A diagnosis is not a death sentence

I have been put into a unique situation for only being 24. When I was seventeen, I was diagnosed with brain cancer.

After my diagnosis, I considered it a given certainty that I would pass away as the long-term survival rate for patients with brain tumors is eye-openly low. My biggest fear: to leave my parents without one of their two sons. I was not going to let that happen.

I fought through thirty rounds of chemo, thirty radiation treatments, and two surgeries, all while going to college. I never took a moment to think about what I would do after college because frankly, it was too far away.

After a cycle of chemotherapy, I would start to think I was in the clear, but only 3 or 6 months later told that I needed more treatment. I never got ahead of myself because there were too many unknowns in my life. I had one focus and one task, beat this. I didn’t care about the numbers, I didn’t care about the odds, I focused on the task, on the now.

Spoiler alert, for almost two continuous years now my medical scans remain clean, meaning I am as healthy physically as I have ever been since my diagnosis.

With that being said, I am here to discuss a different kind of treatment. Whenever I tell people about my past, I find that they people treat me differently. They probably don’t even recognize they do, but I see it as clear as day. They will start to look at me differently. They will give me preferential treatment out of pity, not out of love. They feel I deserve a free pass which I have not earned. There are many more examples I can reference here, but they all come down to one thing: they lower the bar for me, which is incredibly insulting and is the only thing that makes me extremely uncomfortable.

I have never let people dictate how I feel or how I act, but this particular challenge can be isolating and has actually impacted a few of my life decisions, including where I want to work.

The one person that never judged me was my brother, Zach. Only two years after my diagnosis, Zach was diagnosed with the same type of cancer as me, oligodendroglioma. At that point, my family decided enough was enough. We created a non-profit called Oligo Nation, and in just three years we have raised over 1.5 million dollars and funded 4 research grants at UCSF, Mass General, Mayo Clinic, and MD Anderson. Two more grants are in process: Stanford and Duke.

I graduated from college in December and immediately started my job search, where I had to face a difficult decision: whether or not to reveal that I am a cancer survivor. My hesitation stemmed from the stigmas I experienced through my battle with cancer, sometimes labeled as slow or unpredictable. I feared if I was open about my health, I’d be stigmatized and not given a fair chance for an interview or worse, hired but placed in a role with limited responsibilities. However, if I kept this to myself, I would be hiding a huge part of my life, concealing what has shaped me to be who I am today.

After a few hard weeks of soul searching, I knew my only choice was to be authentic. Why would I want to work somewhere where I could not reveal my whole self? It would deprive me of an opportunity to grow and flourish as the healthy person I am now.

Additionally, out of my three internships during college, two of them involved non-profits. One of my non-profit experiences really aided my growth, and the other did not. I didn’t want to risk having another shitty non-profit experience as my first “real” job.

And so, my search continued and I started thinking about sales. I have always been a great communicator, and in fourth grade I participated in my school’s fundraising campaign selling magazine subscriptions. Not only was I the top seller in my school; I was one of the top sellers in the country. Needless to say, with that memory driving me, I began my job search looking for a position where I felt I would be surrounded by people with that same motivation to succeed.

Therefore, I made it a priority to find a job with a healthy culture and supportive environment. When I saw Virool’s post for a Sales Development Representative, I liked what I saw: entry level, a chance to show my ability to take responsibility, and the sink or swim nature of sales that would provide the opportunity for me to shed the labels that still were weighing on me.

From the second I picked up the phone with Brian, the recruiter, it was apparent that his first priority was that I was a cultural fit with Virool, in addition to being a match in terms of the technical and experience-based requirements. Even after I told him about my diagnosis, he was still as interested, not more-so, not less-so. He addressed it at face value and continued the interview. I just asked him about that interview and he told me “what stuck out was your experience in Los Angeles (where I worked for City Year Los Angeles after high school), not your cancer.”

Arriving at the office for an in-person interview, I knew something was special. I could tell this would be a place where I would thrive and learn, not just because Virool has an unbelievably gorgeous balcony view and lovely catered lunches every day (certainly doesn’t hurt) but because of the people. I ended up getting the job and accepted the offer the second Brian told me about it.

Ever since my diagnosis, I have dreamed that I would live to see the day where I was working for a company where I loved coming into the office every day. A company where my colleagues are my friends. I found this and so much more at Virool. Every single day I wake up, I go to work excited and ready to do my best. At the office, we are constantly laughing, collaborating, problem-solving, strategizing, but most importantly supporting each other.

4 months ago I missed a day of work because of a doctor’s appointment. Even though it was only one day, I missed my colleagues and felt like I was missing out on all the fun/funny/interesting things in the office and I have a scan next week and I know I am going to miss work even more. In my 24 years of life, I can tell you with complete certainty that I laugh harder and more frequently at Virool than at any other job. I cannot imagine anywhere I would rather work at this point in my life. Every single person here has a huge heart, is incredibly smart, and loves coming to work every single day. We are linked by mutual respect, mutual love, curiosity, and passion; it is the definition of a symbiotic relationship. That is why I work at Virool.

I have never written about my story before, and when I was approached to do so, it felt daunting because I don’t like sharing my history with my friends, let alone strangers whom I have never met. It is a very vulnerable place to be. But I felt an urge to write this because even though my job can be tough at times, I am always happy at work. When I talk to people who are older and wiser than I am, they reiterate one thing. When life is coming to a close, no one thinks back and wish they had played it safer or worked longer hours or made more money, they look back and regret not doing what they love and enjoying the moments that we are all fortunate enough to be able to experience. Every day I wake up knowing that Virool is giving me exactly that: the ability to do what I love while allowing me to enjoy every moment of it.

To find out more about Oligo Nation, click here.