I wanted to give everyone an update on my mom and what’s coming up.
She has been diagnosed with adenoid cystic carcinoma, a rare form of cancer that has been affecting her ability to breathe normally. Right now she’s unable to breathe through her nose, which has made sleep extremely difficult. Because of that, she also can’t use her CPAP machine, so nights have been especially challenging.
Originally, doctors planned to reconstruct the top palate of her jaw using bone from her shoulder. After further research and planning, they’ve decided the reconstruction will instead use bone from her tibia (leg), which they believe will give her a better outcome.
Here is the current timeline:
• March 16 – Oncology meeting to finalize surgical planning
• March 30 – Major reconstructive surgery
During surgery they will remove the affected area and rebuild the upper palate and teeth structure using bone from her leg.
Recovery is expected to be long and difficult — around nine months. During that time she will likely have to relearn basic things like swallowing, speaking, and eating, and because bone will be taken from her leg she may also face temporary mobility and walking challenges during recovery.
This is a serious surgery and a long road ahead, but we’re staying hopeful and taking things one step at a time.
Please keep her in your thoughts.
Day 4 Post-Surgery Update ❤️
We’re on day four of my mom’s recovery from reconstructive surgery for her adenoid cystic carcinoma.
Some really good news first — she did not need a tracheotomy. That’s a huge win.
She’s dealing with expected swelling right now and is waiting on an ultrasound for her IV, which the team says is normal at this stage. Her leg is giving her some pain — they used part of her tibia to reconstruct her mouth (a flap procedure), so she’s healing in more than one place.
And still… she’s already showing everyone exactly who she is.
She’s talking — not fully with speech yet, more like mumbles — but she’s communicating however she can. She’s got her whiteboard and marker and is writing things out. She already got up and walked once.
She woke up during surgery while they were placing the flap and said it hurt — which honestly doesn’t surprise me. If anyone could push through something like that, it’s her.
Today she rated her pain at a 4.
For perspective… mine, watching her, was about a 17.5.
She’s a fighter. Always has been.
Thank you for all the love, prayers, and support — we feel it.
My mom was recently diagnosed with Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma (ACC), and I wanted to share a little about what that actually means, because it’s a cancer most people have never heard of.
Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma is a rare type of cancer that most commonly develops in the salivary glands, though it can also appear in other areas of the head and neck. What makes ACC unique is that it tends to grow slowly but aggressively, often spreading along nerves (a process called perineural invasion), which can make treatment more complex.
Because it’s so rare, it can sometimes take time to diagnose, and treatment often requires highly specialized care.
In my mom’s case, doctors are planning a major reconstructive surgery. The procedure will involve removing the upper jaw and the roof of her mouth (the palate) where the cancer is located. Surgeons will then reconstruct that area using bone and tissue from her shoulder to rebuild the structure of her mouth.
This type of surgery is incredibly complex and will require a long recovery process that may involve additional treatments, rehabilitation, and support.
ACC is known for being unpredictable. Even though it can grow slowly, it has a tendency to return or spread years later, which is why patients often need long-term monitoring and specialized follow-up care.
Because of all of this, the road ahead for my mom will be difficult, but she is strong and surrounded by people who love her deeply.
I’m sharing this not only to update those who care about her, but also to raise awareness about a cancer that many people have never heard of until it affects someone they love
This ribbon was created to represent both awareness and lived experience. Every color and design element was chosen intentionally to reflect the cancers that have directly impacted our family.
Red and White – Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma (ACC) Red and white are the recognized awareness colors for Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma, a rare form of cancer that most commonly affects the head and neck, including the salivary glands, nasal passages, and surrounding areas. These colors represent strength, resilience, and the fight associated with this specific diagnosis.
Zebra Print – Rare Disease Awareness The zebra pattern is widely used as a symbol for rare diseases. The phrase “when you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras” reflects how rare conditions like ACC are often overlooked or misdiagnosed. The zebra reminds us that rare diagnoses exist, matter, and deserve visibility, research, and recognition.
Blue – Lung Cancer Awareness Blue was added to this ribbon to honor the impact of lung cancer within our family. Lung cancer awareness is commonly represented by shades of blue, symbolizing both the struggle and the strength of those affected.
Honoring Two Mothers, One Story
Cancer has touched both sides of our family in a way that feels almost written in the stars. My husband lost his mother, Tina Murphy, on June 9, 2014, after her battle with stage IV lung cancer—a disease that had spread (metastasized) beyond the lungs and led to a collapsed lung. He walked through that loss alone, long before we ever met.
Now, years later, he stands beside me as I face a similar journey with my own mother. The roles have reversed, but the understanding between us runs deep—because we’ve both felt the weight of loving someone through this kind of fight.
In honor of my mom and everything she is going through, we also honor Tina. More than my husband’s mother, she has become a guiding presence in my life. As a psychic medium, I have felt her come through strongly since the beginning of our relationship—gentle, wise, and deeply connected to the in-between. She helps me navigate what cannot always be seen, offering comfort, clarity, and protection.
There’s something beautifully ironic in the way our lives have intertwined—her name, Murphy, echoing my own family lineage. It feels like more than coincidence. It feels like alignment.
This space is for both of them—for the love that remains, the strength they carry, and the unseen ways they continue to guide us.