I just turned 21. This is why the first thing I’m doing is getting my routine cancer screenings.

“When I was your age, my father used to tell me, ‘You need to eat all the vegetables on your plate.’ We weren’t allowed to leave a single thing behind!”
I can hear his voice so clearly, even now. My dad said those words every time I was sick as a child—which, truthfully, was often. In my mind, he was invincible. I never saw him so much as sniffle, and certainly never saw him take a sick day. To me, he was untouchable, larger than life.
But when I was fifteen, everything changed. I remember the moment I learned that my father had been diagnosed with stage four thyroid cancer. It felt like the earth shifted beneath me. How could this man—who had never once shown any sign of weakness—suddenly be facing something so terrifying?
It all began with his loud snoring. It was a family joke; we could hear it from all the way in the living room. One day, we teasingly suggested he get it checked out. What we thought was a harmless quirk turned out to be a warning sign of something far scarier. In October of 2019, he was officially diagnosed with stage four thyroid cancer. In January of 2020, he was rushed to the ER for an emergency tracheostomy and a feeding tube. It happened just around my sixteenth birthday. My world, as I knew it, shattered. My dad lost 75% of his vocal cords that day.
In the midst of the chaos, I struggled to keep my own head above water. The anxiety, the overwhelming fear—and the responsibility of being a caretaker for someone I thought would always be strong—at first, it all felt like too much. But in the darkest moments, I found a way to channel my pain into purpose. I started For Love & Buttercup, a nonprofit book drive dedicated to helping pediatric cancer patients. To date, we’ve donated over 25,000 books to kids with cancer. It was my way of creating something good in a world that felt so unfair. It gave me comfort when nothing else could, and it became a silver lining I never thought I’d find.
Over the years, I’ve had the honor of being named CNN Heroes Young Wonder of 2023 and receiving the Presidential Volunteer Service Award. Giving back helped me heal in ways I never expected. It gave me purpose when I thought I might never feel okay again. But no matter what I did, the lingering question remained: What if we had caught my dad’s cancer earlier?
Though I try not to dwell on what could have been, there’s no escaping the fact that cancer doesn’t just affect the person diagnosed. It affects their entire family. I often struggle to remember the person I was before my dad was diagnosed with cancer. When people ask me, “How did you overcome it?” I don’t have an easy answer. The truth is, I don’t think I ever will. Cancer is something you live with, not something you “get over.”
That’s why, as I turned 21 this year, the first thing I did was get checked for cancer. Although there is currently no routine screening for thyroid cancer, there are some cancer screenings and checks you are eligible for in your 20s. Young people often think they’re invincible, like I did. I hear it all the time: “But you’re so young. Why worry about that now?” The unfortunate reality is, cancer can affect anyone, regardless of age. The earlier you catch it, the better the chance of survival. The earlier you act, the more power you have over your own health (this is my go-to list of screenings you should consider getting in your 20’s!).
This year, I’ll be getting my first citología vaginal, a clinical breast exam at the OB-GYN, routine oral cancer checks at my six-month dentist appointments and a skin cancer check at the dermatologist. I’m also up to date on my vaccinations. As I age and become eligible for more routine screenings, I’ll be adding to that list (including mammograms, high-risk HPV tests and colorectal cancer screenings).
So, I urge everyone—especially young people—to take your health seriously. Don’t ignore the small signs. As I embark on this new chapter of my life, I’ve learned that taking care of myself is the most important thing I can do—not just for me, but for the people who care about me.