My life was shaped by a childhood filled with navigating decades of trauma and survival.
I was diagnosed with a Stage III cancer at a young age. By the time it was found, I had a tumor on my right calf, the size of a grapefruit. The doctors gave my mom a choice: radiation or amputation, both alongside 9 months of chemo. My mom chose amputation, and as an adult, I fully support her decision.
I spent much of my childhood feeling as if I was a burden, a “waste”, simply a body that wasnt supposed to be here.. the echo’s from my community.
As a result of the constant negativity, I became known as a spitfire throughout my youth.
My goal wasn’t to return negative energy, but to stand up for myself against everything and everyone. Between struggles at home, school, and with my health, I felt as if I had no true safe space. I thought fighting was my only option for survival—and it was. No one protected me, so I had to learn how to protect myself.
I almost ended my life at age 16. By that age, it was verbally suggested by my peers and community. My existence felt like a curse, not just to me, but also to the world. I was often told this world would have been better without me.
At home, I was isolated and surrounded by poverty and different degrees of neglect.
With my older siblings gone, I was truly alone, isolated, with limited to no support or basic resources, cared for in any way, outside of what I created and provided for myself.
Right as I was preparing, setting up my last moments in this life, a voice came over me: “There is a greater purpose for everything.” I broke down in emotion. Frustrated, I listened and decided not to go through with my plan.
spent the remainder of my teen years and early 20s navigating different levels of trauma, from extreme poverty, abusive relationships, and homelessness. That theme of “abuse and hatred” continued to follow me throughout the rest of my adolescence and into my early-mid adulthood.
It took a lot for me to find myself, including a secondary cancer diagnosis. A fear that haunted me for as long as I could remember. Little did I know that it would also be the shift that changed me forever.
After completing treatment, I decided to share my cancer journey with the world, telling my story of self-advocacy and determination. Which was the start of the doors that opened for me to begin truly living my own life.
I wish I could say that if none of my past tragedies had ever happened, I would be in a better place than I am today. After reflecting on my past, I realized that a lot of what I navigated prepared me and gave me the tools to overcome and become so much more than I ever imagined.
The theme of my life is constant overcoming and then excelling beyond.
I share my story to inspire others who have a similar origin. Showcasing that your past truly donest define your future. And most importantly, disability doesn’t mean inability.
While I am not my past, my past will forever be a part of me. I am grateful for where it has led me
I am Abena Christine Jon’el
This Website Is Dedicated To:
The children and families at Oscher’s Pediatric Oncology in New Orleans, Louisiana, during the years 1995 and 1996.
As a child, I was haunted by a recurring nightmare of a doctor joyfully skipping down the street toward my house. He was there to take me from my family and add me to his “collection.” He always carried a string of balloons, each holding a child I recognized but couldn’t place. I knew we were always connected. When he reached my door, my mom would bring me to him, and he would “plug” a string into my chest, turning me into a balloon, like the children watching from the other side.
I spent my early years battling cancer. I didn’t know I had cancer at the time, just that I was there for “testing”—as if something “bad” was inside of me. I remember playing with other children in the hospital, bonding over shared experiences and IVs. At the time, I didn’t realize how these moments would later connect.
Years later, in my mid-20s, my mom shared that all the children I’d played with in the hospital—my friends—had died. I was the only survivor. One day, while journaling, I realized the children in my dream weren’t just a coincidence. They were the same children I had spent time with. I remembered playing with them and, later, playing alone after they were gone. My hospital had contacted Make-A-Wish, expecting me to die soon, and granted me one last wish. But I didn’t die. Unlike them, I survived.
That’s when I realized the dream was connected to my mortality. When the dreams appeared, the children weren’t physically present, meaning they were watching over me from the afterlife. I wasn’t fully on their side or this one—I was in between. It highlighted how close to death I had been and the guilt I felt for being the only one who survived.
For years, I struggled with survivor’s guilt. I couldn’t understand why I was spared. When I was diagnosed again and survived, the guilt intensified. Why am I alive?
Now, approaching my 30th anniversary of survival, I think about my friends and their families who have been gone for 30 years. My birthday typically represents grief, but last year I decided to live for them. Through me, they have life. Though I don’t know their names, I know they’re watching me, proud of who I’ve become.
I dedicate the rest of my life to living for them, knowing they’re always watching over me, experiencing it with me. This website, my life, my adventures, everything—is dedicated to them and their families. As the lone survivor, everything I have is for them. Through me, their memories live on.
If any of this page touches you, or even rings true to a journey you or someone you know has navigated, I ask that you donate to one of these three organizations to help support not only children and young adults, but also families who are navigating such a devastating disease.
All three organizations that changed my life forever — Literally.
IMERMAN ANGELS
Imerman Angels is an organization I came across years later, after my second diagnosis. They provide one-on-one peer mentoring for free to cancer survivors, their caregivers, and even people with a genetic mutation who haven’t had cancer. While I didn’t use this resource during either of my cancer journeys, I can 100% acknowledge how vital it would have been—not just for me, but for my family as well. Especially my mom, who truly had no idea if what she was doing was the right choice.
There’s no “guidebook” for “what to do when you or your child has cancer,” but Imerman Angels provides support that’s as close as possible to what each person is experiencing. And while no cancer journey is the same, they strive to match you with someone who truly understands what it’s like to face a cancer diagnosis. (Jonny did his big one.)
OSCHNERS PEADACTRIC ONCOLOGY
It’s clear that without this place and their treatment, I wouldn’t be here. While they couldn’t save all of us, they saved me. And without that advanced treatment and care, I wouldn’t be here today. Children facing a cancer diagnosis should have all the resources they need to beat it and fight back, so they too can live a fulfilling life.
MAKE-A-WISH FOUNDATION
I still remember it like it was yesterday: running around the parks with my siblings, seeing Mickey, Minnie, and the princesses, being called up on stage during the magic show, watching Shamo, and feeling the stingrays at SeaWorld, riding the Jurassic Park-themed strollers, even the Jaws ride at Universal Studios, and having dinner at the Japanese Hibachi Grill at Epcot. I remember all of it—and what I don’t remember is actually being sick. That’s what the Make-A-Wish Foundation provides to children and families battling life-threatening illnesses: a chance to just be a family, and a child, creating pleasant memories instead of focusing on the challenges of hospital life.
Abena Christine Jon'el 