CancerCon 2025: Loud, Proud, and Not Going Away

"The" First Timer

I walked into CancerCon 2025 in Washington, D.C., and it hit me: seventeen years ago, I invented this thing with the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Back then, it was called the OMG! Cancer Summit for Young Adults, a scrappy gathering at the Marriott Marquis in New York City's Times Square where a couple of hundred of us appeared out of nowhere and tried to prove that young adult cancer wasn't just an afterthought.

From 2008 through 2014, we built momentum across New York, with spin-offs in Rochester, Buffalo, Syracuse, Los Angeles, and anywhere that would have us. When it finally anchored in Las Vegas, the summit took shape as a true national convening, road trip and all. (I mean, we gave away a frieken Volkswagen Beetle!)

By 2015, it moved to Denver, got rebranded as CancerCon, and cemented itself as the heartbeat of the young adult cancer movement.

In 2019, I stepped away from Stupid Cancer and left the keys with Alison Silberman, who has done what few leaders can: she didn't just keep the lights on, she elevated the mission.

The pandemic could have broken this conference. Instead, CancerCon 2025 proved that the voice of young adult cancer survivors is louder than ever, more urgent than ever, and impossible to ignore.

A Community That Refuses to Stay Quiet

From the moment registration opened on Thursday, the buzz was undeniable. Attendees streamed into workshops like "Musical Chairs" and "Watercolor Whimsy" before heading off to kayak, wander the Smithsonian Zoo, or get lost in an escape room. By evening, the welcome reception set the tone: the homecoming was real.

Karaoke, scavenger hunts, and self-care workshops reminded everyone that survivorship includes joy, laughter, and yes, terrible renditions of our favorite songs from our childhood.

Friday kicked off with yoga, a fun run, and a beading workshop—gentle anchors for bodies that have been through hell. The opening session framed the weekend as both a celebration and a challenge. Breakouts ranged from the practical ("Adjusting to a Changing Body," "Jumpstart Your Local AYA Community") to the intimate ("Cancer in the Bedroom: Sex & Intimacy," "Trauma, Identity, and Cancer").

The Community Dialogue series gave caregivers, metastatic patients, and professionals their own spaces to connect.

The exhibitors' hall was packed with real people invested in supporting this community. Every booth buzzed with conversation. Many sponsors and partners deserve sincere thanks for standing by this organization for nearly two decades.

The Pulse of the Movement

Saturday was stacked. Breakfast with exhibitors set the day rolling into sessions on fertility, dating after cancer, mental health, and the relentless reality of secondary trauma.

The storytelling open mic on Saturday night was yet another reminder of why CancerCon exists. People got up and told the truth: about treatment, about loss, about surviving the aftermath when everyone else assumes life "goes back to normal."

The 90s Dance Party that followed was pure release. Watching a room full of survivors jump around to—IMHO—questionably decent music (compared to the 80s) was better than any keynote.

By Sunday, no one wanted it to end.

The final sessions dove into the hard stuff: insurance, finances, transitions of care, and the uncertainty that comes with survivorship. The closing session didn't just tie things up. It lit a fuse, especially with the return of two very special people, Dori and Jason Varounis, Stupid Cancer's "First Couple," who met at OMG2011 in NYC (on our now infamous 'Cancertastic Cruise to Nowhere') and wed a few years later.

Old Friends, New Faces

For me, this year was about seeing the full arc of what was created.

I saw people I've known since the early New York days, who reminded me of when this movement was just an idea sketched on the back of a napkin in my second bedroom.

I met first-timers whose eyes widened when they realized that yes, they are not alone. The generational layering of this event—the OG survivors, the mid-career advocates, the fresh-diagnosed twenty-somethings proves that young adult cancer advocacy has a lineage now.

Why It Matters

Young adult cancer is still marginalized in policy, research, and care. But gatherings like CancerCon are living proof that we will not be erased.

Survivors in their twenties and thirties are living decades past diagnoses that used to be fatal. That means millions of people navigating fertility issues, long-term side effects, financial toxicity, and mental health battles that the system still doesn't want to fund.

CancerCon is where those lived realities get named out loud. It's where the community takes power back, one breakout session, one exhibitor booth, one open mic at a time.

Gratitude and Resolve

I owe immense gratitude to Alison Silberman and the entire Stupid Cancer staff and board for keeping CancerCon as a shining beacon of support, community, unanimity, and hope.

To the sponsors and partners who never abandoned this community, thank you. To the exhibitors who showed up with real support instead of marketing fluff, you matter more than you know. And to the attendees—whether you've been coming since 2008 (Ahem... Scott Slater) or you just found your people this year—thank you for proving, year after year, that young adult cancer is not a footnote.

Looking Ahead

Nearly twenty years in, the voice of young adult cancer survivors is not fading. It's growing louder, sharper, and more organized. CancerCon 2025 was not just a return. It was a rebirth.

We are loud. We are proud. We're not going away.

You know what it is.

Save The Date

CancerCon 2026 • April 30 – May 3, 2026 • Hyatt Regency Seattle • Seattle, Washington