Survivor Stories: Paloma Soledad

Can you share a little bit about your cancer story—your diagnosis and what your treatment looked like?

I’d been having moles removed for as long as I can remember; cut off, frozen, burned away. It was just part of life, something I barely thought about. I didn’t understand the weight of it until this one. I was 39 when a mole on the sole of my foot, one that had been biopsied years before, grew back. This time there was a small wart tucked inside it. The diagnosis was stage 3C acral melanoma, the same rare type that took Bob Marley’s life. The surgery took a large portion of my foot, several lymph nodes, and required a skin graft. A year later, it showed up in my pelvis, stage IV, and they removed 14 more nodes. The following year, when it spread to my liver and lungs, the tumors were too close to my heart to operate. My only option was a clinical trial for a new immunotherapy drug that looked promising.

Long story short: the treatment stopped the cancer, but the side effects nearly killed me. My body filled with lymph fluid; my lungs and heart were compressed. I had PleurX drainage tubes placed in my chest to remove the fluid from my lung cavities. I drained them every single day for 17 months, sometimes up to a quart from each side. It was fluid my body needed to heal, but I had to empty it to keep from drowning. My abdomen swelled until I looked seven months pregnant. Blood clots, neuropathy, hair loss, and severe rashes meant I couldn’t wear most of my clothes; nothing fit, not even my shoes. I was on a rotation of steroids and medications to keep the complications in check. At one point, I needed an emergency pericardial window to drain fluid from around my heart. They told me I wouldn’t have survived if I hadn’t come to the ER that night.

Eventually, I had a bypass tube,  a “Denver shunt”,  implanted to move the fluid from my abdomen into my jugular. It worked, and the healing finally began.

Because it was an early trial, they hadn’t seen many of these side effects before. It was intense, but I knew they were doing everything possible to save my life. They learned a lot from my experience, wrote papers, and now they can help others,  and I’m grateful for that. The whole ordeal stretched over five years.

What was the hardest part of that time for you, and what helped you get through it?

Not being able to wear my clothing! I’ve been a costume and fashion designer my whole life.  I’d spent years collecting pieces I loved, beautiful fabrics, vintage treasures, and of course, I had altered everything to fit me perfectly. Most of my wardrobe was made from wool or other materials that suddenly felt unbearable against my skin. Nothing was soft, loose, or forgiving.  I’d stand in my closet and cry. It was impossible to simply get dressed, just to leave the house for a doctor’s appointment. My body was covered in rashes and swelling. My muscles had atrophied, my abdomen was extended, and my pants wouldn’t stay up. The only thing that worked was threading a piece of ribbon through my belt loops to hold them in place. Eventually, my friend gave me her maternity clothes, which were a game-changer.

What got me through it was humor, laughing at how absurd it all was, and staying focused on problem-solving. I was always asking myself, What can I do right now to make this more bearable? I’d sew small fixes or modify things on the spot for whatever issue came up. Whether it was a rash, a tube, or simply needing something that fit differently. Those tiny acts of creativity helped me stay grounded when everything else felt out of control. 

This ultimately led me to develop LuxCare Clothing, a wellness fashion brand for patients, survivors, and thrivers.  My core collection consists of the garments I wish I’d had back then.

Yes. I ended up making my own bandages so I could wrap my PleurX lung tubes snugly against my body instead of relying on medical tape. Within the first few weeks, I developed a severe allergic reaction to the adhesive. They tried every type of tape they had, and nothing worked, so I had to come up with my own solution. The wraps were simple, but they did the job!  They held the tubes in place, kept my skin clean, and prevented the rashes and blood blisters that had made everything so painful.

Looking back, is there something you wish you had known before starting treatment?

I wish I had been more vocal about my diagnosis and let people in. At the time, I figured no one needed my drama.  I didn’t want to burden anyone with it, especially my friends. I thought, I'll handle this and talk about it in hindsight. Looking back, it was pretty lonely. Letting people help, even in small ways, would’ve made that time feel a little less isolating.

Do you have any tips for others just starting treatment?

Move your body as much as you can, while you can. There will come a point when you can’t, and the strength you build early truly helps later. Just as important, find something that centers you. Whether it’s meditation or a quiet walk in the woods. That small connection to calm can carry you through the hardest moments.

When I was in treatment, I joined my Brooklyn community garden. Luckily, I still had my little plot to tend when COVID hit. It gave me a way to be in nature when everything else felt like it was closing in.

What’s one piece of advice you would give to a friend supporting someone going through a cancer diagnosis?

Try your best to check in; it doesn’t have to be a big gesture. A quick message, a call, or a small reminder that you care means everything. Buy them something useful, or bring them dinner or groceries. Losing friends when it matters most is devastating; at times, it feels worse than the diagnosis itself. 

What was the most meaningful or helpful gift you received?

The friendship of my medical team and a kitten. My cat had passed away years before, and one day, I posted a picture of a little kitten on IG. My surgical oncologist’s nurse saw it and mentioned to him, “We need to get Paloma a kitten.” It was an incredible surprise. Having that tiny, innocent creature around changed everything; it was the perfect distraction. 

How has survivorship changed your perspective on life?

I appreciate life now in a way I didn’t before. Back then, before diagnosis, I was always in a hurry, racing toward whatever was next, or obsessing about the past. Survivorship made me slow down. It made me actually pay attention. I meditate every day now; I listen better, I notice more. The small stuff doesn’t get to me the way it used to, and I love a conversation that’s willing to get honest and real. Cancer stripped out the noise and showed me what matters. I refer to it as, “Coming of Age part 2: “The Mindful Years.”

What’s something you’re proud of when you look back on your experience?

I’m proud of building my brand, LuxCare Clothing. Every surgery, every side effect, every moment I thought I couldn’t take one more thing ended up teaching me something. I keep going back to those lessons and folding them into every problem-solving skill I’ve gathered as a designer. It’s how I learned to turn pain into purpose. To take what I lived through and make something that looks good on the outside but feels like a steady, loving hug on the inside, something that might actually help someone else.

What does survivorship mean to you today?

Survivorship, for me, is about connection. It’s the conversations with patients, survivors, and thrivers, and the quiet strength of the people who love them. I treasure meeting them, hearing how they move through their lives, learning what keeps them going. Those relationships shape me, and they shape what LuxCare is becoming.

I once thought I’d “get through cancer” and leave it behind. Instead, it opened me up. I see life differently now. I have a deeper respect for the communities carrying so much with such grace. I feel lucky to be on this path, walking alongside them.

Paloma’s story isn’t just about surviving cancer; it’s about reinventing what survivorship can look and feel like. It’s about listening to your body, trusting your creativity, and learning to let people in. It’s about seeing the world differently once you’ve stood at its edge—and choosing to come back more mindful, more connected, and more compassionate than before.

What inspires me most is how she transformed five years of uncertainty and hardship into LuxCare Clothing, a brand rooted in dignity and comfort for patients, survivors, and thrivers. It’s the clearest example of turning pain into purpose, of designing not just garments but care.

I’m grateful to know her, grateful to share her story, and grateful for the reminder that our community is filled with women like Paloma—strong, honest, resourceful, and willing to show up for one another in the hardest and most beautiful ways. Her journey is a testament to what can happen when we choose connection over isolation and creativity over fear. And I hope her words stay with you the way they’ve stayed with me.