Darla’s Fight from Stage 3C Cancer to NED

My Journey: From Stage 3C Diagnosis to Cancer-Free, NED ✨

In May 2024, at the age of 54, I was told I had stage 3C colorectal cancer. The words landed like a weight I could not set down. The world outside kept moving—traffic lights changing, people rushing to work—but inside, everything slowed. I chose not to tell everyone. I told only a handful of people I trusted, because I needed to protect my peace. Carrying my own fear was enough; I couldn’t carry the weight of everyone else’s too.

The fight began with radiation. Twenty‑eight days of walking into a room that felt cold and mechanical, yet carried the weight of my survival. The hum of the machine, the sterile smell, the way the technicians spoke in calm, practiced tones—it all became part of my daily rhythm. Fear came with me every morning, but so did determination.

Then came chemotherapy. Four months of Capecitabine pills and Oxaliplatin infusions. The taste of metal in my mouth, the ache in my bones, the way fatigue wrapped itself around me like a heavy blanket. My body weakened, but my will did not. Each infusion was a strange mix of dread and hope—poison meant to heal.

Surgery followed. A low anterior resection removed part of my rectum and colon, my appendix was taken out, endometriosis was discovered, and three lymph nodes were removed. I woke up stitched and scarred, my body altered, my spirit tested. Survival leaves marks, and I carried them with both pain and pride.

For six months, I lived with a temporary ileostomy. The bag was more than a medical adjustment—it was an emotional storm. Depression pressed in. There were mornings I didn’t want to look at myself in the mirror. But even in those moments, I kept moving forward, sometimes crawling, sometimes stumbling, but always forward.

The reversal surgery felt like a sunrise after a long night. My colon was reconnected, and I could finally live without the bag. In that moment, I knew God had placed one of the best surgeons in my path. Gratitude filled me so completely it spilled out in tears I couldn’t hold back.

There were nights I cried until my chest ached. Days when exhaustion pinned me to the bed. Moments when I thought, “I can’t do this anymore.” But through it all, my faith never wavered. I leaned on God. I trusted the hands of my medical team. I let the quiet prayers of loved ones surround me like a shield.

In January 2025, after a final surgery to remove what chemotherapy could not, my doctors gave me the words I had prayed for: “No evidence of disease.”

At 55, I now live under surveillance—scans, bloodwork, checkups. The shadow of cancer lingers, but it no longer defines me. Each day feels sharper, brighter, more precious.

If you are reading this because you’ve just heard the words “you have cancer,” know that you are not alone. I once stood at the very beginning, staring into the unknown, feeling the weight of fear and uncertainty.

If you are in the middle of treatment, walking through radiation, chemotherapy, or surgery, I see you. I know the exhaustion, the tears, the moments when standing feels impossible.

If you are a survivor, you understand the strange mix of gratitude and vigilance that comes after the storm. You know how every sunrise feels sharper, how every laugh feels deeper.

And if you are here simply to bear witness, thank you. Stories like mine live on because they are read, carried, and remembered.

Cancer tried to take my peace, my strength, my hope. It did not win.

💬 Frequently Asked Questions

🤫 What made you decide to keep your diagnosis private?

I wanted quiet. Sharing widely would have meant carrying other people’s emotions on top of my own. By keeping my circle small, I could focus on the fight without distraction.

💔 What was the most difficult part of treatment for you?

The ileostomy. Living with a bag for six months was more than a physical adjustment—it was an emotional storm. It tested how I saw myself and how I carried on day to day.

⚡ How did radiation and chemotherapy feel?

Radiation was a daily walk into the unknown. The machine, the sounds, the sterile air—it became routine, but never easy. Chemotherapy was different: the metallic taste, the fatigue, the way it drained me. Both were exhausting, but each step reminded me I was still moving forward.

🙏 What role did faith play in your journey?

Faith was the thread that held me together. I believed God placed the right doctors and surgeons in my path, and I trusted that I was being carried through even when I felt weakest.

🌅 What did it feel like to hear “No Evidence of Disease”?

Relief, disbelief, gratitude—all at once. After months of fear and exhaustion, those words felt like light breaking through after a long storm.

🌻 How do you see life now, after cancer?

Everyday moments feel sharper. A sunrise, a laugh, a quiet morning—they all carry more weight. Life feels both fragile and extraordinary, and I carry gratitude with me in ways I never did before.

✨ Why are you sharing your story now?

Because silence no longer serves me. I carried this privately for so long, but now I want my journey to stand as a record of resilience, faith, and survival.

I am still here!

Darla Tobin-Blakes

Atlanta, GA