told it was Stage 1 cancer in the upper lobe of his right lung and that surgery would be straightforward. Instead, the operation became far more complicated, resulting in the removal of portions of all three lobes of his right lung. When cancer was found in his lymph nodes, the diagnosis advanced to Stage 2.
One year later, after the cancer metastasized to his brain, we were reclassified as Stage 4.
Despite repeated hospitalizations, we have continued to work full-time as long as possible, though our paid time off has long since been exhausted. At home, Eric now requires home health care, oxygen monitoring, and physical therapy. In the spring of 2025, our progress was measured in feet—first across the room, then to the front door, and on good days, to the mailbox.
Our journey has grown increasingly complex. We have navigated countless hospital admissions—more than fifteen since surgery—along with discharge reports, oncology notes, and unfamiliar terms like Keytruda, Sweet’s Syndrome, and Neulasta. His patient portal tells the clinical story: adenocarcinoma of the right lung, surgical resection, chemotherapy, metastasis. Our daily life has become a cycle of treatments, appointments, and waiting rooms.
The financial burden continues to mount. We have made painful sacrifices, including preparing to sell Eric’s cherished Indian motorcycle. Watching my husband’s health decline has been devastating in ways words cannot fully capture.
Although we do have insurance, it does not cover all of the medical and related expenses. Eric carries a deep fear that his illness will cost us everything we’ve built together. I am now asking for help so I can continue to be by his side—at every appointment, during every hospital stay, and through every difficult moment.
Eric and I have always said, “Life is just better when we are together.”
Through it all, I continue to pray, trusting that God is still watching over us—and hoping that, through the kindness of others, we can keep facing this journey together.