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CONGRATULATIONS TO OUR ESSAY SHOWCASE WINNERS, Jamison, Valerie, and Toni!

The votes are in - our Live Inspired Brevard community picked the winners of the Inspiration Story essay showcase by selecting which story inspired them the most. These tales are personal accounts of fellow Live Inspired Brevard community members who have dealt with cancer or chronic illness just like yourself.  The top two winners will have their essays published in Brevard County's local publications Everything Brevard and Hometown News . . . and they read their essays aloud at the "Honoring the Journey" dinner reception at Hotel Melby on June 20th. Read all the inspiration stories below, including the essay written from Live Inspired Brevard founder Christina Tecson when she was recovering from cancer 10 years ago.​

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WINNER: 1st Place​

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Terminal Living
by Jamison Fleming, age 66
Melbourne, FL

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I didn’t bat an eye when I learned I had breast cancer in 2004. I have had so
many traumas in my life, this was just another one to add to the list. My only
questions were “what do I have to do to get on with this?” and “when do I start?”.
I never said, “Why me?”, or felt sorry for myself. I had a life to get on with, so I
started the process of surgeries, chemo, and radiation. The three main assaults
on the invader were initiated and completed. My hair grew back, normal energies
returned, and the 5-year mark was passed. I was told I had been cured and
cancer never became a second thought for me. But 13 years later, I was
surprised to learn that my cancer had progressed to stage 4 and had spread to
my bones in multiple areas. It would most likely be the cause of my demise. Was
I angry and afraid? Again, no.

 

Despite the presence of this rogue, out of control
cell frenzy, feeding on its host, cancer seeks fuel and the seed perfect
environment for uncontrolled growth. I guess I am the perfect host. I just had to
figure out what to do to stay alive. So the same questions rose again “what do I
have to do” and “when do I start”? Oral chemotherapy, daily, for the rest of my life
was my sentence. Survival rate for stage 4 breast cancer on my treatment is 25%
at 5 years. I am now at about 8 years post-stage 4 diagnosis.

 

As the ticking of my
clock became louder, I decided then and there, from then on, I would live life on
purpose. I began seeking adventure, meaningful time with friends, with the daily
goal of being a light and a blessing to others. I could relate to so many situations
and this just made me more empathetic, more driven to offer hope and cheer to
the suffering. My career as an RN ended years ago due to complications of a car
accident, but my caring for others continues to this day.

Here are a few things I have learned on this journey -
First, I don’t think I really started living until I learned that I was dying. Now, every
day is an adventure, if I choose to have one, and I am ready to explore new
things that make me happy. Now I know that there is so much that does make me
happy!
I found faith during the cancer process, and have gained strength in the
knowledge that I am not alone and I serve a loving God. This is my foundation for
hope and joy.

We all have a choice in our own happiness and I choose to be happy. Negativity
is not in my script. I look not through rose colored glasses, but with a vision of
possibilities and true positivity. I am responsible for making myself happy and I

have been very successful at just finding pleasure in simple things. Spending
time in nature, coffee with girlfriends and making great progress with my art skills
has really been the key.

I have been on the longest Last Hurrah of anyone that I have known. I have
traveled, gained many new friendships, explored many beaches and have been
thrilled by exposure to new things. Aside from side effects of chemo that have
some physical drawbacks, the only other thing that tethers me to my home is lack
of money. Gratefully, I have found that what brings the most joy is not related to
finances at all. My friends have become the family that I never had and are
always happy to share time with me.

The great Finale will be if I am able to manage a solo tour of our beautiful country
and tour the National parks. I want to feel the freedom of an extended road trip. If
those end up being my last days, who wouldn’t want to languish by a river in
Washington state or explore mountains in Colorado? Everyone who knows me
will know I died doing what I love.

The point is, that I still have options, and I will never let a death sentence keep
me from happiness. I have learned that I hold the key to my own success, and I
plan to have many more great days ahead. Despite the plans that cancer may
have for me, I choose faith over fear, and seek happiness in all things. Because
of this outlook on life, I am truly the winner!

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WINNER: 2nd Place

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Living with Fibromyalgia: A Journey of Pain and Perseverance

By Valerie Cafariella, age 63
Melbourne, FL

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I was in the middle of raising four children, managing a household, and pouring my
energy into the everyday chaos of family life when my body began to betray me. What
started as occasional fatigue and soreness turned into something I couldn’t ignore—an
overwhelming exhaustion, pain that moved without reason, and a sense that something
deeper was wrong. I wasn’t just tired. I wasn’t just out of shape. I was facing a chronic
illness I didn’t yet understand. When I was finally diagnosed with fibromyalgia.

There is no cure for fibromyalgia, and effective treatment can be elusive. Managing the
condition became a process of ongoing experimentation. I’ve tried everything from
medications and physical therapy to acupuncture and meditation. Some things provided
brief relief, others left me feeling even more frustrated. I quickly learned that no single
remedy would solve this. It would take a patchwork of strategies, daily awareness, and
constant adjustment.

The most frustrating part is how unpredictable fibromyalgia can be. I never know how I’ll
feel when I wake up. Some mornings, I can move through the day with relative ease.
Others, I wake up feeling like I’ve been run over in my sleep—my muscles sore, my
joints stiff, my energy drained. These flare-ups come without warning and don’t follow
any clear pattern. They can be triggered by stress, weather, a poor night’s sleep, or
sometimes nothing at all.

This unpredictability made raising a family even more challenging. There were days
when just getting out of bed to make breakfast felt like a monumental task. I often
masked my pain in front of my kids, not wanting them to worry or feel responsible. But
there were also days when I couldn’t hide it—when I had to lie on the couch while they
played around me or help them with homework while fighting a deep, burning ache in my
back. I learned to cherish the good days and accept the hard ones, but the em...
Despite these challenges, I made a decision that changed the course of my life: I went
back to college as an adult learner. It wasn’t easy balancing coursework, family
responsibilities, and chronic pain, but I was determined. I poured my heart into my
studies and pursued a degree in social work—a field that aligns with my passion for
helping others who face their own struggles.

 

In May, I proudly graduated cum laude.
That diploma isn’t just a piece of paper. It’s a symbol of everything I’ve fought th...
One of the most painful aspects of living with fibromyalgia is how invisible it is to others.
People can’t see what I’m feeling. I don’t wear a cast or show obvious symptoms. I’ve
had people suggest that it’s “just stress” or that I “look fine,” as if appearance could

reflect the intensity of what’s happening inside. I’ve lost friendships with people who
couldn’t understand why I canceled plans or disappeared socially. 

 

That kind of isolation—the feeling that no one quite gets what you’re going through.
Still, I’ve been incredibly fortunate to have my husband by my side. He’s been my rock
through it all. He has seen me at my most vulnerable—curled up in pain, emotionally
drained, unable to function—and never made me feel weak for it. He’s stepped in to help
with the kids, taken on more responsibilities, and been there with words of
encouragement when I’ve needed them most. But even he, for all his compassion,
doesn’t always understand. There have been moments when he’s confused by how
suddenly I can change.

Over time, I’ve built a personal toolkit of coping strategies. Some are physical—like
gentle stretching, warm baths, and short walks when I can manage them. Others are
emotional. I journal regularly and try to meditate, even if just for a few minutes. I’ve also
joined online communities of people living with fibromyalgia. Connecting with others who
truly understand what I’m going through has been a lifeline on the lonelier days. I’ve
learned to speak up for myself, to set boundaries, and to let go of things I can't control.

Fibromyalgia has forced me to redefine what strength means. It’s no longer about
pushing through at all costs. It’s about listening to my body, honoring its limits, and
showing up anyway. Strength is making dinner even when it hurts. It’s sitting with my
kids during a flare-up and still finding ways to be present. It’s being vulnerable enough to
say, “I can’t today,” and still knowing my worth hasn’t changed.

Living with fibromyalgia has changed me in ways I never expected. It’s taken away
certain abilities, but it’s also given me perspective. I now value the slow moments, the
quiet victories, the connections built on empathy and honesty. I didn’t choose this
condition, but I’ve chosen to face it with as much courage as I can muster.

If there’s one message I want people to take from my story, it’s this: chronic illness is
more than what you see. It’s lived in the background of every task, every conversation,
every decision. And those of us who live with it aren’t just surviving—we’re learning,
adapting, and continuing to live our lives with meaning and resilience. I may not know
what tomorrow will bring, but I do know this: I’ll face it with the same quiet strength that
has carried me this far.

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WINNER: 3rd Place

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Cancer and Laundry
Toni Shifalo, Age 78
Titusville, FL

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There. It’s raining. Typical Florida afternoon rain, but I washed the bed sheets early this
morning and dash out to the line to take down the now practically dry bed linens and
trudge upstairs to make the bed.

I am 3 years post last incident of cancer, so one might say I am a survivor. I had a bout
with colon cancer in 2021, my ascending colon. Surgery & eight rounds of chemo, and then on my follow up colonoscopy a second tumor was found, descending colon. So
another surgery, but this time the margins were clean and I had no further treatment as
my skillful surgeon was able to rehook me with no exterior bags.

Thus began several years of quarterly blood draws and follow up visits with my
oncologist, whom I dearly like, so that wasn’t so much a chore although I had to drive
over 25 miles to see him.

Through Christina’s Live Inspired Brevard cancer support groups I ‘ve learned a lot
about many types of cancer and the journeys each person makes toward their own
journey’s end. The suffering, the discomfort, the surgeries, the horrific effects of the
cures, the advances in the science, the stages of recovery, the regrowth of hair, the
surge of good energy post surgeries, and the benefits of interacting with others on
similar if not parallel journeys sharing breakthroughs, insights, coping skills and other
useful tidbits that let us know we are not the only one in this situation, nor is my journey
the worst ever (or the best).

Where else could one experience and enjoy the sometimes macabre situations and
conversations we cancer people have in our support groups? For instance, one
gathering we were having a pizza party in a community room. As I walked by a table of
other ladies, I heard one bemoaning “And then I had to have a Complete
Hysterectomy”. I chimed in with cheery enthusiasm “Oh, I had one of those too!” The
startled looks led to laughter as we all realized we shared many similar situations and
sharing a hysterectomy story the same as we might share that we got a potted plant for
Mother’s Day was ok.

But the thing no one told me about, and talks with my fellow cancer patients or doctors
never revealed, is the disruption colon cancer causes to one’s digestive and elimination
process.
Three years later, I still am learning to detect the difference in a poot and a signal to
poop. Often the latter follows the former, but not always. I still am trying to teach my
reorganized body a schedule in order to control the endless nightly waking up every
two hours to trek to the bathroom. It doesn’t seem to be so urgent in daylight.

And there are days when the nightly toilet visits every few hours continue into the
morning so that I can’t get ready to leave the house. But then there are days when I
don’t visit the toilet at all. Go figure. I still am trying. In the meanwhile. I know the
location of all the best (and worst) public restrooms in Brevard County.

The reason I’m sharing this with you is not to focus on my problem with cancer, but to
point out that each cancer patient, cancer survivor, cancer caregiver has circumstances
unique and problematic. Some problems are obvious, we see what that person is going
through, but many are silent and secret because we think “this only happens to me”.
We don’t have to find the solutions by ourselves when one participates in a support
group. We don’t have to be ashamed of our situation, nor suffer without consolation in
shared experiences.

As I make up my bed with crisp clean sheets, I find myself hoping that tonight I wake up
in time to notice the difference between a poot and a poop, and can make it to the
bathroom in the dark without stubbing my toe (which has lost feeling due to chemo
neuropathy).

Maybe someday I can declare myself a Cancer Survivor and can sleep through the
night—no more laundering bedsheets at 3 a.m.!
In the meanwhile I continue to find joy and solace in support groups. Now, please,
which way to the ladies room?

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Inspirational Story:​

My Lucky Charm

by Christina Tecson, age 49

Rockledge

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This essay was written in 2016 when I was newly recovered from cancer at age 39.  This year I post this essay in honor of my dad, who passed away from cancer in October 2021.  He cared for me when I went through breast cancer as a young adult, and I was honored to later help care for him.  Thank you, dad, for all the life lessons you taught me and all the ways you showed me unconditional love.

 

In May of 2015, I followed an impulse in my heart to adopt a 4-month-old puppy.  My family had a dog growing up and I knew I wanted to own a dog “someday” but I always thought that would be when I felt more established in life.  However at 38, I wondered how “established” I would ever be and if I was aiming for a moving target.

 

There were many reasons NOT to get a dog then, knowing the time and commitment it takes to train a puppy.  But he brought so much joy to my heart when I held him.  And the brief moments playing with him—how they made me laugh and smile—I knew I needed that in my life. I mentally listed all the practical reasons it was not a good time for a dog, but the only thought I fixated on was, “Why not?” I listened to the intuitive feeling that this little creature was supposed to be in my life, trusted my heart, and brought him home.

 

Three days later I was diagnosed with breast cancer!  If having a puppy wasn’t going to overburden my life, this disease would.

 

The name the shelter assigned to the dog was Lucky.  I originally intended to change the name to something more unique, however after my cancer diagnosis, no other name seemed appropriate.  He was meant to be my Lucky charm.

 

Why is it that one year later when I look back at the bleak moment when the nurse told me to prepare for my diagnosis . . . I can laugh at my ridiculous reaction of shock and denial?  But when I replay the phone conversations I had breaking the news to my closest family members . . . I cry?  I was strong suffering through the cancer hardships, but knowing my pain also hurts those I love, that is a somber thought.

 

The doctors already knew from my mammogram and ultrasound images that I had cancer.  My parents immediately booked a flight from their home in Florida to be with me, at my home in California, as I learned all the details of my pathology and treatment plan from my oncologist.  Cancer had already spread to my lymph nodes--I didn’t even know what a lymph node was.

 

My parents stayed with me for the next six months while I braved through chemotherapy, recovered from surgery, and started radiation treatments.  They drove me to chemotherapy.  My mom helped me pick out wigs and head scarves.  She cooked me meals after surgery.  My dad carried my groceries when my arms and chest were healing.  They accompanied me to every doctor appointment and provided me with sound advice when I wasn’t in the frame of mind to be reasonable.  They showed their love by doing everything the caregiver of a cancer patient is expected to do in the ways only parents can. 

 

However, they also demonstrated their unconditional love for ME by caring for Lucky. When I was too exhausted to play with my energetic puppy, my dad ran up and down the street with my dog to tire him out.  When I needed to bunker down in my bedroom to rest for two days after every chemo session, my parents kept Lucky entertained in the living room.  My dad took Lucky outside for bathroom breaks every few hours on schedule to house break him so that I could conserve my energy. When Lucky faltered from his routine leaving piddles on the carpet, my Dad cleaned up after him so I wouldn’t be exposed to the germs with my low immune system.  When I had a full day of medical appointments and treatments, my dad drove home to let the dog out, then back to the hospital to be with me.

 

Even my pragmatist mom came to enjoy Lucky’s company and see the blessings of a dog.  When I talked to my mom on the phone the day I brought Lucky home to tell her she had a “grand dog” she initially thought I was joking because, in her words, “Why would you do something so silly?”  However, while my mom was staying in my home, she never suggested I return Lucky to the shelter to focus on my own health, or that my illness was preventing me from taking care of a new puppy.  She could have easily made the argument that she and my dad were there to take care of me, and instead spent more time caring for my dog.  It was the truth--I WAS leaving my parents to do most of the work.  The suggestion to return my dog was never proposed because they knew that Lucky, in his own unique charmingly mischievous way, was comforting me through my cancer treatments.  The frustration over Lucky’s housebreaking habits was the welcomed distraction I needed to stay light-hearted about my health crisis.  His constant nipping at me, signaling he wanted to play, was annoying when I was low energy, but it also motivated me to stay active.  Fussing over Lucky gave me somebody else to focus on instead of my own sorrow.

 

So much of my cancer treatment plan was not within my control or the well intentions of my parents.  I was left to the expertise of my doctors and the mercy of God to declare me cancer free.  But having Lucky there as the newfound comfort in my life seemed to soften the harsh reality of an uncertain future.

 

There were many emotion draining moments of my cancer experience, but the moments that poured joy back into my heart are those that centered around the new edition to my family and the love my parents developed for my dog.  They came here to take care of me, but their care giving experience became a partnership in raising my puppy.

 

My parents have returned to retired life in Florida and I am getting back to my old life . . . before cancer changed me forever.  But I also realize I don’t want to be moving so fast I forget where I’m going.  I don’t want to get stuck on a road to nowhere.  Cancer has opened my eyes to live a more purposeful life and live in the moment.  And the most welcomed change, amongst a flurry of new healthy lifestyle changes and obsessive “is this symptom cancer“ thoughts, is having a canine best friend by my side.  Lucky was taught well.  His duty as a dog, especially now that I live with the ambivalence of cancer, is to calm my anxieties and to energize me to be bolder than my fear of cancer recurrence.  Surely seeing my parents by my side and being a recipient of their unconditional love influenced his senses.

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Inspirational Story:​

Long COVID

by Shannon John McDonough, age 46

Palm Bay

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In 2021 my mother, Mary Ann at 67 was infected with the corona virus unfortunately.
She was very close to being put on a breathing machine but Thank God she pulled
through with the help of all the wonderful people at palm Bay hospital. I will be forever
grateful for the love and care they gave my mother during that difficult time for many.
Not long after her initial recovery I realized something was still not right with her and
unfortunately still to this day I truly believe she has lingering effects from the corona
virus.

Once I started doing my own research, I found out about something called long COVID
syndrome. My moms symptoms fit perfectly with the description. She is now always
very sad and depressed and never leaves the house anymore. She stopped driving and
shopping and socializing. It really seems like she is just giving up. I ask her whats
wrong a lot and her response is I quote, "I don't know what is wrong with me."

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Unfortunately, I still think a lot of doctors are still learning about this lingering condition that I hear affects millions of people just like my mother. Hopefully one day very soon medical science can catch up and help these millions of people who suffer in silence just like my very own  mother.

Now at 46 years of age I am a full-time caregiver for my mother. I do all the cooking and
cleaning and driving and shopping for her and most importantly I try to always do it with
a Great attitude. I try to gently encourage her to do the things she used to do to maybe
eventually one day start to feel like she used to. It can be very stressful at times, but I
love my Mother very much and I will continue to do whatever it takes to help my mother
adjust and heal, body and mind.
 
I know there are a lot of other sons and daughters just like me out there in a similar
situation and I just want to tell all of you that you are not alone, and you are a true hero
just like our surviving parents. May God Bless everyone who suffers from long COVID
syndrome and all the caregivers giving vital care to their loved ones. Thank you and
may God Bless us all.

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Inspirational Story:

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Hemophilia B, Not Just Boys  
by Pamela Williams
Rockledge

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Hemophilia B, while probably not on the average person’s radar as a chronic illness, is
one that affects 4989 persons in the US. Mostly listed as an illness affecting males,
females are slowly being recognized by the medical spectrum as having hemophilia and
being given the access to replacement Factor as their male counterparts. Diagnosing
females with hemophilia and gaining access to Factor, unfortunately, are two different
sides of the story.

I am one of those females who has been diagnosed with Hemophilia B (mild), meaning
my Factor IX level is below 50%. Standard factor level is 100%, although a person can
still be considered “normal” with levels between 50-150%. I was diagnosed late in life,
but the symptoms were there all along. Hemophilia is a genetic disorder, and is passed
from the father to the daughter (often referred to as only a “carrier”), and then to the
daughter’s offspring, most often the sons. Unfortunately, my dad wasn’t diagnosed until
he was 62, after my oldest was diagnosed at age 11. At the time, I was 37 and was
classified as a “symptomatic carrier”, a classification that would stay in my medical chart
for years, and one in which many of us experience. Without a definitive diagnosis of
hemophilia, insurance will not cover replacement factor. Many females spend their
entire lives experiencing trauma to their bodies, childbirth, heavy menstruation and
undiagnosed joint bleeds because the medical profession is unwilling to diagnose and
treat them in the same manner as males…simply because the textbooks state that it’s a
male disorder, and unfortunately, not a great deal of pharmaceutical studies involved
females.

As a woman, menstruation wasn’t exactly something that I discussed. Sure, my doctor
asked me the date of my last period, but no doctor ever asked me how intense my
periods were each month. I can remember bleeding a LOT after childbirth, and for more
than the usual six weeks after, and my gynecologist just remarking “some women are
like that”. I felt at times during those post-partum weeks that my entire insides were
going to just fall completely out of me, and nobody worried about it except me. Not to
mention the normal post-partum depression and the fact that I was probably anemic.
Normal, they said…..

After my son was diagnosed, my dad was tested and diagnosed, connecting the genetic
link. I was labeled a symptomatic carrier, and it wasn’t until I was 56 years old and my
orthopedic surgeon urged me to be fully tested and diagnosed, that I finally found out
that I had Hemophilia B. Since I’d already had several surgeries and two childbirths

without replacement factor, my hematologist wanted to dismiss my numbers and was
apprehensive about giving me the actual Hemophilia B diagnosis. But I pushed. I
presented him with the medical facts and hemophilia research, and he finally
consented, although he was reluctant to prescribe replacement factor because “you’ve
never had a bleed, especially a joint bleed, how would you know?” And, to add to the
hereditary clotting disorder, I had also been placed on blood thinners for the rest of my
life because my body liked to clot in places such as my lungs for no reason.

 

Now, doctors really didn’t want to prescribe replacement Factor for me on an “as needed” basis or even believe that I would know when my body was having a bleed, especially my joints, so I’ve continued to make changes to my life in the hope that someday, my pain will lessen or, better yet, I can be treated like other people with hemophilia. No, having hemophilia B isn’t going to send me to my grave like other more known chronic disorders or diseases, but it is something I’m learning to live with for the rest of my life; wishing I’d know about it sooner in my life; and trying to educate others that it’s much more than just “oh, you’ll bleed to death if you cut your finger”. I stay active in a national organization, I used to participate on an advisory board with a pharmaceutical company and I try to educate when and where I can. I even had our City’s Mayor proclaim March as “Bleeding Disorder Awareness Month” several years ago. Education is key, and knowing all you can about your disorder will help move you forward,
something I’ve been doing since my son was diagnosed 27 years ago.

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