For most of my life, when a doctor asked about my family history of cancer, I could answer with easy confidence: none. That changed in May 2025.
My family had traveled to Rhode Island to watch my mother receive an honorary doctorate in humanitarian service. My grandmother, Betty, a woman who has never missed a birthday, wedding, or graduation, stayed home. She blamed a stomach ache. Instead, she ended up in the emergency room, where she was told to see an oncologist immediately. Weeks later, at 81, she was diagnosed with stage IV ovarian cancer.
We quickly learned what too many families learn too late. Unlike breast or colon cancer, ovarian cancer has no routine screening, and most women aren't diagnosed until it has already spread. Before that spring, the women in my family barely knew it existed.
My grandmother helped raise me. She was my self-appointed nurse, the cure for every childhood fever and headache. Suddenly she needed more care than we could give her on our own. My mother and aunt worked tirelessly to find her the best, and found it in Dr. Elena Ratner and the extraordinary team at Yale Oncology. She began chemotherapy right away to shrink the cancer, then underwent a massive surgery to remove what remained. In the fall of 2025, she was declared cancer-free.
That year, for the first time, I wondered whether she would be there for my next milestone. She was, and this past May, she sat in the audience and watched me graduate from Columbia.
Not long after, the cancer returned and for the past two months, she has spent every Tuesday in chemotherapy.
This November, I'm running the New York City Marathon and fundraising for Tell Every Amazing Lady, which advances the awareness, early detection, and genetic testing my family never knew to ask about. Too many women don't get the time we've been given. Your support can help change that.
My grandmother has faced all of this with a strength and courage I'm still trying to understand. I'll carry both with me for 26.2 miles. Grandma Betty, this one's for you.
