For Candice Hurston, a routine dentist visit began an unexpected journey. In early 2024, a small sore appeared on her tongue, and after several months, it seemed to worsen. Oral cancer screening later revealed squamous cell carcinoma of the tongue.
Candice said that the moment she got the diagnosis, it felt like all the air had been yanked from her lungs. She was 32 — there was no way she had cancer. Everything moved quickly from there — “like watching a movie on fast forward,” the Marietta resident said.
Her doctor referred her to Dr. Gregory Ward of the Northside Hospital Cancer Institute Head & Neck Cancer Program. Candice shared her story.
Dr. Ward explained the next steps for my treatment: imaging scans to see how much the tumor had progressed, surgery options with the later potential for radiation and no chemo, which I already knew was an absolute blessing.
I was scared. I’d seen what cancer could do — I’d watched my dad go through lung cancer in my freshman year of high school. Four long months of fighting before he left us. However, Dr. Ward assured me that my diagnosis was not a terminal one. That we had a great chance of beating this.
The surgery was explained to me — the tumor in my tongue would be removed, with a margin of good tissue around it as well. This would help ensure no microscopic cancer cells were lurking, waiting to regrow. A muscle and an artery from my left arm would be used to replace the part of my tongue that was removed. And a small graph from my thigh would be used to cover what was taken from my arm. I would also need a neck dissection to remove lymph nodes and test them for cancer. It all sounded so overwhelming. I’d had a few surgeries before, but nothing as intense as this.
I was scheduled for surgery on April 29, 2024, the day before my fiancé’s birthday. I felt guilty that we’d be spending his birthday in the hospital, but he assured me the best gift he could get in the world was me being cancer-free.
I spent about three days in the ICU post-surgery, then about a week and a half in general admission. I was so fortunate that Dr. Ward determined I wouldn’t need a tracheostomy. Of all the things being done, that might have been the one thing I was most afraid of. My care team was amazing — they checked on me frequently, kept me laughing (as best I could) and made me feel safe. My fiancé stayed with me every night, holding me close in the moments when the discomfort and pain became too much.
I’d received all my nutrition through a feeding tube in my nose, but was finally able to eat on my last day in the hospital. The first thing I ate post-surgery was chocolate pudding. In a curious way, it felt like a full-circle moment — chocolate pudding was the last thing my dad ate before he passed; I was the one who fed it to him.
I’ve felt my dad’s presence often throughout my journey. Going through cancer treatment myself has given me a new perspective on how he might have felt through his own journey. Things he said then make more sense to me now. I understand the veil that falls over your eyes when you receive a cancer diagnosis, separating you from those blissfully unaware or unimpacted by something evil lurking in their body. I felt it drop over me while I listened to my oral surgeon tell my fiancé my diagnosis.
For the weeks leading up to surgery, I could only see the world through that murky veil. 
Once I got home from the hospital, recovery was long but peaceful. I couldn’t talk very well, so I learned creative ways to communicate my needs to my mother and fiancé — using a lot of hand signals and speaking with my eyes. I even used a voice-to-text app for a while. Surprisingly, my ability to talk began returning quickly. I still sounded like my mouth was full (my tongue was pretty swollen), but I could be understood for the most part.
I spent a month recovering at home before I was scheduled to begin radiation treatment — 30 sessions, Monday through Friday, over 6 weeks, under the supervision of radiation oncologist Dr. Mudit Chowdhary. The actual radiation treatment lasted about 10 minutes each day, but the side effects persisted for some time afterward. I found myself taking frequent naps and losing my balance. Slowly but surely, my taste went away. It was so surreal when I first realized I couldn’t taste anything. I tried a whole dab of wasabi and I could only feel the texture. I created a game of testing different foods with intense flavors to see which ones lingered the longest.
Over time, the taste would become more metallic. Some things became absolutely repulsive as a result, and I began to resent eating. After speaking with my nutritionist, Amanda, she gave me great advice. I had to rethink my relationship with food. I learned to think of food more as medicine, needed to keep me strong for this battle. Easy-to-swallow things like protein shakes and chicken broth became my best friends. My speech pathologist, Tia, taught me techniques to make the physical motion of using my mouth easier. I learned to maneuver my new tongue and practiced hard swallowing, so I didn’t lose the ability. Amanda and Tia checked in with me weekly, bringing such positive energy along with their expertise. With their guidance, my weight stabilized, and I was able to avoid needing another feeding tube placed. I only lost 45 pounds overall!
As of today, I’ve completed active treatment. I return to Northside Hospital every three months for follow-up and every six months for a PET scan, alternating between Dr. Ward and Dr. Chowdhary. I really enjoy my return visits because they give me an opportunity to check in with all the amazing people who have supported me through this journey. I get to soak in the love, hugs, and excitement of every person who is so genuinely happy to see me doing better.
My recovery has been nothing short of miraculous. While I’ve had to slow down how quickly I speak (a positive thing, depending on who you ask), I’ve found I sound about the same as I did before. I have more energy than ever and a newfound appreciation for life to go alongside it. I’ve grown fond of my scars, particularly the one on my thigh from the graph used to cover my arm. It is shaped like the most perfect diamond — my own little reminder of how unbreakable I am. The veil is still there, but not nearly as murky. I can see the light shining through, and it is absolutely radiant.
Learn more about the Northside Hospital Cancer Institute Head & Neck Cancer Program.
*The health story shared here is for informational purposes only and is not medical advice. Patients should consult with their own physician before making medical decisions.
