Two years ago, Bustos was happy. She was 20, recently married and had just found out she was pregnant with her first child. Taylor and her husband, Mark, 21, envisioned moving from Duluth to California and raising half a dozen kids. But those plans would have to wait.
Five months into her pregnancy, Bustos felt a lump on her neck. On Oct. 5, 2018, just a month after giving birth to her son, Solomon, she was diagnosed with nodular sclerosis classical Hodgkins lymphoma. Its the most common type of Hodgkins lymphoma, a cancer that affects the bodys immune system.
I was told, This is the good cancer, its curable, Bustos said. She underwent six months of chemotherapy at St. Lukes Radiation Oncology Associates in Duluth and was declared in remission in April 2019. After that, life went pretty much back to normal.
But last November, just before her first follow-up PET CT scan, Bustos prepared for the worst. A few weeks earlier, she had felt the lump in her neck return.
Soon later, she was back at St. Lukes, prepared to receive whatever news may come. Mark tossed a bright pink ball to Solomon to distract the boy and himself from the mounting anxiety as they waited for what felt like an eternity in the small examination room.
The young father was also trying to manage his stress from recently learning he was being laid off from his construction job. The doctor finally stepped in.
Taylor and Mark shared a kiss in their kitchen, taking any quiet moment they can to show their love to one another while raising a one-year-old. Taylor had been diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma only a month after giving birth to their first son, Solomon. She had just spent the better part of a year battling cancer and was now cancer free. So she was trying to enjoy any sense of normalcy she could. Alex Kormann / Minneapolis Star Tribune/TNS
Im sitting there with a one-year-old and my husband of two years and theyre telling me at 22 years old that I have cancer for the second time, Bustos said.
She had gone into the meeting with the mindset that she would never endure chemotherapy again. It was physically and mentally unlike any other suffering Ive ever gone through in my life and I didnt want to willingly say yes to going back there, Bustos said.
After a week of thinking and praying, Bustos stumbled across a Facebook post from a friend who had recently lost his father in a house fire. His words resonated so deeply with her that she decided she couldnt just lay down and die. This cancer could kill me, but dont I want my sweet son to know I tried? she said.
Once again, she went in for treatments, then slept for three days. The big difference this time was that, to make sure the cancer never came back, she was going to have to follow the doctors next recommendation.
On March 2, the Bustos family picked up and moved 200 miles across the state to Rochester for three months where she would undergo some of the most toxic chemotherapy available at the Mayo Clinic. The mix was so potent that she had to first undergo a stem cell collection; those stem cells would be transplanted afterward to regrow her immune system and other healthy cells decimated by the chemo.
Marks layoff, which at first seemed like a disaster, was now a gift. He could assume a larger role as the family caretaker. Some people might call that luck, but the Bustoss dont believe in luck. For them, it was an act of God.
When it came time to move, Taylors parents, Pam and Jerry, who live across the street from the Bustoses in Duluth, moved with them to help take care of Solomon and Taylor.
It really wasnt a difficult decision, said Jerry, who is a warehouse operator at a Duluth paper supply business.
For me, he said, I would do whatever it takes to get her healthy.
The whole family joined hands and prayed before dinner. God and faith are extremely important to them and has helped Taylor get through this difficult chapter in her life. The COVID-19 pandemic forced church to be held via live stream so Taylor was able to follow along even from 200 miles away. Her faith helped Taylor push through even the darkest moments of treatment. "Knowing I'm in the hands of such a faithful father made it peaceful," she said. Alex Kormann / Minneapolis Star Tribune/TNS
Their family squeezed as much as they could into their two cars, boxes stacked to the roof, rendering the rearview mirror useless. The family settled into a small house only a mile away from the Mayo Clinic.
Just over a week later, COVID-19 hit.
We knew Id have a weakened immune system and wed have to quarantine, Bustos said, but suddenly the whole world had to quarantine, too.
They stayed closely connected with their church through video chat and live streams. In solidarity, her entire family shaved their heads along with Bustos.
A little over a month after moving, Bustos prepared for her most difficult round of chemotherapy. All the effects of normal chemo, including nausea, exhaustion, loss of appetite and body pain would be amplified. And because of the coronavirus, she would be doing it alone. She packed her keyboard piano, a weeks worth of clothes, a few mementos from home and headed to the hospital. She would have to stay in a heavily filtered room by herself for a full week as she underwent treatment.
Masked nurses came and went as Bustos tried to picture what they looked like under all the PPE. Most days, she felt immensely lonely and sad. Originally, she was told shed be able to go home to see her family for one hour per day. The pandemic scrapped those plans. I would cry and nurses couldnt put their hand on my shoulder to tell me, Its OK, because of the coronavirus, Bustos said.
When she was finally able to return to her family a full week later, Bustos was ecstatic. To be able to be hugged was a very welcome relief from despair, she said.
She began to try and process what had happened to her over the last five months. She felt distant from and misunderstood by nearly everyone around her. It can look like its going well from the outside but when you literally want to die, the emotional side of things needs to be handled, she said.
Bustos has since begun therapy and is taking anti-depressants to help manage her mental pain.
As the family moved out of Rochester, the snow was gone. Birds chirped and flowers bloomed; a sign of rebirth and a new beginning.
When they pulled up in front of their apartment in Duluth, chalk drawings graced their sidewalk welcoming them home. Their front door was covered in balloons and a welcome banner was strung across the door frame, all put together by members of Bustoss church youth group.
Bustos collapsed on her old bed. She thought shed feel different in their own apartment, but it oddly felt the same. She had come to realize that home was no longer a physical space. Cancer changed that.
Home for me has become Mark and Solomon, she said, and so whether were in Rochester, Duluth or Timbuktu, Im home when Im with them.
2020 Star Tribune (Minneapolis)
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