Story highlights
- Swapna Binoy kept her late husband’s glioblastoma diagnosis a secret for six years.
- When his symptoms made maintaining her silence impossible, she discovered an unexpected bounty of support.
- Today, she encourages other patients and caregivers to let people support them during treatment, too.
The hardest part of my late husband Johncy’s glioblastoma diagnosis was understanding exactly what having that type of brain tumor meant — then keeping it to myself.
As an oncology nurse, I knew that glioblastoma was aggressive, relentless, and often unforgiving. But when my husband was diagnosed in 2011, that knowledge suddenly became personal. He didn't show any obvious symptoms at first. And for a long time afterward, he appeared healthy to everyone around him. But while others saw normalcy, I lived with the constant awareness of what his diagnosis could mean. So, to me, it felt like a ticking time bomb.
Like many caregivers, I initially believed I had to carry this burden alone. It was the support I found at UT MD Anderson and in my community which helped me realize that’s not true.
As I learned, accepting help is not a sign of weakness — it’s actually a sign of strength.
What changed my mind about accepting help
Learning to let others help me wasn’t easy at first. My husband didn’t want anyone to know about his glioblastoma diagnosis. We also wanted to keep our lives as normal as possible for our children. So, for six years, I kept Johncy’s diagnosis to myself.
Every cancer diagnosis is a balancing act between hope and uncertainty. But it was so hard to stay strong by myself sometimes that I would cry in the car on the way home from work, just to get my feelings out before our children saw me. I used to wake up at night and check on Johncy, too, just to make sure he was still beside me and breathing.
Once the cancer progressed to the point that we could no longer keep it a secret, I learned that strength is not about doing everything on your own. Sometimes, strength means accepting help.
What finally changed my perspective was realizing how much people genuinely wanted to support us. By allowing them to help, I discovered that caregiving is not just about giving. It’s also about receiving the kindness, compassion and strength that others so willingly offer.
Where I found my support network
My work family in Stem Cell Transplantation at UT MD Anderson soon became one of my greatest resources. They understood the practical realities of cancer treatment and surrounded me with compassion, encouragement and support. Whenever I needed to take time off, they covered for me. And when I needed a job with more regular hours to better manage childcare as a widow, my previous manager suggested I apply for my current position as a clinical trial nurse in Lymphoma & Myeloma.
Our friends and neighbors were really wonderful, too. Their help in taking Johncy to his radiation treatments allowed me to stay home and watch our three children. That was a big deal, since our youngest wasn’t even a year old yet. The men’s group at our church stepped up by giving Johncy rides to events, too. My husband could no longer drive himself, but he could still participate in social activities. It did him wonders just to feel included, even if it was only for a casual dinner out with the guys.
I also found tremendous support through UT MD Anderson’s Social Work teams and Employee Assistance Program (EAP), particularly for grief counseling. Those resources helped me process some really painful emotions and navigate Johncy’s death more gracefully.
Hardship made me a better mother and nurse
Losing my husband in 2018 was one of the hardest experiences I’ve ever faced. Yet his illness and the years I spent caring for him transformed me. They made me a better nurse by teaching me the importance of being present during some of life’s hardest moments.
And, as a mother, I’ve learned that healing doesn’t mean leaving grief behind. It means finding the strength to keep moving forward while carrying the love, memories and lessons that remain.
Both experiences showed me that hope is not the absence of hardship; it’s the courage to keep going, even after a devastating loss, and to find meaning in the journey forward. I know now that resilience is forged in adversity, and strength is rarely found alone. More often, it is found in the people who walk beside us when we need them most.
Paying it forward
Today, I often share what I’ve learned with the patients in my clinic. I tell them that while resilience is important, you don’t have to be resilient alone. Some of our strongest moments come when we allow others to support us.
I am deeply grateful to the people who walked beside me throughout that journey. My family, friends, colleagues, and professional support networks reminded me that no one is meant to navigate life's hardest moments alone. Their support taught me one of the most important lessons of caregiving: while resilience comes from within, healing is often made possible by the community that surrounds us. Maybe that’s why giving back has become such an important part of honoring my late husband’s memory.
My commitment to UT MD Anderson extends beyond the clinic. I support its mission whenever I can through charitable giving — even if it’s only a small amount through a social media campaign. I’ve learned that every gift, regardless of its size, plays a role in advancing research, enhancing patient care, supporting education, and making future breakthroughs possible. Together, those contributions create hope for patients and their families.
I’ve also donated whole blood or platelets 28 times at UT MD Anderson Blood Bank since 2012. That's 3.5 gallons so far.
And when I see patients or caregivers struggling in our garages or cafeterias, sometimes I’ll offer to pay for their parking or meals. I remember what it’s like to be walking that path alone, and how grateful I was when somebody else would step up and say, “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” Now, I want to pay that kindness forward.
Request an appointment at UT MD Anderson online or call 1-877-632-6789.
Some of our strongest moments come when we allow others to support us.
Swapna Binoy
Employee & Caregiver