After Being Told Her Leukemia Was Terminal, 26-Year-Old Mackenzie Paul Turned Her Pain Into Poetry — and Her Book “This Is What It Feels Like” Is Inspiring the World
In August 2023, Mackenzie Paul’s life changed forever. Just 23 years old and in her second year of medical school at Michigan State University, she was full of ambition and plans for the future. But everything came to a halt when doctors diagnosed her with acute myeloid leukemia, an aggressive form of blood cancer. What began as exhaustion and lightheadedness quickly became a life-defining fight for survival.
Over the next two years, Paul’s journey unfolded with moments of triumph and heartbreak. She endured multiple rounds of chemotherapy, a stem cell transplant, and countless days spent in hospital rooms filled with beeping machines and handwritten notes from family taped to the walls. At times, there was hope — brief stretches where the cancer appeared to retreat. But in early 2025, Paul received the words she never wanted to hear: her cancer was terminal.
For many, such a moment might signal defeat. For Mackenzie, it sparked a different kind of determination — one to leave behind something beautiful and lasting. “When you’re told you’re dying, everything becomes sharper,” she said in a recent interview. “You realize how important it is to say what you need to say.”
That realization became the seed for her debut poetry collection, This Is What It Feels Like: A Book of Poems Written by a Cancer Patient. Released this year, the collection captures her emotional landscape — fear, love, gratitude, anger, and the quiet peace that comes from acceptance. Through 45 poems and sketches, Paul transforms pain into art and turns the unimaginable into something deeply human.
Each poem is a reflection of her lived experience — the exhaustion of treatment, the numbness of losing hair, the bittersweet comfort of holding hands with loved ones. But it’s also about something larger: the power of hope when time feels fragile. “I wanted people to understand what cancer actually feels like,” she said. “Not the statistics, not the sympathy — but the real, raw feeling of being alive and terrified at the same time.”
Her words resonate deeply with patients, families, and anyone who has faced hardship. The title itself, This Is What It Feels Like, is both an explanation and an invitation. In her writing, she doesn’t sugarcoat. She writes of nights spent awake in hospital corridors, of the smell of antiseptic, of laughter breaking through grief. “It’s a glimpse into the life of someone who has accepted that tomorrow isn’t promised,” she said softly. “And yet, I’m still here.”
Paul’s love for writing began long before her diagnosis. She had kept journals since childhood and often wrote short verses in her notebook between study sessions. But it was illness that gave her voice a sense of urgency. “When cancer came into my life, it became my therapy,” she explained. “I wrote because I couldn’t always speak. Writing made me feel in control.”
Her husband, whom she married just two months before her diagnosis, has been a steady presence throughout her journey. In interviews, she calls him her “anchor” — the person who held her hand through every setback and every surgery. “He’s seen me at my weakest,” she said. “And yet, he still sees me as me.” Their love story, though short in years, is immense in meaning. He appears in several of her poems — sometimes as a figure of warmth, sometimes as the silent witness to her pain.
Among her most beloved pieces is one titled Me Instead of You, a reflection on sacrifice and the wish to bear pain for the ones you love. Another poem, I Am the Storm, serves as her declaration of strength: “My doctors say I’m terminal, but I say I’m a miracle.” These poems have struck a chord across social media, where clips of Paul reading her work have been shared thousands of times.
Her book’s cover, bright yellow with a simple drawing of a bald woman hugging her knees, became a symbol of quiet courage. She designed it herself while in the hospital, using her iPad between rounds of medication. “I wanted it to look like hope,” she said. “Simple, but real.” When the first printed copy arrived, she held it with trembling hands, smiling for the camera. “A book of poems written by a cancer patient,” the cover reads. To her, that phrase isn’t a label — it’s a statement of triumph.
Beyond her poetry, Mackenzie has used her platform to raise awareness for leukemia research and the importance of bone marrow donations. Her Instagram, once filled with medical school photos, now serves as a diary of resilience — photos of her infusion days, her art projects, and her words of encouragement to other fighters. She often tags her posts with the phrase, “Taking back what cancer took from me.”
Her decision to live fully in the face of terminal illness has drawn admiration from around the world. “It’s incredibly heavy and scary being told you don’t have much longer to live,” she admits. “But when I write, I feel lighter. It’s how I fight back.”
In her hospital room, she keeps small reminders of life — fairy lights strung over her bed, cards from friends, and her favorite orange beanie. “It’s not always pretty,” she says. “But there’s beauty even here.” Her nurses often describe her as “the light in the hallway,” someone who asks how they’re doing, even on her hardest days.
Family remains her anchor. Her mother visits daily, often reading her daughter’s poems aloud when Mackenzie is too tired to speak. Her husband brings her favorite tea and sits beside her as she writes. “They remind me that I’m not doing this alone,” she said. “Every poem I write is for them.”
The support she’s received has been overwhelming. Messages have poured in from readers who see themselves in her words — from parents of cancer patients to people battling illnesses of their own. “Her poetry makes me feel seen,” one commenter wrote. “It’s like she’s writing what we’re all too afraid to say.”
Though she knows her time is limited, Mackenzie doesn’t dwell on fear. Instead, she focuses on what she can still create. She hopes her book will continue to bring comfort long after she’s gone. “This is my way of leaving something behind,” she said. “A piece of me that says I was here — and that I felt everything.”
Her doctors, family, and followers alike agree that her impact extends far beyond medicine. Through her writing, she has given the world a rare and profound gift: honesty. She reminds us that strength isn’t just about survival — it’s about facing pain with grace, choosing to love in the face of loss, and daring to leave a legacy that speaks when you no longer can.
As she reflects on her journey, Mackenzie smiles. “I’m not afraid anymore,” she says. “When I go, I want people to remember that I lived. Really lived.” She pauses, then adds, “And if someone reads one of my poems and feels less alone — that’s everything I ever wanted.”
In every word she’s written, in every page she’s filled, Mackenzie Paul continues to fight — not against time, but with it. Her story is one of courage, creativity, and a defiant kind of hope that refuses to fade.
