by Sonya Walker
Virginia
February 2025
I Was Broken, But the Lord Made Me Beautiful
God always has a plan that’s greater than we can understand. Through every trial and tribulation, I trust Him, even when the challenges seem unbearable to others. For my faithfulness, He has blessed me with abundant rewards.
Before 2009, I looked forward to each day, eager to care for my beautiful children. When they were young, I promised myself they would only know of the sacrifices I made for them through the stories I’d share. I worked tirelessly to give them the life I thought they deserved. At the time, I was a police lieutenant, working long hours of overtime, and attending college online. I was constantly exhausted, my body aching, and I thought I was simply experiencing burnout. Little did I know I was facing a health challenge that would become the second most traumatic event of my life.
I remember the day vividly. I was assigned to oversee an elderly mental health patient at the hospital, preparing to transport her to a different facility. While we were there, she was being screened to ensure there were no health issues preventing her from being admitted for behavioral care. I got called back to work before I could even close the police car door. Frustrated, I walked back inside the hospital. But when I saw the sweet smile of the elderly lady, all my frustration vanished. As we spoke, she shared something with me that I would never forget. She said, “I had a brother. I miss him. He died of appendix cancer, just like you have.”
At first, I was taken aback, and I asked her to repeat herself. She didn't, but her words stayed with me and prompted me to seek medical help for the right-sided pain and low fever I had been experiencing for weeks.
On the day before Thanksgiving 2008, I went to the hospital, assuming my symptoms were minor and that I’d be quickly cleared to go home and start preparing dinner. What began as a routine visit turned into a much longer ordeal, and by evening, the doctor delivered news I wasn’t prepared for. He told me I had to undergo emergency surgery for a ruptured appendix. After the surgery, he informed me, "I removed your appendix along with a foot of your intestines due to a ruptured tumor of unknown origin. The tumor has been sent to the pathologist."
I spent days in pain, unsure of what was happening to my body. Once I was discharged, I did my own research on appendix tumors, finding multiple mentions of “appendix cancer” and a “jelly-like” substance. At first, I thought I was overreacting, but when I went for a follow-up visit, the doctor simply said, “You’re fine. We’ll monitor you with CAT scans because of the jelly-like substance.”
But I wasn’t satisfied. I reached out to a friend, and together, we found a specialist. After reviewing my medical records, Dr. Sardi's office scheduled an appointment. Once there, I was hit by the devastating news, “You have appendix cancer. Your prognosis is a one-year survival expectancy. You’ll need to undergo cytoreduction surgery, the most aggressive surgery, combined with Heated Intra Peritoneal Chemotherapy (HIPEC) to eliminate any remaining cancer cells.
The surgery was brutal. I was cut open from my chest to my pelvis, and my organs were carefully searched for any tumors, which were then removed. My body was filled with four liters of chemotherapy during the procedure. I was hooked up to countless machines, including a heart monitor, as I battled serious complications.
As I slowly recovered, I walked through the halls of the hospital, passing rooms where patients had already passed away. Some days, I wondered, “Why am I still here?” I felt like I had somehow cheated death. Before my surgery, I had prepared my oldest son for the possibility that I might not return. Little did I know it wouldn’t be me who left. Ten months later, still recovering from my own battle, I lost my son in a tragic boating accident. The grief was unbearable, and the trauma led to yet another surgery shortly after his funeral.
I have faced so much hardship in my life—more than I can express—but through it all, I never lost my faith in God. I came close to death, but my belief in Him never wavered. I remembered what Dr. Sardi had said: I needed faith to survive. It took years for me to understand why I had to endure such pain and loss, but eventually, I realized:
I was broken, but I was reborn.
I was born in July 1970, but I was reborn in October 2010 when God allowed me to survive a rare cancer that, at the time, three percent of people in the world develop—and even fewer survive. If God had asked me to be a mother for only 20 years before calling my son home, I would’ve said yes, because those 20 years were the best of my life. Though I miss him every day, I’m proud to have been his mother, fulfilling God’s plan for me.
This story is my testimony of faith, and I share it with you to encourage you.
No matter the struggles you face, trust that God will guide your steps and rebuild you. Strong faith teaches us to trust in a higher power, and through that trust, we gain the strength to heal ourselves. Grace is given in exchange for faith, and the blessings we receive are the reward of our trust.
I am forever grateful to Dr. Armando Sardi and his incredible team. After 15 years of treatment, I was released from care in April 2024, a milestone that I celebrate with deep gratitude. I also owe much thanks to my family and friends, whose unwavering support has helped me through this long journey and in my healing as a grieving mother.
Lastly, God has called me to be humble, enjoy life, and let my sun shine brightly.
I dedicate this story to my children—Donte (my son, may he rest in peace), Kay (daughter), Mya (daughter), Elijah (nephew), Omarii (godson), Olahni (granddaughter), Mahzi (grandson), and Charlie (granddaughter)—and to all those fighting for survivorship.
May God be with you today, as He is with you every day, forevermore.