I would wake up in the middle of the night.
Not from a nightmare. From silence.
I'd lie there for a second — heart already pounding — and then I'd get up. Walk down the hall. Push open the door to my father's room as quietly as I could, because I needed to see his chest.
Is it moving?
Some nights I could tell from the doorway. Other nights I had to walk all the way to the edge of his bed and stand there in the dark, holding my own breath, listening for his.
The moment I heard it — that small, quiet sound of a man still alive — I'd exhale. Relief so deep it almost hurt.
But I never went back to sleep feeling safe. Because I didn't know if tomorrow would be the same.
I prayed every single day. Not for miracles. Just for more days. More days I could still spend with him.
Then my mother got sick too.
And I learned something you cannot learn in medical school: that fighting cancer isn't just about the medicine. It's about surviving the fear. The exhaustion. The 3am moments when you're standing at someone's bedside wondering if this is the last night. It's about showing up to appointment after appointment, watching the people you love fight harder than you've ever seen anyone fight anything — and realizing that the system around them wasn't built to make that fight easier.
I was in that system from every angle. Daughter. Doctor. Medical interpreter in Arabic. Case worker. Advocate. Nonprofit founder.
And from every single angle, I kept seeing the same thing:
People didn't know what help existed. And by the time they found out, they were already exhausted.
There are resources. Financial assistance. Free transportation to chemo. Mental health support. Housing help. Cancer screenings. But they're scattered. They're buried in websites. They require phone calls and forms and follow-ups that a person who just got a diagnosis — who is scared and tired and maybe doesn't speak English as a first language — simply does not have the bandwidth for.
Patients don't have time to go on a scavenger hunt for their own survival.
That's why I built WA Cancer Connect.
One place. Every resource in Washington State. Simple. Fast. In your language. Available at 2am when the fear is loudest and you're standing in the dark listening for someone's breath.
Because I know what that night feels like.
And no one should have to face it alone — or lost.
— Dr. Hind Golden