A Rough Start to 2026

From 2024 to 2025, I went through 17 rounds of chemotherapy, 10 rounds of radiation, 125 nights in the hospital, a bone marrow transplant, and more side effects than I could ever list. During that time, I created The Optimist Athlete, but I also understood my limits. Some days, my body simply wouldn’t allow more.

That’s why I was so excited for 2026. A fresh start. No treatment, hopefully. Less pain — physically and mentally. I told myself, this is the year. You’ve been fighting for a long time. You deserve a reset.

A few days into the new year, my bathroom in San Francisco flooded with sewage water. Because my immune system is compromised, I had to pack up most of my belongings and move home immediately. Any bacteria or mold put me at serious risk. It was frustrating, but I notified my landlord, and they said it would take a few weeks to fix.

I took a breath and told myself it was a small bump in the road. Despite having my dream work setup at my apartment, I accepted working off a laptop and moving back home with my parents until things were resolved.

A few days later, my mom casually mentioned she was taking my dog, Leo, to the vet. Something felt off.

I got Leo in 2018 while I was still in college. I wasn’t ready. Everyone told me not to get a dog — living in San Francisco, going to school, working an internship at NBC. But my love for animals, especially dogs, is hard to explain. Leo forced me to grow up. I made it my responsibility to give him a good life. Morning walks every day. Lafayette Park most evenings. He became my best friend — smart, loyal, gentle.

Then I was diagnosed with cancer.

There were days I couldn’t get out of bed. Days that felt impossibly heavy. Leo was the one constant. Just being near me was enough to lift my spirits. He didn’t fix anything but he made things lighter.

This last weekend, the vet called. Leo had a large tumor on his spleen. Surgery would cost $26,000, with no guarantee it would help. Just days before, he seemed completely fine. My mom and I had taken him on a two-mile walk in the pouring rain. I hadn’t been able to walk much because of pain from treatment, but that day we did — and Leo led the whole way.

On Sunday, I made the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make. Leo wasn’t in pain yet, but he would be soon. He was only seven years old. I feel robbed of time with him. After all the physical suffering I’ve been through, the last thing I wanted was for Leo to experience any pain.

I know you might think, “He’s just a dog.” But love is love. I’m grateful for the time I had with him and angry that I don’t get more.

I see two paths forward. I can let myself sit in this sadness for weeks. And honestly, that would be understandable. Or I can choose to use Leo as fuel — as a reminder of how quickly life can change.

Life happens. Hard things happen. The only thing we control is how we respond.

Leo will always be with me. And he’s another reminder that tomorrow isn’t promised. We have today. Right now.

And I plan to live like it.