Chiropractor in South River, NJ

Hi! This is a copy of my article. You can read it here: https://patch.com/new-jersey/s..., or on the attached document. I just put a classified out to advertise my work :).

One childhood memory remains especially vivid: sitting in a small, warmly lit Chinese restaurant as rain gently tapped against the window. The air was rich with the scent of soy sauce and sesame oil, and I sat bundled in my favorite red coat, legs swinging beneath the booth. I cracked open a fortune cookie and pulled out a small slip of paper that read, “Intention is everything.” At the time, it felt like a simple, playful message—something to smile at and tuck away. Now, as a high school junior whose dreams have been shaped by life’s challenges, those three words carry a depth I could never have anticipated.

From an early age, I felt drawn to helping others. Whether it was standing up for a classmate on the playground or explaining a difficult lesson to a peer, I found joy and purpose in offering support. I would often declare, with wide-eyed confidence, “I want to be a doctor,” not yet fully understanding the responsibilities that came with the profession—only that it meant healing, helping, and giving hope.

That childhood aspiration grew far more personal when my grandparents were diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and Dementia. I remember sitting at the edge of my grandfather’s bed as he struggled to recognize his wife and daughter. Their voices trembled with sorrow as his gaze remained empty. Yet the defining moment came when I was eight years old, and my mother was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer.

At the time, my world revolved around stuffed animals and my “Doc McStuffins” playset. I had no understanding of chemotherapy, malignant tumors, or oncologists. I only knew that my mother was spending more time in the hospital than at home. Sometimes, I was whisked away to my cousin’s house without warning. At eight, I naively thought, “What fun! Another playdate!”

My older sister, already on the path to medical school, would lend me her stethoscope and teach me how to “check” our mother’s heartbeat. I would sit quietly beside my mom as she rested, pretending to be her doctor, listening to the steady rhythm of her heart as if to reassure both of us that everything would be okay. Those moments, though small, gave me comfort. They allowed me to feel useful—connected—even though I couldn’t fully grasp the enormity of what she was facing.

One of the most transformative parts of our journey was our time at Memorial Sloan Kettering Hospital. As we walked through its sterile, echoing hallways, we met Dr. Ting Bao, my mother’s oncologist. Her gentle voice and compassionate presence made the intimidating world of cancer feel a little less overwhelming. Dr. Bao did more than administer treatment—she held our hands through the darkest moments. Watching her taught me that medicine is just as much about empathy as it is about expertise. She became a beacon of hope and a role model I still look up to today.

Thanks to years of intensive chemotherapy and radiation, my mother is now in remission. However, survival is only part of the story—one that far too often remains untold. Life after cancer presents its own battles, many of which are invisible to the outside world.

My mother now lives with neuropathy, a lasting side effect of treatment that causes sudden muscle spasms and loss of grip. I will never forget the look on her face when she dropped her favorite piece of china. It shattered across the floor, and I watched her spirit crack alongside it. She now avoids holding babies, often making lighthearted jokes about her “unwanted clumsiness,” though the pain behind the smile is clear. These physical limitations are accompanied by emotional ones—a quiet, ongoing reminder of the war she continues to fight, even in recovery.

Through her experience, I have learned that remission is not the end. Cancer survivors face lasting effects: nerve damage, chronic fatigue, insomnia, speech impediments, cognitive changes, heart disease, and a host of emotional challenges. Yet, society rarely talks about what comes next. These realities deserve just as much attention as the initial diagnosis.

So, how do we respond?

We shine a light on these unseen struggles. We raise awareness, not only for the fight against cancer, but for the lives of those navigating its aftermath. We become part of the solution by standing beside survivors—offering not just compassion, but action.

There are countless ways to help: offering rides to follow-up appointments, joining or starting support groups, writing uplifting notes to survivors, organizing Walk-a-Thons, donating wigs or scarves, and contributing to nonprofit organizations like the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Even small acts of kindness can have a profound ripple effect.

Because as I’ve come to understand, "Intention truly is everything."