Kris Tuchek-Her Fight is Our Fight

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Kris Tuchek-Her Fight is Our Fight

Kris has been diagnosed with advanced stage Mantle Cell Lymphoma. This page will give updates and provide love, prayers and support.

Her Fight is Our Fight....

18/12/2025

The best Christmas gift has been delivered. Scans ARE CLEAR! This amazing doctor is keeping me alive. God is good. Prayers answered. (Next scan scheduled in 4 months!)

18/12/2025

Scans are done. Appointment with my oncologist at 9amCT. The most beautiful text sent from my mom. If everyone could say this prayer for me.

17/12/2025

With hope and joy filling our hearts, Santa made an early visit, placing gifts under the tree before we embark on a hopeful journey to MD Anderson tomorrow for my 20-month post CAR-T scans and a promising appointment with the oncologist on Thursday, followed by a festive trip to Denver until Christmas Eve. My greatest gift would be a clear scan, one that I truly pray for. Winnie isn’t happy at all about us leaving.

09/12/2025

Sometimes we get to dress up and be fancy. Grateful for every moment I’ve been granted. And having fun having hair I can play with again!

04/12/2025

Just checking in. 2025 round up!

21/08/2025

*****Edit!! We are excited about this continued “intermission” from the lymphoma! Not a cure, but a good sign for a longer remission. *******
Thank you Dr Wang and MD Anderson Cancer Center. 14 month post CAR-T pet scan is clear!! No signs of mantle cell lymphoma! God is good. Science is amazing.

16/07/2025

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚
This was written by a sister MCL survivor/warrior. It spoke to my soul.

You are not just surviving—you are redefining what it means to live.

Cancer barged into your life uninvited, chaotic and cruel, demanding space where it never belonged. But look at you now. You are reshaping every minute into something fierce and beautiful. You wake up with fear riding shotgun, but courage takes the wheel. Every test result, every treatment, every moment of waiting—these are chapters that prove your resilience isn’t just real; it’s extraordinary.

Your body may be tired, but your spirit? It’s radiant. And that light you carry—yes, your light—guides others through their darkest hours. Whether you whisper hope to a fellow patient in a waiting room or simply keep breathing when the weight feels unbearable, you’re a living testament to grace under fire.

You are allowed to be angry. To grieve. To laugh so hard it stings. You are allowed to cry, then wipe your tears and rise again. There’s no perfect way to fight this—it’s not about perfection. It’s about showing up. And you do. Every single day.

Let today be one small victory. Let tomorrow be whatever it needs to be. You’ve earned your rest, your laughter, your joy. You’re not alone. The world may seem quieter sometimes, but voices of love surround you—in doctors, friends, strangers, stars.

You are not a statistic. You are a force.

You are the miracle.

12/07/2025

"The hardest part comes after."
— Princess Kate of Wales

In her quiet yet powerful words, Princess Kate once opened up about something many don’t talk about:
“You put on a brave face during treatment, but the real struggle begins after.”

She was speaking about her experience with chemotherapy—a journey that doesn’t end when the last session does.

Because once the treatments stop…
The world expects you to bounce back.
To smile.
To “go back to normal.”
But the truth is, that “normal” no longer exists.

What follows is a deep emotional rollercoaster:
The medical team is no longer by your side every day.
The adrenaline of survival fades.
The exhaustion lingers.
And you’re left navigating a new version of yourself—physically, emotionally, mentally.

“It’s a much harder process than I ever imagined,” she said.

This isn’t just a story of resilience.
It’s a reminder: healing takes time.
Not just the body—but the soul.
So if you—or someone you love—is in that space after the storm, don’t rush the calm.
Let it come, slowly. Gently. With grace.

And above all, don’t expect to be who you were before.
You’re becoming someone even stronger.

06/07/2025

All I wanted a year ago was to be home for the 4th of July.

My kids were at our house on the lake in Michigan. My grandkids were there too. But I was in Houston, trying to recover from my CAR-T transplant. I received my modified T-cells on June 4th, and the hope was to make it home by July 4th.

But the side effects were brutal. I spent a week in the ICU, in a coma. My blood counts didn’t recover like we’d hoped. I didn’t make it home until a month after the holiday.

This year? We pulled out all the stops.

I am home. I am healthy. I have a new grandbaby. My kids, their partners, the grandkids, their friends and babies, my sister, and my mom — we were all together. Just grateful to be here. Grateful to be alive.

We baptized the baby in the same christening gown that I wore, my sisters wore, my cousins wore, and now my granddaughters have worn. That dress is 68 years old — first worn by my cousin Julie — and has now wrapped three generations in love.

Everyone left today.

It’s been four weeks of open houses, boat rides, swimming, happy hours, birthday parties, fireflies, turtles, bunnies, golfcart rides, popsicles, wood-fired pizza parties, and soaking up every bit of joy.

There are no guarantees when it comes to time.
So I’m making sure every minute counts.

Next, I head back to MD Anderson in Houston for my 14-month post–CAR-T scan. I’ve also started the long process of revaccination — since CAR-T wiped out any memory of my childhood vaccines, I have to get them all again, one by one.

It’s a strange thing, to be starting over. But I’m still here. And that’s everything.

04/06/2025

One Year Post CAR-T

I’ve been thinking about this post for a while now, as June 4th approaches—the day I received my modified T cells one year ago.

This should be a celebration. I’m still in remission. And for the past six months, I’ve felt amazing—more alive and present than I ever imagined possible. I’ve been soaking up every second of this unexpected, beautiful gift of time.

But the truth is, this milestone is complicated. The first six months after CAR-T were some of the hardest of my life. The side effects were brutal—physically and emotionally—and the trauma from that stretch of time still lingers in the background. It’s something I carry with me.

And yet… what a year it’s been.

Tropical vacations with family and friends. Countless moments with my grandbabies. A magical trip to Disneyland with all three of my kids and the little ones—something I never thought I’d live to see. A true trip of a lifetime.

I prayed for more time. I prayed for remission. And my prayers were answered. I’m deeply grateful. I don’t know how much time I have left or what the next treatment will bring, but I do know this: I’m going to keep making the most of every day.

That’s why my wife and I made a big decision—she’s retiring this month so we can embrace this chapter together, while the days are still bright and full. And to top it off, my amazing older sister, who was one of my caregivers during those intense weeks of treatment, just moved a few doors down from us on the lake. She and her husband are retired too, and wanted to be close to family.

This season of life is precious. It’s hard. It’s beautiful. And I’m living it fully.

09/04/2025

Sister Beth here today…

Just a regular day—packing for a retreat, loading up the car, running through my checklist…

And then my nephew posted a picture of my sister holding one of her grandbabies.
Here is Kris…in a moment that radiates everything that matters.

And it stopped me.
Made me pause.
And pray.

Because while most of us are moving through our ordinary days, my sister Kris is at MD Anderson, hoping for another one.
Another ordinary, beautiful, miraculous day of remission.

Kris has an incurable cancer called Mantle Cell Lymphoma. But thanks to CAR-T therapy, she’s been in full remission—and every clear scan is a gift.
Every day with her grandbabies is a celebration.

So I’m asking—if you’re the praying kind—please pray with me.
Pray for a clear scan.
For peace in her heart.
For her to feel deeply held and loved, even while the world keeps moving.

And please pray for more days like this.
More days with her grandbabies—Emily, Haley, and Todd.
More days with our mom, Olga Bobrofsky Holden.
With her wife, Lara Slee.
More sister time with Karen Holden and me her friends, her niece and nephew…
With all of us.

Because for someone like Kris,
an ordinary day isn’t ordinary at all.
It’s everything.

05/12/2024

Post 6 month CAR-T PET SCAN is clear. A Christmas miracle! Next scan is in 4 months so I’m going to LIVE LARGE the next 4 months. I’m still in shock.
Dr Wang at MD Anderson has saved my life.

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