Help Support Nadia & Her Family Through Stage 4 Cancer

Hello everyone,

This is Nadia, and I want to thank you for taking the time to read this update about my life—and my family’s life—as we continue to navigate stage 4 breast cancer.

It’s been over five years since I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I haven’t posted many updates since the last GoFundMe a few years ago, and I’ve felt uncomfortable asking for support in today’s difficult times. But when my longtime friend Andrew Tidby (Watch) approached me with an idea—building an epic Star Wars Lego structure while raising funds for two causes: my family and a wonderful organization that helps severely ill and abused dogs in New York—I said yes. I was reminded that updates like this are a way to stay connected, and to give people a path to help if they feel moved to do so.

Thanks to the generosity of so many people in the first GoFundMe campaign, one of my biggest dreams came true: my partner and I were able to purchase permanent, safe and secure housing - a home in Saint John, New Brunswick - my hometown and the neighborhood where my mother, aunts, uncles, and I grew up. The house is minutes away from the Bay of Fundy and the quiet beaches I roamed as a child. These places helped me hold big feelings as a young person. Now my children can climb those same rocks, stand on that same shore, and feel that same freedom and grounding. That is a profound gift. Thank you.

Since then, my cancer has progressed. Despite significant damage to my skeleton, I’m still walking—something that is, medically speaking, a miracle. I’ve lost eight inches in height. My physical form has changed dramatically. But I’m still here.

On July 4, I’ll be meeting with my radiation oncologist to find out whether I can have one final round of brain radiation. Some tumors in my brain are growing again. At my last round of treatment, the radiation oncologist said it would probably be the last time my body could handle it—but there’s a small chance we can try again. If not, my new oncologist—who is incredibly kind and sharp—has already begun exploring other options.

Accessing treatment has not been straightforward. The drug I’m currently on has stabilized things from the neck down. But it took a long fight to get here. Because of government regulations, I had to fail another drug first—despite my oncologist knowing the one I’m on now was the better choice. It’s an all-too-common story: pharmaceutical policy and red tape controlling who gets what, and when.

Now, there is one last drug that could possibly help with my brain tumors—but I’ve already had five different kinds of chemotherapies, which the government sees as the maximum. On top of that, this potential drug belongs to the same medication family as my first chemotherapy—the one that landed me in the hospital for over a month with a toxic reaction. It severely damaged my lungs, leaving me with only about 20% of their original function. Since then, I’ve regained some lung function, even though I’ve experienced collapsed lungs and other lung complication. I continue to live with many serious side effects.

I’ve learned that I’m not a “typical” patient. I often fall within normal test ranges—blood pressure, inflammation markers, etc.—and yet behind the numbers, things are going very wrong. I’ve had people tell me I was fine while I was actively experiencing a collapsed lung or serious progression of disease. My body doesn’t follow the rules, which makes things complicated—but also means I’ve kept going, even when no one expected me to.

Through all of this, I’ve had precious, unforgettable moments. One of them was fulfilling my second big wish: traveling to Egypt to see my father. I hadn’t seen some of my relatives in over 30 years. Some I had never seen in person at all. My sister Sarah helped me make the trip possible, and once I arrived, my younger sister took me under her wing with such love and care. I stayed with her, then with my dad and stepmom. And as a gift, my father treated my sisters and me - Sarah, Nawal, and myself - to a beautiful five-star cruise up the Nile. It was incredible. A dream fulfilled.

If you feel compelled to support me and my family at this stage of the journey, we would be so grateful. And when I say support, I mean anything you’re able or moved to give—whether that’s a donation through GoFundMe, a kind message, a prayer in whatever form that takes for you, or simply sending love.

The truth is: I’m still here. I’ve already lived far longer than doctors ever predicted. And I still believe in the possibility of more—more time, more joy, more memories with my kids and my loved ones. I don’t believe people die because they “run out” of options. I believe we go when it’s our time—and not a moment before.

Thank you for helping me hold on to quality of life, and the little miracles that come with that. Your support helps me access therapies that ease pain and increase mobility, and it allows me to spend more meaningful time with my children and my loved ones.

From the bottom of my heart:

Thank you.

Love to you all.

Peace on Earth.