Fighting to be Heard, Fighting to Hold On

This is a guest post by Shayla Mitchell, 29, who has an unclassified type of renal cell carcinoma. Shayla lives in Missouri.

For several months, I knew something wasn’t right. My body felt off — persistent back pain, discomfort, and an unshakable feeling that something was wrong. But every time I sought help, I was met with dismissals.

“It’s just your weight.” “It’s just anxiety.”

I started to doubt myself. I wanted to believe the doctors were right, that nothing serious was going on. But deep down, I knew there was more to it. That quiet, stubborn voice inside me refused to let it go. And that knowing — that refusal to ignore my own body — may have saved my life.

Finally, I found a doctor who was willing to look a little deeper. They suspected gallbladder issues and ordered an ultrasound. But during that scan, a talented ultrasound tech noticed something unexpected—a shadow on my right kidney. That shadow led to further tests, and scary conversations, which led to a referral to the University of Kansas to see a urologic oncologist.

On June 20th, 2024, I underwent a partial nephrectomy at KU. The pathology confirmed what I hadn’t quite let myself believe: cancer. Unclassified renal cell carcinoma, pT1a, favoring TFE3-rearranged renal, Grade 3. Time stopped. How could this be? I was only 28 years old. Cancer? Me? Even now, 8 months later, it’s hard to fully wrap my head around it.

I was lucky. It was caught early. I am grateful for that every single day. But in my heart, I also know that if I had listened to the first, second, or third dismissals — if I had ignored my own instincts — I might not be here telling my story.

Fighting for Myself, Fighting for Her

Recovering from surgery was difficult, but I barely had time to process what had happened before life demanded more of me. Less than three weeks later, on July 10th, I lost my beloved Granny to colon cancer.

When I heard how bad things had gotten, I didn’t think twice — I drove over ten hours back to Eastern Kentucky, fresh out of surgery, with my visiting mother by my side. Our family sat beside my Granny’s hospital bed for four days, holding her hand, making sure she wasn’t alone.

I think about that now — about how hard I fought to be heard, how hard I fought for my own life, and how, in the end, all I wanted was more time with her.

Grief and fear have a way of shaping you. Cancer does, too. It doesn’t just change your health — it changes the way you see the world.

I worry about recurrence. I still get scared about follow-up scans and visits with my oncologist (the first of which, on January 15, thankfully came back NED — No Evidence of Disease). Some days, the fear creeps in, reminding me how fragile life can be. But through all of this, I’ve gained something greater than what cancer has tried to take from me.

The Hardest Lesson and the Greatest Gift

If I’ve learned anything, it’s that no one will advocate for you the way you can advocate for yourself. You deserve time and attention from your care team. You deserve to be heard.

I wasn’t given the consideration I deserved for months. If I had accepted those first dismissals, my cancer could have progressed, and my story could have been very different. I will always be incredibly thankful for the medical professionals who ultimately helped save me. But I’m also taking credit where it’s due — because I helped save myself.

That’s something my Granny taught me, too. She was a fighter, and she never let people tell her who she was or what she should accept. I carry that with me now — not just in my own health, but in every aspect of my life.

I’ve also learned that people will surprise you. When I felt my loneliest, when I was at my lowest, people came out of the woodwork to support me. Some of them weren’t the ones I expected. Some I barely knew. But they showed up, and that meant everything.

I’ve chosen to get involved — with Gilda’s Club, with therapy, with sharing my story — because I don’t want cancer to just be something that happened to me. I want to use it to help others.

Cancer may have changed my life, but it will not define it.

I’m still here. I’m still moving forward. And I’m determined to make the most of this second chance.

To anyone facing kidney cancer or any cancer: You are not alone. And if no one else will fight for you, fight for yourself. You are worth it.