Diagnosed with stage IV pancreatic cancer at just 35, Yann Bizien faced years of treatment, uncertainty and recurrence. His remarkable journey eventually led him somewhere unexpected: helping researchers better understand cancer through patients’ experiences.

The fear of starting again

When the stomach pain returned in late 2021, I knew what it could mean.

Four years earlier, I had been diagnosed with stage IV pancreatic cancer. Since then, my life had been shaped by chemotherapy, hospital appointments and the constant uncertainty of living with cancer.

Now, after years of treatment and progress, I was frightened that everything was about to begin again.

At first, the scans showed nothing conclusive. But my tumour markers kept rising. Eventually, further investigations confirmed what I had feared: the cancer had returned.

In some ways, the recurrence was harder to face than the original diagnosis. I knew what lay ahead. I knew how exhausting treatment could be, both physically and emotionally.

And I wondered how much more my family and I would have to endure.

A diagnosis at 35

In 2017, cancer was the last thing I expected.

I was 35, living near Paris with my wife and our four-year-old daughter. I enjoyed sports, led an active life and had no known family history of cancer.

It started with stomach pain. I thought it was a digestive problem, and medication initially helped. But the pain kept returning.

During a family holiday in Iceland, eating became increasingly difficult. Even small meals left me feeling uncomfortably full. Over the following months, my symptoms worsened until I could barely eat without vomiting.

One evening, my wife insisted we go to the emergency department.

Within 24 hours, an oncology team was assessing me. The investigations revealed pancreatic cancer that had already spread to my liver.

It was stage IV.

I was devastated. I knew almost nothing about pancreatic cancer, and what I discovered when I searched online was terrifying.

Suddenly, the future I had imagined for myself and my family felt uncertain.

Holding on through treatment

Before starting chemotherapy, I needed surgery to address the problems preventing me from eating. Two months later, I began FOLFIRINOX, an intensive combination chemotherapy treatment.

The side effects were difficult. I experienced severe fatigue, nausea and neuropathy, which affected my fingers and feet.

After six cycles, the results were discouraging. My scans suggested the treatment wasn’t working as hoped, and another metastasis had appeared.

My doctors discussed changing treatment. But although the scans were worrying, I had noticed something different. My pain was improving, and I felt that perhaps the chemotherapy was beginning to work.

Together, we decided to continue.

Gradually, the results improved. My tumour markers fell, the pancreatic tumour became smaller and the liver metastases reduced in size.

It was a welcome change after so much uncertainty.

For several years, I remained on maintenance chemotherapy. My disease was under control, but living with cancer meant learning to accept that plans could change at any moment.

I had stopped working. I struggled to imagine the future, even when I was feeling physically well.

Still, life continued. My wife and I welcomed our second daughter, bringing new happiness into our family.

Those years taught me to appreciate the present, even when I couldn’t be certain about tomorrow.

An unexpected opportunity

When the cancer returned in late 2021, I restarted chemotherapy. Fortunately, my disease responded again.

Then my doctors presented an option I had never imagined.

During a multidisciplinary discussion, a surgeon suggested that an operation might be possible.

Until then, surgery had never been considered an option because my cancer had spread to my liver. But my circumstances were unusual. The liver metastases had remained stable for years, and my response to chemotherapy had been sustained.

After carefully weighing the risks and potential benefits, the medical team offered me the possibility of surgery.

In the summer of 2022, I underwent a Whipple procedure, a major operation involving the pancreas.

Recovery was far from easy. I lost considerable weight, developed an infection and struggled with exhaustion. Even walking short distances became difficult.

But little by little, I regained my strength.

By January 2023, I had completed chemotherapy. After years of treatments and hospital visits, I could finally begin thinking about what might come next.

Finding meaning in what I had experienced

Cancer had kept me away from work for seven years.

As I recovered, I began considering my professional future. But returning to my previous career no longer felt like the obvious choice. After everything I had experienced, I wanted to do something meaningful.

During a routine appointment, my oncologist mentioned a research study involving people who had survived pancreatic cancer. It was being conducted by CURE51, an organisation investigating why some people survive cancers associated with particularly poor outcomes.

I was immediately interested.

Throughout my treatment, I had met other people living with pancreatic cancer, including people who were no longer with us. I understood how much remained to be learned about the disease.

If sharing my medical data and experience could help researchers understand why some patients respond differently to treatment, I wanted to contribute.

I contacted CURE51, and what began as an interest in participating in research eventually became an opportunity to work with the organisation.

Today, I help bring patients’ perspectives into cancer research, including through a committee that brings together patients, survivors and medical professionals.

It has given me a sense of purpose I never expected to find through my diagnosis.

More than a diagnosis

Today, I am feeling well and continue to have regular oncology check-ups. I stay active, spend time with my family and try to make the most of everyday life.

I know how fortunate I have been. My experience is unusual, and I would never suggest that my outcome is typical for someone diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer.

There were moments when I struggled to imagine a future. Moments when treatment seemed endless, when the news was discouraging, and when I feared that everything I had gained might disappear.

I cannot change those experiences. Nor can I forget the people I met along the way.

But I can use what I have learned.

For years, I relied on doctors and researchers to help me navigate cancer. Today, I have the opportunity to help researchers understand what matters to patients.

Behind every medical record and every research sample is a person with hopes, fears, relationships and a life beyond cancer.

That perspective matters.

Cancer changed the direction of my life in ways I could never have imagined. And while I would never have chosen this journey, I am grateful that my experience can now contribute to something bigger than myself.