If I made it through, so can you: Najee Wright

My name is Najee Wright. I’m 26 years old and a Las Vegas native.

In January 2024, I walked into a quick care with chest pain that had lasted over six hours. I assumed I would be sent home with ibuprofen. Instead, I was admitted to the hospital after doctors discovered a 12cm mass on my heart.

At UMC, doctors believed it was a cyst and performed a draining procedure. That only made it angrier — more pain, more shortness of breath. Months later, I met Dr. Michael Ciccolo, I was told the “cyst” needed to be removed immediately.

On June 21, 2024, I underwent open-heart surgery.

What they thought was a cyst began in my thymus. It had grown so large it attached to my heart. During surgery, my thymus was removed along with the compromised portion of my heart.

Two months into recovery, on August 12, 2024, I received the news that changed everything. The “cyst” was actually an inflamed, pus-leaking tumor. I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.

I was 24 years old. A mother to a beautiful little girl. Just stepping into my dream of cocktailing and bottle service. My entire world shook.

Soon after, I met Dr. Edwin Kingsley. He explained that we had to move quickly — another tumor in my neck was growing aggressively. I was in denial. Even after getting my port placed, it didn’t feel real.

It became real during my first chemotherapy session, when my nurse told me she would manually inject the “Red Devil” into my port.

That moment made everything undeniable.

Fast forward to November 1, 2024. A few months later, I was preparing to celebrate my birthday alone in Salt Lake City at a Sabrina Carpenter concert. I told myself: even if I feel dead, I am not — and that deserves celebration.

Before I left town, I had an appointment with Dr. Kingsley. He walked into the room and asked, “Najee, do you like to dance?”

I said yes.

He said, “Then get up. Let’s dance. You’re in remission.”

And we danced.

I refused to let this diagnosis define me. I continued working double shifts in bikinis and heels, even on the days I wanted to curl into a ball and disappear. I learned something powerful: when you look good, you feel good.

During treatment, I immersed myself in hair, extensions, and makeup. What started as survival became revelation. I realized my purpose.

I am called to do hair.

Not just to style it — but to restore confidence. To remind women, especially young women and Black women, that we are not what we go through. And we do not have to look like what we survive.

After my final chemotherapy session on December 27, 2024, I enrolled in cosmetology school at Aveda. I am preparing to graduate on March 10, 2026, and I have excelled in my program.

For a long time, I kept my story quiet. My classmates have no idea what brought me here. I didn’t want sympathy. I didn’t want to be treated differently.

But I’m done hiding.

I am here to make a difference.
I am here to advocate.
And I am here to make sure other women know: if I made it through, so can you.