Year Two: Gayatri Aryan Reflects on Living with Stage VI, Living without a Map

“Then came the question I started hearing more and more: “What’s the prognosis?” It’s such a small question, really. A clinical term. But it carries enormous weight. What people are really asking is: How long do you have? Where is this going? Will you survive this?.” When Gayatri received a Stage IV cancer diagnosis, her world shifted overnight. A thriving tech executive, mother, and an Executive MBA student, she suddenly found herself living without a map. This piece is the second installment of an ongoing series following Gayatri’s journey, exploring what it means to live, lead, and find purpose while navigating life with breast cancer.

Year Two: Living Without a Map
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Looking back, I realize the title of my Year One post was misleading. “Navigating the New Normal” gave the impression that I had somehow accepted my reality. I hadn’t. I haven’t even now. “Normal” implies something stable, something settled. What I was living — what I’m still living — is far from that. If I could rename it, I’d call it “Navigating the New Reality.” Because that’s what this is: not normal, but real.

Year Two was still full of unknowns. Treatment was underway, but we were far from finding equilibrium. Medicine, as only those who live inside it can understand, is as much art as it is science. Especially when it comes to treating metastatic cancer. Every patient is different. Every body reacts in its own unpredictable way. So we entered this phase of fine-tuning — testing dosages, managing side effects, watching lab results. There was no clear playbook. There never is.

My treatment at the time was a combination of chemotherapy and immunotherapy. I was “lucky,” as they say, to have ER+ cancer. That meant we had more targeted treatment options, including hormone suppression. Initially, we tried managing it with pills. But over time, it became clear that wasn’t enough. To stop the cancer from feeding on estrogen, we had to eliminate its source. That meant oophorectomy — surgical removal of ovaries. A major decision, yes. But also an inevitable one.

Around this time, I was also being flooded with suggestions from well-meaning friends and extended family. “Try juicing.” “Go keto.” “What we eat is everything.” There was a wave of conviction that maybe, just maybe, I could heal myself through naturopathy. And I understand the impulse — I really do. People want to help. They want to believe there’s a way to fix this. But when you're in the middle of treatment, trying to stay upright through cycles of side effects and fatigue, those suggestions can feel like pressure. Like somehow, if I just tried harder, or ate better, or meditated more, I could undo Stage IV. If only it were that simple.

Year Two was also the year we realized we needed to move. All my treatments were at Dana-Farber, and driving an hour and 45 minutes one way — with appointments now happening more frequently — had become unsustainable. Our kids were in school. Their lives had structure, friendships, routines. And yet, we had to uproot it all. My older one was just starting middle school, my younger one beginning fourth grade. The move was disruptive, and we knew it would be. But cancer forces trade-offs you never imagined making.

One of the hardest moments that year was sharing my diagnosis with my parents. They were in India. I couldn’t bring myself to break the news over a casual phone call — but I needed them with me. I asked a childhood friend to be physically present with them when I called. I told them everything. My mother, I think, went into shock, maybe denial. But they came. They stayed. And in the middle of everything, we celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. That day held so many layers — grief, gratitude, legacy, love.

Then came the question I started hearing more and more: “What’s the prognosis?”

It’s such a small question, really. A clinical term. But it carries enormous weight. What people are really asking is: How long do you have? Where is this going? Will you survive this?

And the truth is, no one knows. Not really. There are statistics, yes. But I am not a statistic. No patient is. Metastatic cancer doesn’t follow a script. There’s no linear path, no clear finish line. Every scan could bring stability — or change everything. Prognosis, as a word, implies a kind of certainty. But what I’ve learned is that this life is built entirely inside uncertainty. You live not knowing. And that’s the hardest part — and, strangely, sometimes the clearest.

Somewhere in the middle of this year, I realized I needed something more — a community to anchor myself. I tried cancer support groups, and while they’re a vital resource for many, they left me with more fear than strength. Too many stories ended in silence. Too much sadness without counterbalance. I needed a place not just to receive, but to contribute. A place where I could grow, not only endure. The MIT community became that space. It was familiar, intellectually alive, and full of people driven to make things better. In that community, I found a kind of forward motion that medicine alone couldn’t offer.

Year Two was not a year of resolution. It was a year of recalibration. A year of shifting — homes, routines, assumptions. A year of realizing that the things you thought were fixed might never be again. But it was also a year of quiet strength. Of showing up to treatment, to family dinners, to school events. Of answering questions I didn’t want to answer. Of choosing to live without a map — and still moving forward.

That was Year Two.

Thank you Gayatri for sharing this inspiring story with us. We are honored to share your story and have you in our global women’s community.

Bio: Gayatri Aryan is a seasoned leader with over two decades of experience in high-tech, finance, and consulting. Currently as Director of Product Development at Dell Technologies, she heads multiple products from inception to intervention. Gayatri values vision and execution while working through startups and Fortune 500 companies alike. Having graduated from MIT Sloan with an Executive MBA, Gayatri is advising multiple startups at the digital juxtaposition. A firm believer in giving back, Gayatri is an active member of various communities: as President-elect for MIT Club of Boston, on her town’s PTO Board, as Chair of Hindi Manch’s Baal-Yuva Vibhaag to name a few. She abodes with her family in Newton, MA.