Read Time: 4 Minutes
Takeaways
- A mother’s instincts and quick action helped lead to an early diagnosis before more severe symptoms developed, giving her son a critical head start in treatment.
- Comprehensive cancer care extends beyond treatment alone, with emotional support, research, and human connection helping families endure the hardest moments.
Impact: Huntsman Cancer Institute became more than a workplace for Kelsey Embrey’s family—it became a source of reassurance, connection, innovative care, and hope during the most difficult chapter of their lives.
There are moments in life when everything you know—everything you’ve built your identity around—shifts beneath your feet. For nearly two decades, cancer had been something Kelsey Embrey worked against. It was something she helped others navigate, something that lived within the walls of her workplace but not within her own home.
After starting at Huntsman Cancer Institute at the University of Utah in 2011, fresh out of college, Kelsey was a medical assistant stepping into a hospital that was just beginning to find its rhythm. There was an unmistakable energy in those early days—possibility, purpose, the feeling of building something meaningful from the ground up. She helped run a new clinic, worked closely with physicians, and over time found her place in a mission that felt bigger than any single role. “I like being part of our mission,” she says. “And I enjoy learning about all the new research and seeing the advancements.”
Kelsey’s path evolved over the years, moving from clinic work into new patient scheduling, and eventually bringing her back to Huntsman Cancer Institute in 2018 as a clinical research coordinator. Her work focuses on lung cancer studies and HPV screening, partnering with physicians and patients in ways that require both precision and empathy.
She watched as things evolved—more research, more innovation, more people showing up every day with a shared commitment to something larger than themselves. “The energy is so contagious,” she says. “So many people are going through dark times, but this is a magical place. This is a place that makes you want to come back and help any way you can.” It was a belief shaped over years of experience, reinforced by the people around her and the progress she witnessed firsthand.
That belief was tested in April 2025, when her 9-year-old son, Kyson, was hit in the face by a ball at school. Working in oncology had taught her to notice things others might miss, and when something felt off, she trusted that instinct. She pushed for an eye exam with a specialist, a decision that would change everything. They discovered swelling in his optic nerve—an early warning sign that led to further testing and, ultimately, to the diagnosis. The words came quickly, but their weight lingered: brain cancer, stage 4.
“I was fearful,” she says. “I didn’t know much about pediatric cancers, and hearing ‘brain’ and ‘stage 4’ sounded like a death sentence—or at the least, that he wouldn’t have a normal life.”
For someone who had spent years working in cancer care, the familiarity didn’t soften the blow; it made the reality sharper, more immediate, and deeply personal in a way she had never experienced before.
Kyson’s care team coordinated with radiation oncologist Cristina DeCesaris, MD, and moved forward with urgency and determination. He underwent surgery, followed by 31 days of radiation—a combination of proton and photon therapy—alongside chemotherapy. After a brief three-week break, he faced nine more rounds of treatment, each one demanding resilience from both him and his family.
At one point early in the process, they were told the tumor might be inoperable, a moment that brought a new level of uncertainty and fear. However, the neurosurgeons at Huntsman Cancer Institute and Primary Children’s Hospital believed they could remove it.
“When I was told it was inoperable, I called my boss here,” she recalls. “Just having that reassurance that it was possible was powerful.”
Now in the place where she had spent years supporting others, she found herself surrounded by that same care in a deeply personal way. Gratitude and anxiety coexisted, each shaping her experience in different moments. “I’m blessed to be back here,” she says. “What stands out the most are the connections you make, some expected, others unfold in ways you never anticipate.”
Kelsey tells the story of knowing Kyson’s primary physician, Trevor Memmott, MD, prior to the entire process. “I knew Dr. Memmott’s dad because he was part of a clinical and observational trial I oversaw. And at Kyson’s bell-ringing ceremony, he told that story.”
It was a small detail with profound meaning, a reminder that the work she had done years earlier was part of a much larger, interconnected story. “We’re connected forever,” she says, reflecting on how research and care intertwine across time and lives.
Child life services also played a critical role, offering comfort not only in moments of fear but in helping Kyson develop tools he continues to use. “Abbie Owens and everyone with child life services were calming and reassuring throughout the whole thing,” she says. “They taught him breathing techniques he still uses today.” These moments may seem small on the surface, but they have a profound impact and highlight the depth of care that extends beyond standard treatment
Today, Kyson has completed chemotherapy and radiation, and his three-month follow-up scan was clear. His vision has returned to normal, and he is steadily regaining his balance, moving forward one step at a time. The treatments targeted both his brain and spine, and both sites are now tumor-free. “The doctors reassured me that even though it would be a long process, he’s back to being a normal 10-year-old,” she says. Normal may look a little different now, shaped by everything they’ve experienced, but it is there.
For Kelsey, the meaning of the work has shifted, deepened by experience but rooted in the same sense of purpose that first drew her in. The “magic” she once described lives in the people who show up, in the connections that form, and in the hope that persists even in the hardest moments.
