Why I Chose to Keep Working During Cancer

One of the most personal decisions you’ll face during cancer treatment is whether—or how—to keep working.

For me, the answer was always yes. Not because it was easy, but because it helped me stay connected to who I was before cancer.

I’ve been a veterinarian for decades. It’s not just what I do; it’s who I am. Caring for animals, helping their people, making hard decisions with compassion—that’s where I find purpose.

I’ve comforted families through heartbreaking goodbyes. I’ve pulled pets through the worst days of their lives. I’ve seen what love looks like, over and over again, in exam rooms and surgery suites. It fills you up, even when your tank feels empty.

So, when chemo came for my strength, my hair, and my energy, I wasn’t about to let it take my identity, too.

The Work Was My Anchor

Showing up to my veterinary hospital—even when I was pale, bald, and bone-tired—gave me more than a paycheck. It gave me a routine. It gave me something to hold onto when everything else felt uncertain.

In the vet hospital, I wasn’t a patient. I was still Dr. Neel. I was still solving problems, mentoring younger vets, doing ultrasounds, and helping pets get better. That mattered more than I can say.

Of course, I had to adjust. I gave myself permission to rest. I asked for help when I needed it. Some days, I shortened my schedule and took breaks more.

But I never gave up the work altogether, because it reminded me I was still strong in all the ways that counted.

Work Wasn’t a Burden—It Was a Lifeline

There’s a quiet kind of power in continuing to do what you love, even when your body feels like it’s turning against you.

It reminded me daily that I was still capable, still useful, still here.

There were days when I’d finish caring for furry patients, take a deep breath, and go home to my family and crash. I didn’t mind the exhaustion.

Because every time I got through a day like that, I proved to myself that cancer hadn’t won.

Everyone’s Path Looks Different

Let me be clear: this isn’t a prescription. Some people will have to keep working in order to make ends meet. Others will be so physically drained that work isn’t possible. If those are your situations, I’m sorry. But assuming you have some room to choose, the key is to figure out what’s important to you.

Some people need stillness. Others need travel, or creative time, or long quiet mornings with their grandkids and a good book. That’s just as valid. There is no right way to be a cancer patient.

But I do think all of us need something that grounds us—a connection to life outside of IVs and lab results. For me, it was my vet clinic.

For you, it might be your garden, your art studio, your kitchen, or your knitting needles. Or it might be sitting on the couch with someone you love, watching old movies and not talking about cancer at all.

Holding On to Who You Are

Cancer strips away so much. It changes your body. It messes with your mind. It interrupts your plans.

But it doesn’t have to erase you.

Whatever you choose—whether to work, to rest, or something in between—I hope you give yourself the freedom to hold on to the parts of you that matter most.

Because we are not just patients.

We are people with stories, skills, passions, and lives still worth living, even in the hardest chapters.