I want to tell you, the reader, about our family and our journey through the US Medical Industrial Complex. But I don’t have enough room on this page to tell you everything. Here’s what you need to know:
Willow Ann was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer in November 2005, after years of clean mammograms and years of expressing concern about her breast health. Poor prognosis. Mountains of chemotherapy. Multiple surgeries. Almost $100,000 out-of-pocket, even with insurance. Somewhere in there was also gamma knife surgery for a 5-centimeter benign brain tumor.
Willow Ann married Jose Duviel from Bogotá, Colombia in 2002. They had almost four fun and fabulous years together before cancer hit.
Jose’s brain tumor—a grade III glioma—was misdiagnosed from the onset of symptoms in 2007 until April 2009, by which time it was the size of a grapefruit. Life expectancy at diagnosis: two years. He lived until 2024.
Laura Jean spent all of her double-digit years living in the shadow of cancer. She watched her mother and stepfather get battered by chemo and surgeries. She stayed with other people while we traveled for treatment. Her childhood revolved around doctors’ appointments, financial stress, and the unpredictable chaos of serious illness—never knowing if this week would be okay or if everything would fall apart again.
Natalie, in Bogotá, last saw her father when she was six years old. Up until then, Jose—a teacher—had returned to Colombia for summer and Christmas holidays every year. After his diagnosis, he couldn’t travel anymore. Natalie grew up with only phone calls and fragments of information—separated from her father by distance, illness, and circumstances beyond her control. In 2023, she traveled alone to visit him in the United States for the first time. It was a glorious family reunion for all four of us.
Battered by cancer—and that damage multiplied a hundredfold by the US healthcare system—our family still loves music, dancing, food, pets, travel, and nature. Our hearts shine with love for one another.
I am grateful for my beautiful, loving daughters who are kind, curious, creative, and compassionate. What else can one ask for?
This site focuses on grief, memory, and the intimacy of loss. A companion site exploring our family’s experiences navigating the US healthcare system is in development.
I Want to Tell You 