Reagan’s Story: From Graduation Day to Kidney Cancer Diagnosis
The Day Everything Changed
On May 2, 2024, I woke up in full celebration mode. I had just earned my MBA and my family had thrown me a surprise graduation party. My calendar was finally clear, my stress was easing, and for the first time in a long time, I had space to breathe.
I decided to use that space to schedule a long-overdue well visit. I’d had what we thought was a “false alarm” heart attack six months earlier, and a long list of symptoms I’d been blaming on perimenopause, stress, or thyroid issues (I have Hashimoto’s). I told my parents not to worry as they drove back to Charleston, SC. I had a doctor’s appointment later that morning. Everything was fine. Or so I told myself.
At the appointment, I shared the “cardiac event” and my symptoms with my nurse practitioner. She listened, nodded, and ordered labs “just to be safe.” I left thinking we were mostly just ruling things out.
Those labs led to more labs.
The next round led to referrals.
And that gut feeling that something wasn’t okay only got louder.
The First Hint Something Was Really Wrong
The first twist came when my primary care doctor messaged me to say she was referring me to a hematologist.
My reaction: What’s a hematologist?
Google’s answer: a doctor who specializes in blood disorders.
Cue the spiral.
I opened my lab results and saw elevated platelets and alkaline phosphatase. Back to Google: infection, inflammation… or leukemia. I told myself not to panic, but it’s hard not to when “leukemia” pops up on your screen.
A few days later, my phone rang.
“This is Georgia Cancer Specialists calling to schedule an appointment with Dr. Alizaday for Reagan.”
Wait—Georgia Cancer Specialists?
I told the scheduler there must be a mistake. I was supposed to see a hematologist.
She gently explained, “Yes, our doctors are hematologist-oncologists. Don’t worry. You’re in the right hands.”
And just like that, the word oncologist entered my vocabulary and my life.
That night, I told my husband. I tried to downplay it, but inside, I was scared. I called my mom too. She already had a trip planned to see me that week, but now she’d also be coming to sit by my side in a cancer center waiting room.
Stepping Into the Cancer Center
Wednesday, June 11 – Georgia Cancer Specialists
Walking into the waiting room was a shock all its own. Patients in scarves, hats, and wheelchairs. People clearly undergoing chemotherapy. I remember thinking, Why am I here? How did I end up in this room?
The nurse took my vitals and reviewed my records. Then my doctor came in—calm, kind, and thorough. He asked what felt like a million questions.
I only had one:
“Do you think I have leukemia?”
He said no. I exhaled. For a moment, I felt relief.
He pointed out that I had a gallbladder ultrasound scheduled for the next day, which might answer more questions. He also ordered more labs—twelve vials of blood. I was incredibly grateful my mom was with me; I don’t think I could’ve driven myself home after that.
I could feel it in my gut: something big was coming. We just didn’t have a name for it yet.
Reading My Diagnosis Alone on the Couch
Thursday, June 12 – Emory University Hospital
My mom stayed in town to take me to the ultrasound at Emory, a teaching hospital in Atlanta. The tech couldn’t say much—standard protocol. Her silence, focus, and the decision to bring in an intern told me enough: something was off.
Afterward, my mom dropped me off at home and went to lunch with a friend. I was alone when my phone buzzed.
MyChart notification:
Test results available.
That was fast. Was that good or bad? I didn’t know. I just knew I couldn’t wait. I opened the report.
“Complex right renal mass, highly suspicious for renal cell carcinoma.”
“Complex, solid mass partially exophytic from the lower pole of the kidney measuring 11.9 x 8.8 x 8.1 cm with internal flow.”
Carcinoma. Renal mass. Internal flow. Exophytic. Kidney pole.
I just stared at the words. Then I did what so many of us do: I started Googling every term.
My heart pounded. My stomach dropped. I felt like I might throw up.
In that moment, I knew: I have cancer.
The Text That Came at Exactly the Right Time
I tried calling my mom. Straight to voicemail. I knew she was probably driving or deep in conversation. I didn’t want to call my husband while he was on the road with his employees for a meeting. I was suspended in this awful in-between space—knowing, but not officially knowing.
Then a text came in from my friend Lisa:
“How are you feeling?”
She knew I’d had appointments that week. The timing felt guided.
I responded: “Can you talk now?”
She was on a family vacation, but she called immediately. When I answered, I broke down. I sent her screenshots of the report.
“Does this mean I have cancer?” I kept asking her, as if she could decode it for me. She has a PhD in Psychology, and in that moment I was wishing it somehow translated into an MD in Urology.
She didn’t know either. But she did know what to say:
“Call your doctor right now. Then call me back.”
I did. And from that moment on, everything moved at high speed.
My nurse practitioner and hematologist scrambled behind the scenes to coordinate next steps. I was quickly referred to a urologic surgeon at Emory who specializes in large renal tumors.
The Surgeon in My Neighborhood
Here’s where my story takes a pretty incredible turn.
The surgeon I was referred to—one of the best in the country for large renal masses—turned out to be my friend’s husband.
And not just that.
He was also my neighbor.
I later learned that patients travel from all over the world to have extremely large and complex renal tumors removed by him. And I happened to live in the same neighborhood.
How lucky am I?
Knowing he was not only highly skilled but also connected to my circle gave me a level of trust and comfort that I desperately needed at the time. Under his care, we put together a plan that included surgery and systemic therapy to treat the cancer.
Today, I’m grateful to say I’m cancer free.
The Hardest Conversations
Once the words “renal cell carcinoma” were in my chart, the next step was telling the people I love most.
My mom came back to the house. I don’t remember exactly what I said; I just remember showing her the report. She went pale. We didn’t cry. We just sat there together in shock.
I texted my husband, Geoff:
“Call me as soon as you can.”
When he called, I told him. He came straight home and wrapped me in a long hug. No words—just presence.
Then there were our kids.
Our daughter, Mason (23), was coming over for dinner. She asked casually, “How did your appointments go?” I told her the truth. She asked, “Is it cancer?” and I had to say, “We don’t know yet. We’ll know more Monday when I see the urologist.” She ran to her room and locked the door. My heart shattered. My husband and my mom took turns comforting her.
Our son, Reid, was turning 26 the next day. I didn’t want to blindside him on his birthday, so I told him the day before. Then came my dad, my brother, my in-laws.
Everyone tried to stay positive. But fear was thick in the air.
I didn’t have an official pathology report yet. But I knew. I felt it in my bones—just like I had back in October when I knew something wasn’t right.
Life Now: More Than a Diagnosis
Today, I’m grateful to be able to say I’m:
Cancer status: Cancer free (NED – no evidence of disease)
Treatment: Surgery plus systemic/targeted/immunotherapy/chemotherapy
Age at diagnosis: 46
By day, I’m a Chief Operating Officer, which fits my personality: I like to organize, support, and make things work behind the scenes.
Outside of appointments and scans, I’m still very much myself:
Spending time with my family
Walking my dog
Hiking and being outdoors
Boating and traveling
Cooking and eating out
Watching movies and TV
Those are the things that remind me that I am more than my lab results and imaging reports.
The People Who Held Me Up
No one gets through a diagnosis like this alone.
My surgeon and neighbor at Emory University is one of the leading specialists in large renal masses. Knowing that people travel from all over the world to see him—and that he was right next door—was an incredible blessing.
My family and friends showed up in every possible way: sitting in waiting rooms, taking me to appointments, calling at just the right time, holding me when words fell short.
I was scared, but I was never truly alone.
My Advice for Someone Newly Diagnosed with Kidney Cancer
If you’re newly diagnosed and reading this, I’m writing this part for you.
Here’s what I learned:
Don’t Google statistics.
Most of what you’ll find is old and doesn’t reflect current treatments, advances, or your specific situation.If you need to research, choose good sources.
Look for credible medical sites and scholarly journals like PubMed or the New England Journal of Medicine, rather than random message boards.Make a list of questions for your doctors.
Bring it to every appointment. There is no such thing as a “dumb” question when it’s your body and your life.Look up unfamiliar words.
It’s okay if “renal mass” or “exophytic” mean nothing at first. Learning the language helped me feel more informed and a little less powerless.Find community.
Join support groups like Smart Patients or similar communities where people understand what you’re going through.Consider a second opinion.
Especially if you have a high-grade tumor, stage 3 or 4 RCC, or a rare subtype. A second opinion can confirm your treatment plan or open the door to other options.
If You’re Standing Where I Once Stood
If you’ve ever opened a medical report full of words you don’t understand…
If you’ve felt the ground shift under you with a single sentence…
If you’ve sat alone with news that feels too big to hold…
I see you.
I remember reading the words “highly suspicious for renal cell carcinoma” all by myself in my living room. The world got very quiet. But even when it felt like I was alone, I wasn’t. And you aren’t either.
With peace, love, and health,
Reagan 💗