Having experienced a close encounter with death, I have developed a profound appreciation for life. Every moment now holds special significance, knowing how fragile and fleeting life can be. 

The lessons I gleaned during my recovery from a nearly fatal car accident gave me the courage to transition from the practice of law to my passion of real estate in 2000. Fast forward several years, and my life was going amazingly well in 2007 – my real estate career was thriving, my family was growing, and the anticipation of my first son joining my two daughters in a few months filled me with joy. Amidst these highs, I strived not to let the onset of a sharp pain in my back dampen my spirits.  

Despite diligently following a physical therapy regimen, the pain progressed and worsened to the point of being unbearable. Reluctantly, I finally went to see a doctor. The initial examination seemed routine, and I was scheduled to get a cortisone shot to numb the pain after an MRI the doctor recommended. 

To my astonishment, the doctor phoned me the day after my MRI and urged me to come in immediately. Filled with apprehension, I awaited the diagnosis. 

With a concerned face, the doctor delivered the news. “Ken,” he said, “we have both good news and bad news. The good news is that your back and spine are fine. The bad news is that the MRI showed that you have a mass, likely a tumor, the size of a softball. This mass is expanding and pushing on your spine and spleen, causing your back pain.” At just 35 years old and in seemingly good health, shock washed over me as thoughts of my daughters and unborn son raced through my mind. I could only ask, “Doctor, how can this be and what could it be?”
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Glancing at the prominent scar running down my right leg, the doctor asked about the nature of my accident. Recalling the event, I recounted how a speeding car struck me at 45 mph and dragged me for several miles. As a result, I had severe inflammatory swelling that necessitated my leg be surgically opened and left exposed for a week until the muscle swelling subsided. Hearing this, the doctor suggested a diagnosis of lymphoma, a cancer affecting the lymph nodes, speculating that the trauma from the accident may have caused a lymph node in my upper right leg to metastasize. Lymphoma is known to affect younger individuals and is often associated with heavy trauma, such as my horrific car accident. 

At the Stanford Cancer Center shortly after receiving the news, I sought solace in the restroom while grappling with overwhelming emotions. Alone with my thoughts, I cried for a good thirty minutes as my mind drifted to my loved ones. My children needed me. So did my parents, as I was their only remaining source of support after my sister’s tragic passing. This filled me with newfound strength, and I made a firm decision to confront this cancer with courage and dignity. Even if I had only six months to live, I was determined not to waste any precious time. 

My childhood friends rallied around me, providing unwavering support during this challenging time. Their presence, filled with laughter and camaraderie, helped me conquer my fears. Following my first round of chemotherapy, my hair started falling out. Rather than bemoan this, we turned it into a moment of bonding and empowerment. My friends playfully shaved my remaining hair, styling it into a bold Mohawk for a day. In that moment, I felt incredibly resilient, strong, and even a bit sexy! 

After my head was completely shaved, my 2- and 4-year-old daughters would wake me up in the morning by playfully banging on my bald head, giggling while proclaiming, “Daddy drum, daddy drum!” I chose not to share the seriousness of my condition with them, preferring to shield them from sadness and uncertainty as long as my prognosis remained positive.

After completing six rounds of chemotherapy, I underwent 40 days of daily radiation targeting my tumor. The intensity of the radiation caused the skin near the tumor to turn dark red and brown, resembling a severe sunburn, despite the protective copper shield. 

I stayed positive throughout my treatments, as I firmly believe in the mind-body connection and how optimism can improve one’s chances of recovery (which is now empirically proven). With the dedicated care of my exceptional doctors at Blake Wilbur Stanford Cancer Center, the tumor gradually shrank, and after nine months of treatment I was declared cancer-free. I didn’t survive cancer; I BEAT cancer.

While nobody anticipates developing cancer at a young age, overcoming the disease ultimately brought more positives than negatives into my life. This second brush with death taught me that love and the legacy we leave behind are the most important aspects of life. 

While I was very thankful to have defeated lymphoma, my doctors warned me the heightened risk of developing thyroid cancer due to the radiation treatment I underwent, as these conditions are closely linked. To address this concern, my doctors performed bi-annual, full-body scans.  
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Armed with this knowledge, coupled with the resilient fortitude I had gained from overcoming my first three tragedies, I faced the diagnosis of my metastasized thyroid eight years later with a prepared mindset. I reminded myself that no matter the outcome, I had already lived the life I had wanted with my children, and I hoped that my volunteer speeches on resilience and overcoming tragedy had positively impacted others. I felt I had already left a legacy and accepted the idea of death. Regardless, I vowed to fight on for my family, and again dedicated myself to being the best patient possible. After two surgeries in 2017, the cancer was successfully removed and has not returned since.

During my battle with lymphoma and thyroid cancer, I gained valuable life lessons. I learned the importance of accepting and optimizing my medical condition by focusing on what I could control, such as maintaining a positive attitude, following a healthy diet, and seeking the best medical care possible. This mindset allowed me to direct my recovery efforts effectively. 

After losing my sister, I realized the importance of family and the eternal bonds we share. My perspective shifted and I began living for my children, understanding that they were my driving force. I also learned to prioritize what truly matters—my family, friends, and clients. I discovered that by focusing upon getting my clients great homes in appreciating neighborhoods, I could positively impact their lives, giving my career a deeper meaning beyond mere financial success. Additionally, beating cancer provided me with a profound perspective on life, leading me to a state of peace. This inner peace reflects in my work, enabling me to remain calm and solution-oriented, especially during challenging transactions for my clients.  

I am deeply grateful to the Blake Wilbur Stanford Cancer Center for saving my life not once but twice, offering Silicon Valley cutting-edge medical care, innovative research, and treatments. My gratitude towards the Blake Wilbur Cancer Center is immeasurable; it’s so profound that my upcoming child with Alexandra Wilbur DeLeon will be named Blake Wilbur DeLeon. Overcoming these cancers and other tragedies has enriched my life, making me wiser and more fulfilled. 

I encourage readers to recognize their inner strength and power. While life events like accidents or illnesses are beyond our control, our response to these events is within our power. Our reactions shape our outcomes, giving us control over our lives despite the chaos around us. By embracing and savoring life, taking calculated risks, and striving to reach our full potential, we can lead a life so fulfilling that the fear death will no longer hold sway over you.

When other agents ask how I can stay so calm and focused on my clients while the real estate industry is undergoing such changes, I can’t help but think that my brushes with death have made me a better person. Fundamentally, I care more about helping people and leaving a legacy than I do about maximizing every dollar of commission.  After all, my family, friends and clients are the most important things to me.