If I’m being completely honest, I didn’t always like the person I became while I was waiting for a transplant.
In my defense, being told you need a heart transplant is a big deal. It’s not something you can immediately absorb or cope with. I needed every minute of my 18-month wait to begin adjusting. And even then—even now—it’s still a hard thing to wrap my mind around.
In April of 2022, I was sitting in church, pondering the words I was hearing. I don’t know whether it was spoken over the pulpit or whispered by the Spirit, but I distinctly heard this instruction: Ask the Lord what you need to strengthen, and He will tell you.
So that’s exactly what I did. As I sat in sacrament meeting that day, I prayed to know what I could work on—what I needed to improve.
The answer came clearly: patience and long-suffering.
A few short weeks later, those words would become something of a mantra—though often they felt more like a chastisement—as the transplant process truly began.
The transplant team, while hopeful and supportive of organ transplantation, was very clear about one thing: transplant is not a cure. It is, instead, a trade—one disease for another. At the time, I remember thinking, Well, it’s the only chance I’ve got, so let’s get on with it. I caught the enthusiasm quickly and felt anxious to move forward.
But nothing about this process was easy.
The wait ended up being far longer—and far harder—than I had hoped.
Though I thought of myself as a patient person, this trial taught me that the Lord truly knows us better than we know ourselves. Patience was something I deeply needed to develop. And as month after month passed, I felt myself becoming less patient and more self-pitying.
In December of 2022, while casually fixing my hair in the bathroom mirror, I noticed a new lump in my neck. I immediately suspected it was my thyroid. I took a picture and sent it to my sister, asking if she could see it or if I was being overly vigilant. She confirmed that she could definitely see the lump.
I didn’t waste any time trying to schedule an appointment with my primary care doctor—but she couldn’t see me until the end of January. Feeling that this was more urgent, I scheduled with another physician who had availability in early January. Even so, I still waited nearly a month to be seen.
To my dismay, that doctor dismissed my concern almost immediately. He didn’t perform a manual exam—he simply looked and said the lump was small. I explained that one of my medications was known to be toxic to the thyroid.
“Why would you say that?” he responded. “Surely if it were toxic, you wouldn’t be on it.”
I explained that both the prescribing physician and the pharmacist had warned me of its thyroid toxicity and advised frequent monitoring. In the end, I had to ask for labs and a thyroid ultrasound. I never returned to that doctor again.
In early February, I finally had the ultrasound. While my lab results were normal, the ultrasound was not. It revealed three nodules—one of which had concerning features and was classified as TIRADS 5, meaning highly suggestive of malignancy.
That same doctor emailed me the results and suggested I follow up in a year.
Do nothing and follow up in a year? Absolutely not.
When the transplant team learned of the findings, they expedited a referral to endocrinology. In March, I went to the Huntsman Cancer Institute to meet with a specialist. He explained that thyroid cancer is often slow-growing and highly treatable, and that the suspicious nodule was still small. He gave me the option to biopsy it—or not.
I explained that because I was on the transplant list, no transplant would happen if there was even a possibility of active cancer. We needed answers—and we needed them quickly.
Right there in the office, he performed a fine-needle aspiration. Under ultrasound guidance, he inserted a long needle through my neck and into the thyroid nodule, collecting several samples for pathology. All I received for pain was a shot of lidocaine.
Little did I know, this was something I would need to get used to as a heart transplant patient.
A week later, the doctor himself called me.
“I’m so sorry to have to tell you this,” he said, “but it is cancer.”
My transplant listing was immediately put on hold until the cancer could be successfully treated.
I cried—not because I was afraid of dying or even of cancer. Thyroid cancer, after all, is often referred to as “the good kind” because of its low mortality rate. I cried because I was exhausted. Because I was angry. Because this felt like one more blow on top of everything else.
I spiraled into the familiar Why me?
From where I stood, everyone else seemed to be living life on easy mode—vacations, goals, progress. Meanwhile, I was waiting for a heart transplant… and now dealing with cancer.
How was that fair?
And then I was reminded of the words in Ether 2:24:
“For behold, ye shall be as a whale in the midst of the sea; for the mountain waves shall dash upon you. Nevertheless, I will bring you up again out of the depths of the sea…”
Here was another opportunity for God to strengthen me. Another chance for Him to deliver me. Another moment to choose faith in the Savior.
I would get through this. I would climb this mountain too.
After all, you never shout for joy from the peak of a mountain you did not have to climb.
Witness Marks 