CancerCon 2025: Reflections on survivorship, advocacy & the power of the red lanyard

When I decided to attend CancerCon—an event for adolescent and young adult (AYA) cancer patients and survivors—on behalf of the Prevent Cancer Foundation, I debated between signing up and attending as a community member or a professional. As someone who was diagnosed with thyroid cancer when I was 27, both options were applicable.

The decision followed me to registration for the event, where your lanyard color denotes your reason for attending. As I looked back and forth between the red lanyard for patients and survivors and the black lanyard for nonprofit professionals—I’m not sure if I realized it at the time—but I was really making a decision about which “version” of myself I was bringing to the event. I am open about being a cancer survivor in my professional life, but other than being able to check a box every once in a while, it’s a facet of my identity that I tend to downplay.

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Participating as a survivor

I ended up choosing the red lanyard, and a wave of emotions I wasn’t prepared for washed over me. I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer at the end of 2019 and my treatment ended in 2021, so most of my experience with cancer happened during the pandemic and without a community of other AYA patients. I also think it’s natural to want to get on with your life if you’re able to after a significant health issue, but I hadn’t really allowed myself to emotionally process what I went through.

It felt embarrassing to cry in front of strangers, but I’m glad I did, because someone at registration gave me a hug, and that opened me up to connecting more fully with others during the event.

Every year, CancerCon brings together AYA cancer patients and health care professionals for one weekend to “learn, share and build community.” Organized by the nonprofit Stupid Cancer, the event is generally a mix of panels and workshops, networking opportunities and social activities. My only complaint from the whole weekend was that I physically couldn’t attend every session. I participated in panels about breaking silos between health care organizations to better serve AYA cancer patients, advocating for your own care, a meditation session and even a Saturday night dance party. I talked with other patients, survivors, health care professionals and caregivers until my voice went hoarse.

The strength of the red lanyard

With the red lanyard, there were no pretenses about who I was, and I didn’t feel the need to justify my presence. The red lanyard was a conversation starter and a built-in icebreaker—other attendees didn’t need to know which cancer you had or which treatments you went through—we were all united.

This experience reaffirmed my belief that having people around you who fully accept you for who you are—whether family (you can read my mom’s blog about living with metastatic lung cancer ここ), friends, coworkers or a book club—enriches your life, boosts your self-esteem and makes bad days a little nicer.

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It cements my commitment to advocating for cancer patients and survivors and ensuring that those who are diagnosed with cancer can get access to the health care and social support they need. We can do the best work for others when we have the courage and confidence to live our lives authentically.

That’s why I’ll always choose the red lanyard.