03/31/2026
Survivor Tips from Yvette Hays, Stage IV endometrial cancer survivor
I was diagnosed with endometrial cancer at age 47. I first noticed symptoms in September 2024 and thought I was having bladder problems. It turned out the “fluid” was actually from the cancer. An ultrasound revealed the tumor, and a biopsy confirmed the diagnosis. I had a full hysterectomy in December, followed by radiation in San Francisco in February and March 2025. Now it has metastasized to my right lung, so I’m doing palliative chemotherapy at Enloe.
A lot of women don’t know what endometrial cancer is. When I mention it, people say, “What’s that?” I’ve learned so much through this experience, things I wish I had understood earlier. As women, we should know our bodies, but we’re often so busy we brush things off. Maybe if I had gone to the doctor sooner, it would have been caught earlier.
I worked at Enloe for 17 years, mostly in the Emergnecy Department triage area, and I’ve been a phlebotomist for 23 years. Caring for patients was a huge part of my life. Now being a patient has become my new job and my life revolves around doctor appointments. Things that used to be simple are now difficult due to neuropathy and fatigue. I’ve always been independent, so asking for help is hard. People say, “Let me know if you need anything,” but I find it hard to call and ask.
What helps is when someone offers something specific. It would be great to have someone offer to mow the lawn! Offer to take the car in for maintenance, and most important, offer rides to and from treatment. I can’t drive myself home after chemo. I have wonderful friends who give me rides, but I need a lot of rides. When someone steps in without waiting to be asked, it lightens the load in a way that’s hard to describe. If you are healthy and want to be supportive, put yourself in the patient’s shoes and think about specific things that would help.
My friends and my 24-year-old son, Quintin, have been incredible support. Some of my co-workers had a yard sale to raise funds for an upcoming trip to San Francisco for my clinical trial. Friends, family and co-workers donated funds to keep my household going and to help fix my car. I don’t know what I would have done without this help, and I am incredibly grateful.
Even when I needed oxygen and a wheelchair, we still took trips to keep life feeling normal. We went to Hot August Nights in Reno. I had no hair and had to wear a mask, but I still wore my lipstick and lashes! Even if I’m feeling bad it makes me feel better. They treated me the same as always.
They wheeled me around and made sure I felt included. When I found out I was in remission, the girls rented a scooter and took me to Vegas to see Mariah Carey’s Christmas. That meant everything to me.
I’ve also learned it’s okay to cry. Sometimes I’m crying every day; it’s a healthy release. Sometimes you just need to.
What’s most important now is preparing for the future and making sure Quintin will be okay. He just finished a pharmacy tech program, which gives me some peace. I’ve had to start planning — choosing an urn, adding him to my bank account, teaching him how to handle bills. These are things I never imagined doing at this stage of life, but they matter. When I go, I want to go knowing he has what he needs.
Now, I’m getting ready to start a clinical trial which gives me hope. I want to thank Dr. Mark Garrison who discovered the tumor and got me through the early days, and Dr. Sam Mazj, my wonderful oncologist. I’m especially grateful to Val from the Lymphedema Clinic. When I missed an appointment, she called to check in on me, and I truly believe she saved my life. She urged me to go to the ED, where I learned I had a pulmonary embolism. It almost killed me! To the amazing infusion nurses, especially Dustin, who is an angel, and to my son, my family, my friends and my coworkers: your love and support are what keep me going. Thank you!
