The Day Our World Stood Still: A Mantle Cell Lymphoma Diagnosis

On January 2, 2026, my husband Jay wrapped his arms around me and said the words that stopped time: “I have cancer.”

What we believed were harmless polyps removed during a routine colonoscopy turned out to be Mantle Cell Lymphoma—according to what we initially read: rare, aggressive, and incurable. Within minutes, our ordinary life vanished, replaced by fear, frantic research, and terrifying statistics.

Jay felt healthy. Strong. I always assumed he'd live at least until ninety-nine, like his mom. Now, MCL sites indicated his life expectancy dropped to two to five years.

This came out of nowhere—like walking down a sunny street when a cargo van screeches to a halt, someone jumps out, throws a bag over your head, and drags you inside.

As our minds raced through worst-case scenarios, we chose to fight. We pulled out our whole armor of God, dusted it off, and hoped it still fit. After squeezing into it, prayer became our first line of defense. We made immediate lifestyle and dietary changes, determined to support Jay’s immune system while we searched for the best possible medical care.

Our daughters stepped in with wisdom that felt God-ordained. One has a background in cancer research. The other is deeply knowledgeable about healing foods and herbs. Even our toddler grandson played a role—working the juicer to make healing juices for Pop Pop. His laughter reminded us daily that joy still lived in our home.

We pursued care at Oregon Health & Science University’s Knight Cancer Center. After a PET scan, blood work, and additional testing, we finally met with a lymphoma specialist.

When Fear Meets Unexpected Grace

And then came the words we never expected to hear—words that changed the weight of everything.

Jay has a rare indolent (slow-growing) form of Mantle Cell Lymphoma.

For now, there will be no chemotherapy. His blood work results are normal. The cancer burden is low. The plan is careful monitoring—an active approach that preserves future treatment options, including potential clinical trials.

Jay still has an incurable—so they say—cancer. That hasn’t changed.

But fear no longer has the final word.

We are choosing to live fully today, trust God with tomorrow, and believe—whether through miraculous healing or medical breakthroughs—that God is still at work, even when the future feels uncertain.

And yes, after a two week hiatus, I’m wearing mascara again.

I pray for healing, hope, and peace for everyone walking a similar road.

Blessings,

Angela

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Angela L. Gold is an encourager who shares the love of Christ in her writing. She is the author of The Lion Within and Kill Shot.