On a recent Wednesday evening, Kyle Garcia and his wife, Caroline, took the long way home. They’d just finished a dinner date in their hometown of Atlanta, and the top was down on their Jeep Wrangler. They felt the breeze, watched the sunset and sang along with the music (Dave Matthews Band pumped from the speakers, courtesy of Kyle’s high school-era CD collection.) It was a perfect evening—despite the brain cancer. Or, perhaps, because of it.
“I enjoy the joy in my life more than ever before,” says 39-year-old Kyle, who fights glioblastoma with Tumor Treating Fields (TTFields) Therapy. “These little moments with family and friends have become infinitely more important.”
The trouble began in August of 2022, after Kyle returned from a birthday celebration with some buddies. Despite the fact that he’s not a big drinker, Caroline assumed her husband, a lifelong athlete and the picture of health, had indulged in too many martinis. He began mixing up words and numbers, labeling the thermostat reading as “35” instead of “72.”
When Kyle woke up with a terrible headache the following day, the couple headed for the emergency room at Piedmont Atlanta, where an MRI revealed a six-centimeter mass on Kyle’s brain. In spite of the words coming his way—tumor, cancer, malignant—Kyle didn’t process the gravity of the news.
“Honest to God, I think I was lifted off the planet,” Kyle said. “Maybe I didn’t fully understand what was going on because of the meds, but I also think I was being protected by a higher power: the Holy Spirit. I didn’t panic, I didn’t freak out—I answered work emails—and I’m still a little shocked by that.”
Surgery revealed a Grade 2 astrocytoma. Doctors were able to fully resect it, and they urged the Garcias to take a wait-and-see approach: no chemo, no radiation, just follow-up scans every three months. When one of these scans revealed new growth, Kyle went under the knife for a second time. Exactly one year after his initial surgery, a craniotomy revealed another tumor, now a Grade 4.
This time, Kyle was under no illusions about his prognosis. He began chemo and radiation. He investigated clinical trials, none of which panned out. He decided to do everything in his power to live as long as possible for his wife and their two children, four-year-old Max and two-year-old Oliver.
“If it looks weird, fine. If it hurts, fine,” he said. “I will literally do anything to improve the challenge going on with me, because I love my life and I don’t want to go anywhere else. If it helps 1%, 10% or 100%, I’m down for all of it.”
Kyle’s therapy regime has included TTFields therapy, with a device that sends electric fields into Kyle’s tumor to disrupt cancer cell division. It is recommended that the device be worn 18 hours a day, which requires some shift in lifestyle. Mild to moderate skin irritation is the most common device related adverse event with TTFields.
“We are grateful for today, and we focus on what matters most: faith, family and friends. After all, you can’t stop the waves. But you can learn to surf them.”—Kyle Garcia
Now that he is using TTFields therapy, driving, sleeping, traveling for Kyle’s work in business development now requires some extra thought. But, the Garcias will tell you, it’s worth it.
“So much of cancer is out of your control—it’s like a meteorite that hits your family and upends your life in a second,” Caroline says. “But this feels like taking back some of that control. Every time I see Kyle using TTFields therapy, I’m reminded that he’s fighting this cancer head-on.”
Fighting with a tremendous support system.
Every day for six weeks, Kyle walked a one-mile distance to the hospital for radiation treatments with a friend or family member by his side.
“I thank the Lord for the foundation I’ve got behind me,” Kyle said. “And I wish everyone could feel as loved and supported as I do.”
At home, little moments—games of soccer on the lawn, trips in a golf cart to the ice cream store, date nights in a top-down Jeep—have become sacred.
The Garcia boys frequently wear their own “magic hats”—beanie caps complete with velcro sticky pads—to support their father. And one day, as his dad dropped him off at school, Max announced to his entire pre-K class: “Look! My dad has a really special helmet, so he’s pretty much a superhero!”
“I had tears that morning,” Kyle said. “All these kids ran over to give me a high-five. I thought: My kid is protecting me.”
Of course, Caroline knows the truth.
While the future is still uncertain, and the fight ahead of them is long, she nods in agreement: “That’s right, Max. Your dad is a superhero.”
patient experience
