You can run but cancer doesn't hide

I’m supposed to be in DC this week for the International Downtown Association conference. My boss texted me as he boarded the plane: enjoy the peace and quiet. I know he means well but peace and quiet is practically nowhere to be found these days.

Our organization runs on EOS (the Entrepreneurial Operating System), a business framework that’s supposed to bring clarity and structure to teams. Every weekly L10 (our team meeting) starts with sharing personal and professional “good news.” I get the intent but this exercise has never been a favorite thing for me. Even before Kara’s diagnosis, I’ve privately carried some really heavy shit. I’ve been in survival mode for years and those moments when people share their highs are often just a stark reminder of how different my reality feels. Now with cancer in the mix, it’s just a lot. It’s a reminder that EOS or any system, really wasn’t designed with daily trauma in mind.

And for those coworkers who are reading this: you all are amazing. I always appreciate the space you hold for me and the encouragement. Your good news still matters and I want to hear it. I think the greater point is the system itself doesn’t leave space for someone living in a perpetual hellscape.

So yes, traditionally, I probably would have enjoyed the peace and quiet of my coworkers being away. But this week I’m screaming inside, while my sister rests in bed beside me and the bald spot on her head seems to grow more visible by the minute.

While the cancer has been raging inside her body, she hasn’t ever really visibly looked sick. She had a 50/50 shot at losing her hair and I’m not going to lie: I’m a little angry she didn’t win this toss.

Logically, it’s easy to say it’s just hair.

Emotionally, the story plays out so differently. I try to remind myself that people have stared at her my whole life. Why would this feel different? Maybe because deep down I’ve always known her disability was her superpower. People’s glances came from curiosity and once she engaged with them it was typically nothing but love. But now, she will look sick and I don't want those kind of stares.

As cancer continues to wreak havoc on our lives, now it leaves us with a constant visual reminder that her body will likely never be the same. The version of her with the most beautiful natural blonde hair, perfect wavy curls and long, full lashes is gone.

So you’re all probably wondering how Kara’s taking it. On Sunday, I gave her a shower and noticed a little shedding, it wasn't anything alarming. Then Mom brushed her hair and clumps came out. Over the next two days, every brush stroke left us looking at softball size masses of hair in the palms of our hand. And Kara? She just laughed while the rest of us held back tears. Yes, she just laughed.

By Tuesday night, she had bald patches, a giant matte at the nape of her neck and an itchy scalp. We called in reinforcements. Our sister, Michelle helped Kara pick out a headscarf and we decided the head shave couldn’t wait much longer. We messaged Kara's hair stylist in desperation right away.

And when the response came back the next day that she didn’t have time, it felt like a sucker punch. I imagined this moment arriving and I just wanted it to provide dignity, just some sense of normalcy in the middle of chaos and for Kara to have this transition with someone that she knows regularly cuts her hair. Thankfully, our neighborhood tribe pulled through. Within the hour, Karla Morgan and Diane McManus were in the backyard, turning it into an impromptu salon. They showed up without hesitation, scissors in hand, ready to hold space for Kara and all of us. Kara asked Diane how many more people she had to do today as if her profession was home haircuts. Forever grateful for our village stepping up for us today.

Leading up to it, I asked Kara several times how she feels about it. She just smiles and says: it’s fine. After it was gone, she asked what happened to her hair? She legitimately seems fine with the change but perplexed as we all are on why this is her reality.

It all happened so fast. It breaks my heart to think I’ve already taken my last selfie with her and her full head of hair. It’s a chapter I never wanted to reach but I’m grateful she’s handling it with such grace.

And honestly? Her spirits have been so high on this new chemo treatment. Maybe the steroid is the difference. At least we’re not battling the relentless nausea of her first round. That doesn’t mean it’s easy. It's also destroying her blood counts and some new GI issues have been pretty brutal after the second dose. It feels like we are always trading one set of side effects for another. Her appetite isn’t strong either, which as I've mentioned is especially tough to watch in someone who’s always loved food with her whole heart.

So for now, I remind myself to unclench my jaw. To exhale. To keep my feet where they are because that’s my only job right now. And I booked a spa day. Whenever hopelessness creeps in, I look over at Kara who is 99% of the time in her recliner or bed, giggling at something only she knows is funny and I find solace in that joy.

God will guide the way as we try to keep pouring into each other.

We're holding off on debuting her look. She's been making the rounds on Facetime and we are trying to hold space for all the people she loves to take in her new look before we post it more publicly. When Kara is ready, I’ll share more on my socials for the big reveal.

This post was one of the hardest to write thus far. Maybe because no matter how strong a system is, EOS or otherwise, it can’t carry the weight of cancer, grief or daily trauma. That’s where people, compassion and grace have to step in. As we push through another emotionally charged day, Kara's giggles are the sound that is a constant reminder that joy can still find its way in, even now.

PS - if anyone has tips on good sources for headscarves, please send them our way.

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If You're New Here

Hi, I’m Alisha, Kara’s sister and biggest advocate. Kara was diagnosed with Stage 4 Triple-Negative Invasive Ductal Carcinoma (TNBC) in December 2024. Her cancer has spread to her bones, liver, and other areas, making this an incredibly difficult and uncertain journey.

Despite it all, Kara’s light still shines so brightly. She’s full of love, giggles, and endless positivity. This blog is where I share updates on her fight, the highs and lows and the incredible community rallying around her.

Thank you for being here, for your love, support and prayers. We need them more than ever. 💛 And of course, Go Hawks!

Team Kara Support Fund

Your gift helps cover travel, caregiving and comfort-related expenses for Kara’s support team. While Kara cannot receive funds directly, your generosity provides the relief and resources we need to keep showing up with love.

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