David Fajgenbaum

May 24 has always been a special day for us.

It’s our wedding anniversary. Yesterday, and I celebrated 12 years.

And now May 24 means even more — because one of my closest friends from medical school, Francisco, married another incredible physician, Shannon.

It was an amazing weekend for a bunch of reasons — it was in Mexico City, we got special time with Francisco and Shannon, reunited with so many friends, and Caitlin’s parents watched the kids (thank you .prazenica and ).

But what made it extra meaningful was knowing everything Francisco has persevered through just to reach this day.

Right after medical school, Francisco was in a horrible accident. He nearly died. After months of rehab, he emerged paralyzed from the waist down — but still committed to becoming an emergency medicine physician.

And he did it.

He became the first person to complete an entire emergency medicine residency in a wheelchair.

Watching him come down the aisle with Shannon by his side — knowing how close he came to not being here at all — meant everything.

It made me think about how lucky Francisco and I both are to have such amazing people by our sides and in our lives. I’m so thankful for him, so happy for him and Shannon, and so excited for the life they’re building together.

Can’t wait to celebrate May 24 again next year.

I was done letting chemotherapy and Castleman disease take anything else from me.

So before chemotherapy could make my hair fall out again, I asked my dad to grab an electric razor and shave my head.

But we didn’t stop there.

We left a mohawk running down the middle.
At the time, I was 26 years old and preparing for another brutal round of chemotherapy after yet another near-fatal relapse. My organs had failed before. I’d already heard the words: “There’s nothing more we can do.”

I knew exactly how high the stakes were.
Until that point, so much of this disease had happened to me. The ICU stays. The organ failure. The uncertainty. The helplessness of lying in a hospital bed while everyone around you fought to keep you alive.

I was exhausted from feeling like a passenger in my own life.

And weirdly enough, shaving my head became this small act of reclaiming control.

I didn’t want chemotherapy or Castleman disease deciding when my hair came off. I didn’t want to wait for clumps to fall onto my pillow again.
I wanted to make the choice myself.

So there I was — hooked up to chemo, wearing a ridiculous mohawk in a hospital room — trying to turn fear into defiance.

And every time I looked in the mirror, I saw someone who was done being a victim.
Not just surviving anymore.

Counterattacking.

And honestly… I probably should’ve added camouflage face paint too. I was ready for war.

Fourteen years ago today, this photo was taken while multiple chemotherapies were being infused into my port.

A few weeks earlier, I had been told there was nothing more my doctors could do. My organs were failing from Castleman disease, a rare inflammatory disorder I had never even heard about in medical school. A priest had read me my last rites. My family said goodbye.

But thanks to lots of chemotherapy, I survived. Just barely.

And this photo was taken on the day I decided that I wasn’t just going to hope that some doctor somewhere would discover a treatment for me. I was going to fight back.

At the time, I had no idea what that would eventually become. I didn’t know it would lead me to turning the microscope on myself, discovering a repurposed drug that would save my life, helping to find more repurposed treatments for many more patients, or eventually co-founding Every Cure to scale this work.

I just knew that I wanted to live long enough to marry Caitlin one day and to discover treatments in memory of my mom and that I had been given another chance—and I wasn’t going to waste it.

Looking back now, I don’t just see a guy doing what we now call a “Castleman Warrior Flex” in a hospital room. I see someone beginning to turn his hope into action and refusing to accept that “we’ve tried everything” and that there was “nothing else we could do.”

And thankfully… he was right.

Happy Mother’s Day to all of the incredible mom’s out there — especially ! You’re the best mom (and mascot-finder, soccer coach, class mom…) I could ever dream of for our little ones.

Also sending happy Mother’s Day to my amazing sisters , , and mom-mom ! And thinking about my mom who hasn’t been with us for 22 years but I still think about every day.

I’m so thrilled for my dear friend Wendy Finerman to see how well her newest film, Devil Wears Prada 2, has done this weekend! Congrats, Wendy!

Wendy is such an incredible person, friend, and producer of so many great films like Forrest Gump, Devil Wears Prada, P.S. I Love You, and others, and it’s been so special to work with her to adapt my journey into a film. I’ll never forget her reaching out to me for the first time after ran “Doctor, Cure Thyself” and she traveled down to sit with me for an infusion the next week. Lots of work (and years) still to go but exciting progress underway.

We loved being on set with Wendy to watch the filming of the opening scene of DWP2 which was on both her and Caitlin’s birthdays last summer!