Carla Burkley is a survivor of HPV-positive tonsillar cancer, diagnosed in June 2024. At the time of her diagnosis, she was a full-time practicing OB/GYN physician in Portland, Maine. Her life felt full and purposeful. After years of demanding 24-hour call shifts, she decided to transition to a less arduous, office-based practice, giving her partners the required one-year notice. She was only a month away from that long-anticipated change when everything abruptly shifted.
In March 2024, after two weeks of being COVID-19 positive, Carla noticed large, painless lymph nodes on the left side of her neck. Conditioned by years of medical training to override bodily cues like fatigue and hunger, she dismissed the swelling—jokingly referring to the nodes as the size of Texas.
Six weeks later, her husband, Will, also a physician, commented that he was concerned about the size of the lymph nodes. His concern prompted Carla to pursue imaging. She scheduled an appointment with her primary care physician, who ordered an ultrasound. The radiologist inadvertently called Carla directly instead of her PCP and shared a differential diagnosis that pointed toward malignancy. Even then, Carla remained anchored in the belief that the lymphadenopathy was related to COVID-19.
Everything changed when she read her own CT scan report. As I read the report, it felt surreal—as if I were reading another patient’s chart, Carla shared. The clinician in me recognized the findings as a tonsillar malignancy, while the emotional reality lagged. Despite years of experience with gynecologic HPV-related disease, I was surprised by how little I knew about HPV-related head and neck cancers.
Securing timely care locally proved challenging, so Carla decided to pursue treatment in Boston, beginning with an ENT consultation. When she called Mass Eye and Ear and read the CT report to the scheduler, she was told, We don’t like these things to wait. That single statement had a profound impact and solidified her decision to seek care out of state.
Carla is deeply grateful to Dr. Jeremy Richmon, ENT at Mass Eye and Ear, who saw her quickly for a biopsy and promptly referred her to Dr. Thomas Roberts, medical oncologist, and Dr. Annie Chan, radiation oncologist, at Mass General Brigham. Given the bilateral nature of her disease, surgery was not an option. Carla placed complete trust in her care team’s judgment and recommendations.
Seven weeks of concurrent radiation and chemotherapy were grueling. Halfway through treatment, three and a half weeks felt like three and a half years. Her husband guided her through the daily schedule, one step at a time.
Dr. Roberts’ steadiness, Dr. Chan’s energetic enthusiasm, and their incredible care teams carried me through treatment, Carla explained. George, my chemotherapy nurse, and Hugo, my acupuncturist, became emotional anchors—helping me hold both the hard and the hopeful at the same time.
Carla candidly acknowledges she was not the easiest patient. She declined antiemetics and steroids to avoid constipation and insomnia. In July, she wore multiple layers of clothing and tucked small stones into her bra in an effort to avoid more than a 10% weight loss, which would have triggered placement of a feeding tube. Magic mouthwash was my best friend, she noted.
Survivorship has been its own demanding chapter.
Even with the relief of being cancer-free, Carla was unprepared for how complex survivorship would be. During her first year of recovery, she focused on regaining physical strength—returning to running, rebuilding her yoga practice, and incorporating strength training.
Learning to swallow and eat normally again took far longer than expected, and managing long-term side effects became part of daily life. She continues to experience dry mouth, taste changes, heat-induced peripheral neuropathy, and an inability to taste anything sweet.
Her second year of survivorship has been less about recovery and more about integration. Carla has leaned into local support through the Dempsey Cancer Center in Westbrook, Maine, reflected deeply on her experience, and begun to discern what comes next in a way that feels authentic.
Cancer has shaped me, but it no longer orients me, Carla shared. It has been a catalyst for transformation—not toward a different person, but toward a truer and better version of myself. It taught me to prioritize connection over work, presence over distraction, and gratitude over overwhelm. I’ve learned to advocate for myself, celebrate small joys, and lean on people who truly support me. Even in the hardest moments, a way forward always exists. Cancer survivor stories are like medicine we give each other—shared in words.
Carla hopes her story helps others navigate fear, remain open to possibility, and recognize the sparks of joy that sustain us along the way.
