Marina Khmyz had a dream since childhood: to learn to play the violin. In May 2023, she was given a white violin for her birthday, and in the summer, a lymph node began to grow. Marina couldn't even turn her head, let alone hold the instrument in place. The diagnosis sounded terrifying — Burkitt's lymphoma, one of the most aggressive types of lymphoma. Marina overcame it and took part in the project “I Will Live!” to show that dreams do come true!
“It feels very, very strange to talk about the illness again, but I'll pull myself together now,”
says Marina Khmyz. “I prepared to talk about what inspired me, but I didn't think about the story itself... Two years ago, I was diagnosed with Burkitt's lymphoma. It wasn't diagnosed right away. As it turned out, it all started much earlier, about six months before the examination.”
The First Warning Signs
“In the winter, at the beginning of 2023, I had a very intense period of time at work. Sometimes I worked nights, was very tired, and didn't feel well. I attributed my condition to general overload, both emotional and physical. At night, I seemed to have a fever, I sweated heavily, so much so that I could wake up at four in the morning to change my T-shirt. This went on for quite a long time, but I didn't pay much attention to it. I thought it was from fatigue, or my blanket was too warm, or the heating was working harder. Then it stopped bothering me, or maybe I just got used to it. And in May, I noticed a very, very small lymph node, the size of a pea, under my left jaw; it didn't hurt, I saw it by chance, or rather, felt it. At that time, I was working on my voice, my speech, I was taking a voice training course. There were vocal exercises, and I somehow discovered it accidentally. I immediately thought something was wrong, but I didn't want to believe the worst, I thought it would go away on its own. It was during the May holidays, we had just returned from the dacha, maybe I had caught a chill. But the pea didn't go away; on the contrary, it continued to grow. I turned to aromatherapist friends for advice on oils to rub in, and at the same time, I went to see a therapist at the clinic. An ordinary therapist at the clinic, for some reason, prescribed a mammogram in response to me coming to him with a lymph node, and a routine blood test. I had the mammogram, gave blood — everything was fine.”
Don't Think You Can Handle It Alone
“I met with a friend and told her about my examinations. I said I wanted to get my thyroid checked, work on my diet, maybe switch to a gluten-free diet. My friend works in the medical field. ‘Before you buy a pack of gluten-free pasta for 400 rubles, will you go see a good endocrinologist?’ she said and gave me a contact. Before the appointment, I read up a bit and came to the endocrinologist prepared and tense. According to the ultrasound, my thyroid was behaving very badly. He looked and said: it looks like thyroid cancer. At that moment, you feel like you're in a movie, in a vacuum, everything is in a kind of haze and as if not in this reality at all. It's a very strange feeling when you hear the word “cancer.” The examination in this direction began. I had two or three fine-needle aspirations from the thyroid and the lymph node, and the aspiration was inconclusive. They let me go for three months, telling me to come back in three months to repeat the aspiration, and for now, not to think about the “cancer” diagnosis.
After that, my lymph node started growing at a frantic pace. I started sharing my story with my acquaintances. You must do this; don't think ‘I'll handle it alone.’ It turned out that among my acquaintances was a person who had already encountered neck diseases, and he advised me to go to a specialist in head and neck tumors. The doctor immediately said it had nothing to do with the thyroid. He said we would do another aspiration, of this lymph node. When the results came, he said a lymphoproliferative disease could not be ruled out, and therefore a biopsy was needed. And all this takes weeks, and my entire summer of 2023 passed in waiting, one week, another week, yet another week.
I was admitted to the hospital for two days. They performed a biopsy of the lymph node under local anesthesia – not exactly a pleasure. I was at the dacha and in a remote meeting with colleagues when the result came to my email. I immediately googled what was written there, and the ground slipped from under my feet. The diagnosis was either large cell lymphoma or Burkitt's lymphoma. I, of course, read and understood that neither one nor the other is joyful, not joyful at all. At that moment, I wrote to my colleagues that I could no longer participate in the meeting. I first read about large B-cell lymphoma, and then about Burkitt's lymphoma. I saw only one word: highly aggressive. I left that Zoom meeting, wrote to a friend, and sent her the examination results. She called me back immediately, and that was the best decision at that moment, to immediately call a person who will support you.
I knew exactly which friend to call, because many people, even very close ones, may be completely unprepared for such news. And I am happy that I have friends who won't tell me: ‘Hang in there, everything will be fine, you're strong’' but who will say: ‘This is a truly terrible situation, but we will get through it together.’”
Canceling the 1st of September, Going to the Hospital!
“And so, it began. I needed further examination, to find doctors, to get into exactly the medical institution that specializes in these diseases. I had to go through city clinics to get a referral to get another referral for what was really needed. It turned out that my disease is quite rare. It is treated only in specialized departments where there is experience accumulated over decades, where there are special protocols, but unfortunately, I encountered the fact that they wouldn't give me a referral under the compulsory health insurance (OMS). This was a revelation for me, but given the specifics of my disease, I was accepted for treatment in the hematology department, they took all my biomaterials that needed to be examined.
As it turned out later, if I had been given a different diagnosis and treated in some other way, I probably wouldn't be here... It's very hard to say these words. I probably wouldn't be giving this interview now or playing the violin. In the end, two days before the 1st
of September, I found myself in the lymphoma chemotherapy department under Evgeny Evgenyevich Zvonkov and Nelly Georgievna Gabeeva, and I asked them if maybe they could give me two days to take my child to school. But Nelly Georgievna made it clear to me that I didn't have those two days because this was indeed some kind of highly aggressive lymphoma. So, I went home to pack a suitcase instead of preparing for the 1st
of September, and on the 29th
of August, my friend drove me in for treatment. Why do I emphasize this? Because it is very important when there are people next to you who actually do something.”
Friends, Dreams, Work, Chemotherapy
“When I was preparing for this interview, I tried to remember what inspired me, what gave me strength. In my story, friends play one of the main roles. But the main inspiration and the main source of strength is my children. I have two sons, now 10 and 6 years old (the interview was recorded on the 14th of July 2025), the younger one will soon start first grade. And my dreams also helped. At the time of my illness, I was going through a life crisis, thinking about how I wanted to live further, what I wanted to do. Back then, I had planned a lot for myself. I returned to writing poetry, decided I would learn to play the violin, started recording my songs in a professional studio. I launched a project on methodology independently of my salaried job. I had a blog for parents about children's love of reading, about how to make children love to read. I also planned on developing the blog.
And suddenly this illness!.. I thought, how can this be? How is it that I got sick and might be gone tomorrow or the day after? I still have so much to see: how my children finish school, travel, get married. I want to see my grandchildren, great-grandchildren. All my projects that I had just started... I had just found my courage. Remember, when the lymph node appeared, I was working on my voice, my speech, to convey my ideas and projects, and then bang, it's gone.
When I arrived at the NMRC for Hematology and met the doctors who would treat me – Evgeny Evgenyevich Zvonkov, Nelly Georgievna Gabeeva, Darima Semunkoevna Badmazhapova – I didn't have the slightest shadow of a doubt that I would see my grandchildren, great-grandchildren, play the violin, and definitely release all my projects into the world. Meeting these doctors instilled in me the confidence that this is just an illness. Yes, it's serious, malignant, but it is treatable. They explained all the risks associated with both the treatment and the side effects, how it would all go, what the prognosis was, and what I had to do to get better.”
The Most Important Element of Treatment – The Wellness Diary
“My mindset was this: I have my work project, and I have four rounds of chemotherapy. I know what they are for: first I will have a pre-phase with certain drugs, in a certain dosage, and after that the next phase, which will last so many days, what medications I will have, what color they are, what will happen after that – I knew all of it. And this is the most important element of treatment (Marina shows notebooks with notes) – the wellness diary, the patient's responsibility. At the very beginning of treatment, Nelly Georgievna strictly ordered me to keep it, and for three months I monitored my well-being, noted the slightest reactions every day, and reported to my attending physician Darima Semunkoevna. She reacted very sensitively and promptly to all changes, making the treatment and my stay in the ward easier, for which I am very, very grateful.”
“I Watched All the Interviews of the Project “I Will Live!”..."
“I was in a single-bed room. What did I do? I just opened the Hematology Center's page, the project “I Will Live!”, and watched and listened to all the interviews of all the participants. I realized that now I am definitely not alone, I have examples, like in methodology – successful cases. This also influenced me greatly, it inspired me, and I am actually very grateful to the people who create this project because it's really very cool. That's why I agreed to give an interview right after discharge.
My children supported me. Their crafts and drawings stood on my windowsill next to the icons. And now I agreed to participate in this project because it's really necessary, because after the first interview, different people who had encountered Burkitt's lymphoma wrote to me. It is rare, but it still happens.
Many asked how the treatment goes, how to make it easier, what happens next? ‘You've been discharged now, how are you, what are you doing?’
This is important to people, and it was very important to me too. I looked for patient memos, articles. I found a blog where a girl described her story, how she went through treatment day by day, what the side effects were. I read it and understood what awaited me. I am one of those people who need to know their enemy face to face, so that it's easier later.”
The White Violin: The Concert Will Definitely Take Place
“I graduated from music school in the dombra class. The dombra is a round musical instrument with four strings, you sit with a plectrum and play. In the third grade, a teacher came to us, told us about the dombra, our whole class went and signed up to play the dombra. After a week or two, everyone realized it was a hopeless cause, but I, as a straight-A student, decided to see it through. In the first grade, I was already giving solo concerts, and by the end of the fifth year of study, I was tired of all the classes because they were survival classes. The teacher was very strict. At home I cried, but then I still went to class. My mom said to me: ‘Marina, well, maybe since you're crying, since it's so hard, maybe you won't?’ No, I will. I played better and better, gave more and more concerts. We had the folk instruments department, and for some reason, it was always in the second part of the concert, and the first part was piano and violin. And every time, going on stage after the violinists, I thought that I would play the violin.
In the end, almost a whole life passed before I mustered the courage to learn to play. In May 2023, I was given a white violin for my birthday. In the summer, a lymph node on my neck started growing, and I had no time for the violin. I couldn't even turn my head, let alone hold the violin.
During the pre-phase, when the medications started working, I was getting closer and closer to my dream of playing the violin. In the end, I only started learning in the spring of 2025, and before that, it was one project after another again. Finally, I found a teacher, learned to play simple melodies, and I'm very proud of myself! When my arranger, sound engineer, and musician and I were writing arrangements for the songs, I specifically asked for violin parts so that I could play them myself at my concert, which will definitely happen. I will definitely play these excerpts from the musical accompaniment of the songs myself.
The violin is not just a beautiful story; it has great meaning. When your dream is already in your hands, you were given your white violin, but you can't hold it – that was, of course, a failure. Since childhood, the violin was so desired that I was even afraid to think about it. I imagined myself with a violin on stage, and that warmed me very much. Before the illness, I managed to record two songs. The girls in the ward read my poems, played my songs, even after I was discharged, and it became a symbol of our mini-community.”
When Work is Salvation
“I took books, notebooks, a laptop with me to the hospital – everything I was engaged in. As much as possible during chemo, I worked on my project “Children Love Books.” This is a project for parents, dedicated to how to make children love reading, regardless of age and circumstances. I write about my experience of motherhood, about books I read with children, answer parents’ questions, and do reviews. I didn't write that I was undergoing treatment. But in the middle of treatment, I received two parcels from children's writers Kristina Kretova and Inna Tsesar with books, postcards, chocolate, and touching notes. They didn't know the details, but they just knew I was in the hospital, in hematology. They understood that you don't end up there for no reason. It was very nice and very inspiring.
In August, when I was waiting for the final examination results and already knew I would be hospitalized, I needed to fly to my mom in Yekaterinburg. I didn't know what would happen next, what if... that thought was in my head. My lymph node was already quite large, it was difficult for me to turn my head, it all looked very sad. I had prepared scripts for a video course, and my childhood friend and I recorded video lessons based on these scripts in two days. We set the camera far away so the neck wasn't visible. I tried to smile and pretend everything was fine. So, I arrived at the hospital with material that needed editing. But when I opened these videos, I realized I couldn't release them. I see in every movement how painful it was for me to turn, to smile. I see this neck we wanted to hide. And I just deleted all the raw footage. I realized that I would just get better and shoot new videos. And indeed, as soon as my hair grew back, I filmed several video lessons again – and again didn't release them publicly. But very recently, I launched a new channel, and it's a completely different energy, a completely different me. When I filmed the first videos, I thought that perhaps I was filming the last minutes of my life. I didn't yet have confidence in recovery, although I had the mindset to undergo treatment.
When I talk about what I did during treatment, it doesn't mean I did it all day, not at all. I could only do one thing and for no more than 20-30 minutes because I had no strength. If I helped
my child with homework via video call in the evening, I didn’t do anything else. If I wrote a post for my blog, I only had enough energy for that post. I had no strength at all. Although it sounds cool, of course, that I worked, kept a blog, and did lessons with my child. I had work calls, I completed tasks assigned to me, but by agreement with my colleagues, I did everything according to how I felt, and I am very grateful to them for that!”
“Let's Treat My Lump!..”
“Of course, I really looked forward to meeting the children, and I did the possible and impossible, even negotiating with my body. We love this joke: I negotiated with my leukocytes and platelets so that they would quickly return to normal, so that I would have at least a day or two between courses to be released home to the children. Initially, I was told: get ready, you'll be admitted on the 29th of August and discharged on the 29th of November. I was supposed to spend three months without the children, and they were supposed to live without me.
I learned to monitor my well-being and meticulously kept the best gadget for treatment – the patient diary – because I had the motivation to get out to see my children for at least one night, at least for two days. I monitored my treatment progress, did everything, just so my indicators would normalize and they would let me go. I told the children everything as it was right away, without heart-wrenching details, of course, but I said directly that I had a blood disease, we would treat the lump on my neck, and for that, I needed to go to the hospital. I warned them that the medicines they would treat me with affect the body in different ways, and for some time I would be without hair... I can't imagine how they endured these three months. Until that moment, I had never been separated from my children at all, only with my older son when I went to the maternity hospital to give birth to the younger one, but here I had to leave it all. And yet, I was confident that my children were fine. We constantly called via video link, I helped my older son with Russian language and literature homework, and for me, this was also an incentive to put on a hat in the evening, hide the catheter, exhale, and cheer up.
The children were mostly with their dad. He organized his work as much as possible to work remotely from home. And only for a few weeks when he had to go on business trips, grandma came. I am very grateful to them because the children lived in their own home, did their usual things, they weren't taken away anywhere.”
“I Can't Believe It's All Behind Me”
“For me, it was important every morning to hear the click of Nelly Georgievna's heels during the morning rounds. I knew that now I could ask my millions of questions, get all the answers, and get them from Nelly Georgievna herself. She explains everything so honestly and somehow penetratingly that you have no doubts left that everything is going according to plan and everything will be fine.
I've already said that the doctors I ended up with are not just professionals; they possess ordinary human qualities: compassion, understanding. They care about us. Once, after the first course of chemo, the body still didn't understand what was happening, and the side effects were very, very strong. I was lying in a really severe state, this had been going on for a day or two. Evgeny Evgenyevich comes, does the round, looks at me, takes my hand: ‘Feeling sick?’ And I broke down, I sobbed, and then I felt a little better. I was enduring that pain, and at night it was painful, and hard, and these new painful sensations, I endured. And then Evgeny Evgenyevich, he looked: ‘Feeling sick?’. And I understand that he understands, that he's not just a doctor, he really understands what is happening to me, and at that moment I was really not alone. That was my first moment when I broke down. There was another moment when I needed to cut my hair, that's also a moment connected with the care of the doctors, it's just so... very touching. Thus, my three months of treatment passed, four rounds of chemotherapy, I was discharged without hair, without a single hair. I think even my eyebrows were gone, but I knew it would all grow back, although the hair moment was a very, very, very difficult stage for me. There were no options, I could only wait for them to grow. And I also had to wait for the follow-up PET scan; I had it at the end of December, the PET showed remission, and that, of course, became a holiday for all of us, for all participants in this story.”
Photographer: Denis Lapshin
