At 29, she treated her breast cancer, then discovered it had spread to her brain. Now she’s returning to teaching and spending time with her daughters

A few months after completing treatment for stage 2 breast cancer, Maralee Lellio, a teacher in Ohio, went to the emergency room with a crushing headache. A 29-year-old mother of one was told her breast cancer had metastasized to her brain. He was told there was no cure.

“I went from feeling, ‘I’m going to make it,’ because that’s what the doctors said, to ‘I’m going to die,’ because that’s what the doctors said,” says Lellio, now 37, a professor of English and history who lives in Youngstown, in northeast Ohio.

But her husband Andrew Lellio, 37, convinced her not to give up hope. She changed doctors Cleveland Clinichas tried new cutting-edge treatments and now has no signs of active disease.

“Whatever my future holds, I know I won’t regret living life to the fullest,” she told PEOPLE. “For anyone facing a dire diagnosis, no matter how slim the statistics seem, no matter how unlikely you are told it’s possible to survive, I want you to know: It’s possible. The more examples people see of long-term survival, the more hope they can have for themselves.”

The mother of two shares her story with PEOPLE’s Wendy Grossman Kantor, advocating for research, awareness and a cure for stage 4 metastatic breast cancer. “Right now, there is no cure,” she says. “If more funding was devoted to metastatic treatments and cures, the survival rate would skyrocket.”

I was 28 when I discovered a lump in my right breast. The doctor told me it didn’t look like cancer; she was 99.9% sure it was benign. I left his office with so much confidence and joy because I had nothing to fear.

It was August 2018. I am a teacher, I was also taking courses for my master’s degree and my daughter was one and a half years old. I was busy. I didn’t have time for cancer.

In four months, the lump went from the size of an almond to the size of a baseball. The bump was red and looked angry; It hurt, like wasp stings. It was huge. I went back to my obstetrician-gynecologist in December, who said, “You need to get a mammogram right away. » On January 17, 2019, I was diagnosed with stage 2B triple negative breast cancer.

I felt like I was in the middle of a whirlwind. It was panic, dread and fear. I looked at my little girl and thought, “How could I give birth to you just to turn around and die?”

But because it was such an early stage, the doctors told me, “You’re going to get through this. You’re going to survive.” My friends and family all told me, “No one dies from breast cancer anymore.” Everything will be fine for you.

I underwent 16 rounds of chemotherapy and a double mastectomy in September 2019. Then my doctor told me, “It’s over. I would have imaging every six months, but everything would be fine.

Three months later, in December 2019, I started experiencing body aches and dizziness. My oncologist ordered a CT scan of my brain. The scan was clear. My doctor told me I was depressed. But I didn’t feel depressed. He told me I needed to exercise and offered to prescribe me an antidepressant.

I ignored the headaches, because I had been examined and my doctor told me I was fine. In the months that followed, my headaches became more and more intense. In the summer of 2020, the headaches were so intense that I could no longer care for my daughter; my mother came over every day and took care of her during the day while my husband, Andrew, was at work.

I thought I was having migraines, it got so bad that in July 2020 I went to the ER and had an MRI. The doctor said, “We found a very large tumor in the middle of your brain. There is no cure. Sorry.”

I looked at my husband who looked terrified and heartbroken. It was so overwhelming that I became numb.

Soon after, the tumor began to cause seizures. In August 2020, at a local hospital in Youngstown, I underwent a craniotomy to remove the tumor.

After that, I lost the ability to walk. I took time off from work. My daughter was 3 at the time and would stay with my in-laws for weeks. I missed her deeply.

When you have early-stage cancer, doctors are your biggest supporters. They are so encouraging. But as soon as I had this metastasis, the whole tone changed. The same doctor I truly loved and felt comforted by was dark, empty, and cold.

When I asked my oncologist for my prognosis, he said, “I’m not going to lie to you, Maralee, all we can do is give you as many years as possible, but it won’t be long.” »

My cancer was now considered terminal. I felt fear and despair.

I asked myself: what other part of my daughter’s life will I experience? Will I ever get to see her ride on a school bus? Will I be able to buy her evening dresses?

It was a difficult time for me. I would say it was even harder for my husband. All you have to do to die is to end it, but he would have to continue without me, raising our daughter alone.

One evening I was on the phone telling one of my closest friends that I could only hope for a few more good years before I left. As soon as I hung up, my husband said to me, “It makes me really sad when you talk like you have no chance of success.” We’ve seen stories of people who live well beyond their prognosis. If you think you can live, this is the only way you can.

I realized he was right. So I decided, “I’m going to change my story. I’m going to live.” Even if it kills me, I don’t think I would ever regret living the way I was going to live.

In September 2020, my doctor recommended I go to the Cleveland Clinic, where I underwent five rounds of radiation therapy and tried an innovative new drug called a PARP inhibitor, a targeted therapy.

When I met with my oncologist, Dr. Halle Moore, I told her, “I know my diagnosis is really bad, but I’m going to live.” » She nodded and said, “Okay. » She didn’t argue with me. She didn’t confront me with reality.

The radiation shrank the tumor to nothing but dead cells in my brain. I spent two years on a PARP inhibitor and in April 2021 it was declared that I had no signs of active disease.

Since then, every scan has been clear. My husband and I both love good news. Every time I have a scan, I really look forward to seeing that all the cancer is still gone.

There are many types of breast cancer, and mine is triple negative because it doesn’t respond to hormones. My doctor cleared me to get pregnant. I always wanted two children. I grew up as an only child with a single mother; I was so alone that I couldn’t do this to my daughter. I wanted her to have a brother or a sister.

A year after stopping treatment, I became pregnant in November 2023. My youngest daughter was born in July 2024. My daughters are now 9 and 2 years old.

My husband has always been my rock. He is the cornerstone of our family. There were times when I was so disconnected from the treatments and the tumor itself that I had difficulty getting out of bed. I couldn’t eat. He would force me to eat and sometimes drag me to the car to take me to my appointments at the Cleveland Clinic, which was over an hour’s drive each way.

He was there for me emotionally and physically. He would leave work to come home if I didn’t respond to texts. He ended up being able to work from home specifically to make sure I didn’t have seizures or medical emergencies in the middle of the work day. He would bring in a TV tray and work on the couch, watching me to make sure I was okay.

I was at the forefront of his attention, and he was selfless and completely there for me.

When I was hospitalized at the Cleveland Clinic for about a week, he stayed with me the whole time.

Due to Covid restrictions, visitors were limited, but whenever he could be there, he was by my side, wearing a mask and sitting with me. Whether I was conscious and awake or not, he was there. It was huge. I needed him more than ever and he was there every moment.

My gratitude is immeasurable.

Every day I am so grateful and joyful. My family is everything to me.

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