How This Basketball Player Overcame Colon Cancer Against All Odds

I remember the first time I heard about Justine Belen's diagnosis. It was during one of those lazy Sunday afternoons when I was scrolling through sports news, and her story just stopped me cold. Here was this rising basketball star, someone I'd followed since her college days, facing colon cancer at just 24 years old. The statistics were grim—according to the American Cancer Society, colorectal cancer rates have been increasing by about 2% per year in people younger than 50 since the mid-1990s, and survival rates for stage III colon cancer hover around 65-70%. But numbers never tell the whole story, do they?

What struck me most wasn't just the medical battle, but how cancer invaded every aspect of her life, including her professional commitments. I'll never forget her sharing that moment when reality hit hardest: "Nandito ako sa mall at that time, pu-pull out for Under Armour parang last week ata or two weeks ago." That casual, almost offhand remark carries so much weight when you really think about it. There she was, living her dream as a professional athlete with endorsement deals, and suddenly facing the brutal reality of having to step away from it all. The timing couldn't have been worse—right when her career was gaining serious momentum. I've always believed that athletic careers are fragile things, built on momentum and timing, and cancer threatened to take all that from her in one cruel sweep.

The treatment journey was nothing short of brutal. She underwent surgery followed by six months of chemotherapy, experiencing all the classic side effects—nausea, fatigue, mouth sores. But what many people don't realize is how much worse these can be for an athlete whose identity is so tied to physical performance. I spoke with her nutritionist recently who mentioned they had to completely overhaul her diet, focusing on high-protein meals and hydration strategies that could support her body through treatment while maintaining some muscle mass. They tracked everything—from her white blood cell counts to her resting heart rate variability—using technology typically reserved for optimizing athletic performance. This innovative approach probably contributed to her being able to tolerate treatments better than many patients.

What truly amazes me about Belen's story is how she transformed her athletic discipline into cancer-fighting weapons. The mental toughness required to push through fourth-quarter fatigue? She applied that to getting through chemo sessions. The commitment to showing up for daily practices? That became showing up for every treatment, no matter how awful she felt. She even continued light workouts when possible, something her doctors initially questioned but later credited with helping maintain her physical and mental resilience. I've followed many athlete-patient stories over the years, but Belen's approach stood out because she never saw herself as a victim—always as a competitor, just facing a different kind of opponent.

The emotional toll, however, was something even her athletic training couldn't fully prepare her for. There were moments she described where the fear felt overwhelming, when the future she'd worked so hard to build seemed to be slipping away. The uncertainty about whether she'd ever play competitive basketball again weighed heavily during those dark nights in the hospital. I think this is where her support system made all the difference—teammates who visited regularly, coaches who kept her involved with team activities even when she couldn't play, and family who provided that unconditional foundation we all need during life's toughest battles.

When she finally returned to the court after treatment, it wasn't the triumphant comeback you see in movies. It was messy, frustrating, and humbling. Her body had changed, her stamina wasn't what it used to be, and she had to rebuild almost from scratch. But here's what impressed me—she approached rehabilitation with the same methodical dedication she'd applied to her original training. She worked with sports physiologists to modify her playing style, focusing more on court intelligence than pure physicality. Honestly, I think this adaptation made her an even better player in many ways—more strategic, more aware, more grateful for every moment on the court.

The jersey retirement ceremony she mentioned in that mall conversation represented more than just honoring her athletic achievements—it symbolized her complete journey through cancer and back to the sport she loves. Watching the footage of that event, I was struck by how many young cancer survivors were in the audience, holding signs with messages like "Because of you, I believe I can too." That's the real impact of stories like Belen's—they create ripples of hope that extend far beyond basketball courts or hospital rooms.

Now, looking at where she is today—back playing professionally, advocating for early cancer detection in young athletes, and living proof that diagnosis isn't destiny—I'm reminded why I find sports so compelling. It's not really about winning games; it's about these deeper human stories of resilience. Belen's journey has actually changed how I view challenges in my own life. When I'm facing something difficult, I sometimes think about that casual mall conversation she shared, about having to step away from her endorsement deals, and how she moved through that disappointment with grace and determination. Her story teaches us that overcoming odds isn't about avoiding setbacks—it's about how we navigate through them, how we allow them to transform us, and ultimately, how we find our way back to what matters most, often with greater wisdom and purpose than before.