Breast Case Scenario

I wasn’t born a Hoosier. I wasn’t even raised a Hoosier, but slowly, over the years, and culminating one March evening in my grandparent’s basement, I realized exactly what it meant to be a Hoosier.

Indiana University, class of 1957. Marilyn DuValle, Jeffersonville, Indiana. The best woman I have ever known. As a proud Hoosier, she loved sports. I think Bobby Knight had that effect on everyone. However, one night, when I was in high school, after a long day of prom dress shopping, my grandma and I sat down in my grandparent’s basement to watch a March Madness game and my entire perspective of her was forever altered. You see, the Hoosiers were finding success in this tournament incredibly elusive. But there were other Big Ten teams playing well, and representing our conference on the biggest stage. When this proud Hoosier looked at me and told me how excited she was for Wisconsin, cheered so loud on every big play, and celebrated their win like it was her own – I knew. Hoosiers are different. 

A few months later, I quietly submitted an application to Indiana University from my house in little Bowling Green, Ohio. A top business school was the draw, but the opportunity to be an hour away from two of my favorite people on earth was the reason. When the acceptance came through, my Boilermaker dad said he knew, deep down, I was likely choosing IU – he was just waiting for me to come to the same conclusion. After stepping onto campus for the very first time myself, I knew, too. Bloomington was home. I was born to be a Hoosier, just like Marilyn.

I wanted to experience whatever it was that made her character so exceptional. I definitely got that, and then some. I joined a sorority, like her. I tailgated our losing football team games like a professional, like her. I had some of my best undergrad moments in Assembly Hall, and walking the very same ground and sitting in the same buildings she did. These experiences shaped me, but what I really took away from my time in Indiana is that the people of the Hoosier state are as advertised. Wholesome, look-you-in-the-eye at the cash register, neighborly, inviting Hoosiers. I also learned that you didn’t have to be from Indiana to be Hoosier, it’s more of a spirit thing. It’s who you are in your bones. I couldn’t be more proud of my diploma and everything it represents.

My grandma hasn’t been here to watch Indiana football’s rise to glory, but I’ve heard so many stories like ours the last couple months. The Hoosier angels who left us waiting to see this day come. Many never believed it ever would. But here’s where ours takes a bit of a different turn. I’m 31 years old, and I have breast cancer. 

Marilyn passed away in July 2024. I was also pregnant with my daughter at that time. It was an unbelievable sadness grieving the fact that she only missed meeting my baby girl by a couple months. During the 2024 season, every week that we kept winning, I remember thinking those people up in heaven are definitely up to something. “I miss her terribly so they’re giving me a winning football program for the first time, ever.” Coincidentally, my daughter was born on the day the team lost to Ohio State. The magic subsided a bit.

Fast forward to August 2025, and us Hoosier fans are anxiously waiting to see what this season has in store. I was in the stages of discovering and processing a potential cancer diagnosis throughout September and October. The Hoosiers were winning again, but surely being undefeated at that point in the season for a second year in a row was a fluke. Usually by the time my birthday rolls around in mid-October, someone on the schedule has broken our hearts. The football team did not, but my cancer diagnosis did.

My shining light. The 2025 Indiana Hoosier football team. They just kept winning.

Not a soul would believe this, but I do. I may have had a feeling the angels were orchestrating something for me in 2024, but after 2025, I am pretty much convinced. Jesus took my grandma, and gave me cancer, but I got the privilege of watching every single thing that makes a Hoosier great displayed on my TV screen, every weekend. I had something to distract me through the waiting and the tests and the appointments and the fear. While I couldn’t look forward to my phone lighting up with a call from my grandma anymore, I could look forward to the rest of the country learning just what it means to be a Hoosier – exactly like I did back in 2011. The mentality of family, dreaming big, and being a good sport, win or lose. The values, the character, the heart of this incredible university, pumping through the young men on that football field, led by the fearless Coach Cignetti. To hear that diehard fans of other teams were cheering for us on every big play, and celebrating this win like it was their own, brought me right back to that moment in the basement that I will never forget. 

In the midst of some of my hardest days, someone above was definitely pulling some strings to keep a smile on my face. On Monday, January 19th, the Hoosiers raised the National Championship trophy for the first time ever. Even though I couldn’t believe my eyes, I think a few of heaven’s finest weren’t surprised at all. 

To the 2026 National Champions: thank you. You don’t need to hear it from me, and you probably never will directly, but I was reminded to believe in the improbable and to believe so deeply in myself that I can accomplish anything. This year, that includes beating cancer. 

I can’t wait to celebrate the end of my fight by bringing my daughter to Bloomington, to sit where generations of amazing Hoosiers have sat, and cheer until my lungs give out for our Indiana Hoosiers.