Still Breathing, Still Fighting:
The Unbreakable
Story of Scott Baker
From an exclusive interview by: Lennard M. Goetze, Ed.D
In August 1999, chronic abdominal pain sent Scott to the doctor. By September, he had a diagnosis: Stage III non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma causing a small bowel blockage. Surgery. Chemotherapy. Radiation. Remission. Six years later, it returned.
A tumor sat on his kidney. More chemotherapy. His first autologous stem cell transplant in 2007. Then, in January 2012, came the most devastating diagnosis yet: primary central nervous system lymphoma. A tumor had formed in his right temporal lobe.
“I kind of made a mistake,” Scott reflects. “I should have went to Sloan Kettering right out of the gate.”
At the time, he and his wife were raising five- and seven-year-old boys. He chose to stay local for treatment. The consequences were nearly fatal. “It required an expert because in 2012 CNS lymphoma was still incredibly rare,” he explains.
He achieved remission again. Then came his second transplant. He was discharged January 14, 2013. By that fall, he returned to work. Six months ago, he retired — on his own terms. Today, nearly 27 years after his first diagnosis, Scott remains in remission.
The Two Days That Almost Broke Him
For a man who endured surgeries, radiation, transplants, and relentless chemotherapy, it wasn’t the physical pain that marked his lowest point. It was hopelessness. “I had about two days of my life where I had no hope. And that was the lowest point of all the cancer diagnosis and the chemos and radiations and surgeries.”
He remembers reading prognosis data about primary CNS lymphoma. Every article predicted 12 to 18 months. “That was a horrible feeling.” But Scott did not stay there. “If you’re breathing, there is hope.” That sentence has become the backbone of his advocacy.
The Mayor of M7
Scott could not wear a white coat. He could not prescribe medicine. But he discovered something equally powerful. Community. During his extended hospitalization, nurses began calling him “the mayor” of the neuro-oncology floor. “I was out in the hallway cheering people on,” he says. “I wanted to see them do well and they wanted to see me do well.”
Some patients spoke different languages. It didn’t matter. “We could root for each other without even speaking the same language.” That experience reshaped him.
“When I was a young man, I was selfish,” he admits candidly. “I just feel a thousand times better since I got outta the hospital because the people that cared for me inspired me.” Helping others, he says, makes it easier to sleep at night.
From Survivor to Advocate
Scott’s advocacy began almost immediately after discharge. “The first thing I did right out of the hospital after I went to PT is I joined the Livestrong at the YMCA program in the spring of 2013.”
Livestrong is structured as a physical recovery initiative, but for Scott, it became something deeper. “There’s nothing better than being with other people going through the same thing.” He also serves on the board of a nonprofit called Wicklund Warriors, named after founder Deanna Wicklund, who also underwent a bone marrow transplant. The organization provides financial assistance to blood cancer patients who lose income during treatment.
“You know how quickly people can go broke just from the logistics of blood cancer,” he says. But he is clear: the money is not always the most powerful medicine.
“Having a living, breathing survivor in front of them seems to help people more than the cash.”
The Power of Showing Up
Scott frequently participates in stem cell donor registry drives, working with organizations such as DKMS and Blood Cancer United. He prefers to call them “stem cell drives” instead of “bone marrow drives.” “Bone marrow is off-putting to a community that you're trying to get to donate. It sounds horrible. Stem cell sounds a little more agreeable.” His motivation is simple.
“Every time somebody puts their registration and their swabs in that envelope, somebody else has a chance at life. And man, does that feel great.” He especially enjoys speaking to college students.
“I love young, healthy people. I like it when I see somebody’s eyes light up when they’re like, ‘Wait, you went through this and you did how many chemos?’” His response is consistent:
“There’s nothing special about me. You can do it too. And it’s worth it.”
Life Is Worth the Fight
When asked directly to speak to someone who feels hopeless, Scott does not hesitate. “If you’re breathing, there is hope.” He acknowledges the darkness. He felt it himself.
“But it’s not necessary. There is so much hope.” He believes research is advancing daily.
“There’s people in these labs… they’re all part of my army. They kept me here for nearly 27 years since my first diagnosis.” His reasons for living evolved over time. Early on, it was pure love of life.
“I’ve always loved life. Life is worth living.” Later, it was his sons. His father, whom he lost to cancer in 2001, became another anchor. “I wanted to be that for my boys.”
Today, service fuels him. “Helping people has made my life magnitudes better.”
Beyond Medicine
Scott does not minimize the power of medical science. Transplants saved his life. Expert care saved his life. But he has learned something medicine alone cannot prescribe. Presence. “I can’t wear a long white coat or scrubs, but maybe there’s another way I can be helpful.” There is.
The man who once faced a dismal prognosis now sits across from newly diagnosed patients in infusion centers, hospital rooms, or even Starbucks. He tells them what they need to hear: “I made it. You can make it.” He is proof — not theory.
The Living Message
Scott Baker’s story is not one of denial. He knows cancer’s brutality. He has lived inside its machinery. Yet his message is steady, unwavering. “If you’re breathing, there is hope.” In hospital corridors, at fundraising events, in college auditoriums, and in quiet one-on-one conversations, he continues to carry that message.
A man who once blacked out for three months now stands firmly as a light for others. He does not call himself extraordinary. “There’s nothing special about me.” But to the hundreds of patients who have sat across from him and seen a living example of survival, he is something rare: A reminder that life is worth fighting for.
PART 2
The Courage to
Stand and Speak
By: Dr. Robert L. Bard
I have met countless patients, survivors, clinicians, and advocates over the
years. I have seen bravery in hospital rooms and despair in waiting rooms. But
what struck me about Scott was not just that he survived cancer — it was how he
chose to live afterward.
Scott has faced lymphoma multiple times,
including a brain tumor that nearly took his life. He endured surgeries,
chemotherapy, radiation, two stem cell transplants, and the psychological
weight of a prognosis that once read “dismal.” Yet when he speaks, there is no
bitterness. There is resolve. There is clarity. There is purpose.
That is will. That is courage. That is resilience. But perhaps most importantly — that is advocacy.
We often think of advocacy as lobbying,
fundraising, or leading organizations. And yes, Scott does those things. He
mentors through Livestrong. He volunteers with Wickler Warriors. He organizes
stem cell registry drives. But in my view, his most powerful act of advocacy is
something far simpler and far more profound:
He tells his story.
When Scott sits across from a newly diagnosed
patient and says, “I made it. You can make it,” he is performing a humanitarian
act. He is interrupting fear. He is challenging despair. He is offering living,
breathing evidence that a diagnosis is not a verdict.
Sharing one’s story after surviving something
deadly is not self-promotion. It is service. There are people who, upon hearing
the word cancer, feel their world collapse in a single instant. Some quietly
give up. Some lose hope before treatment even begins. Scott’s voice pushes back
against that darkness.
“If you’re breathing, there is hope,” he says.
Those words matter. To be an advocate is to stand in the gap between fear and
possibility. It is to use your scars as bridges for others to cross. Scott
Baker does exactly that — and in doing so, he saves more lives than he may ever
know.
