A BEAUTIFUL STRUGGLE

A BEAUTIFUL STRUGGLE
'Living with Loss & Seeing Battles as Blessings'
Exclusive Interview with Sina Sinbari
Featured in 'Innerviews'
Hosted by Allié McGuire

​Sina Sinbari’s story is not defined by what cancer took from him but by what it gave him: perspective, purpose, and an unshakable faith in resilience. In the midst of hospital stays, loss, and relentless treatments, he discovered that battles can hold unexpected blessings. Today, he shares how struggle became the canvas for strength and hope.

ALLIÉ: Nobody forgets the day they hear the words, "You have cancer." Sina, to start us out, tell us about your life before the diagnosis and what happened leading up to that day.

SINA: Sure. I’m from Laguna Niguel, Southern California, and I basically had a normal lifestyle. I was in high school and hoping to play volleyball at the highest level in college. Before, I was more of a student-athlete. After high school, I went to community college, played there for a year, and then transferred to the University of Charleston in West Virginia. When I was home for the summer, I was training a lot. I had a bit of a chip on my shoulder because I was transferring to a new school and wanted to do great things—to finally have my opportunity to play, make my family proud, and make myself proud. I was really excited for that next chapter.

​ALLIÉ: And then something happened—something didn’t go according to plan. Take us through what happened. How did you end up getting this diagnosis?

SINA: That’s a great question. I started having a lot of back pain once I came home for the summer. I was in the transfer portal, had committed to Fairleigh Dickinson University, and was super excited. I came home ready to train, but my back kept hurting—really bad pain that wouldn’t go away. I was still lifting, playing, going to the beach—but it just kept getting worse. I tried everything: rehab exercises, physical therapy, ibuprofen—nothing worked. It got to the point where I’d take four or five ibuprofen just to sleep at night. That’s when my family and I knew something wasn’t right. A physical therapist finally said, “You should probably get this checked out.” They thought it might be a cyst or hernia. But when I went to the emergency room, everything changed.

ALLIÉ: And that’s where the diagnosis came in. What was the exact diagnosis?

SINA: At first, they had no idea what kind of cancer it was. I went to the ER by myself, thinking it was just my back. When the doctor saw me, he immediately knew it wasn’t a hernia or cyst—it was something much more serious. He told me, “I’m sorry, but it’s cancer. We just don’t know what type.” They kept me in the local hospital for a few days for biopsies, but they couldn’t determine the exact type. They thought it might be lymphoma, but it wasn’t. Once UCLA doctors reviewed my scans and labs, they identified it right away—a very rare form of sarcoma called desmoplastic small round cell tumors. Only about 36 people a year get this diagnosis. I couldn’t even pronounce it at first. I’d never been hospitalized before—not even for a broken bone. So to hear that I had a rare, aggressive cancer was surreal. It took about two weeks from hearing “you have cancer” to knowing exactly what kind it was.

​ALLIÉ: That’s wild. And the fact that you went to the hospital by yourself, just to get your back checked out, and all of a sudden you hear the C-word—alone.

SINA: Yeah.

ALLIÉ: I noticed something when you said “they looked at our scans.” I love that—that sense of community and care. Speaking of that, you and your grandmother shared something deeply emotional—being in the same hospital at the same time. Your mom had her son on one floor and her mother on another. What was that like for all of you?

SINA: It was definitely an interesting and emotional time. I was very close with my grandma—she was always there for us, like most grandmas are. She had gotten sick around the same time my back pain started, and she was actually admitted to the hospital just a few days before I went to the ER. She was on the first floor, and when I was admitted, I was on the third. My mom would visit her on one floor and then come see me on another.

When I was discharged, I went down to visit her, and she said, “I miss you, where have you been?” I didn’t want her to know about my diagnosis—she was already sick, and I didn’t want her worrying about me too. So I told her I’d just been busy with volleyball. After a few days, she went home, and so did I. But she entered hospice shortly after. I was upstairs in my room recovering, and she was downstairs in hospice care. It was a strange and heavy time—balancing my diagnosis with her decline. She passed away shortly after I started my first round of chemotherapy—in fact, I began chemo the same day as her funeral.

That was hard. I wanted to go to the funeral, but mentors and friends told me what she would’ve wanted—for me to start treatment immediately. So that’s what I did. I had long hair back then, and before treatment, I told my dad to buzz it off—a mental preparation for the battle ahead. I live-streamed her funeral from the hospital that day. I was 21.

ALLIÉ: That’s a lot to carry—your first chemo treatment and your grandmother’s funeral. You told me once you spent 185 days in the hospital that year. I imagine that gave you a lot of time—and a lot of perspective. Tell me about one of those moments—the nine-year-old boy you’ll never forget.

SINA: Yeah, that was Zaya—they called him Z. I was on the pediatric floor at UCLA, even though I was older, because my oncologist led the pediatric department. Z was nine and struggling—he didn’t want to take his meds, didn’t want treatment. One day, the nurses asked if I’d talk to him. I said absolutely.

He loved Stranger Things, which was a little scary for me, but I told him, “If we walk a few laps around the floor, I’ll watch an episode with you.” That got him moving. The nurses were so happy—he started cooperating, taking his medicine, and opening up. We became friends. Even after I finished treatment, I’d visit him, sometimes bringing friends who’d play music or make him laugh. He loved football, so I asked some of my old teammates to send him videos. Sadly, by the time I brought them, he was in the ICU and unconscious. His mom told me he never got to see them, but she was so grateful.

Going to his funeral—the first of a friend—was tough. But Z changed me. He reminded me that even in hard times, we can be light for someone else. I still think of him when I want to quit—he motivates me to keep pushing.

ALLIÉ: You once said you feel blessed to have your battles—that even the struggle is a kind of gift. Let’s talk about your comeback. You didn’t just survive—you returned to play college volleyball. That’s incredible. But it couldn’t have been easy—especially traveling across the country for treatments while training and competing. How did you handle that physically and mentally?

SINA: Honestly, it was brutal. Having that goal—to make a comeback—kept me going. I treated it like a war. I kept reminding myself there had to be light at the end of the tunnel. When doctors told me I probably wouldn’t make it back to that level, I thought, We’ll see.

When I finally got cleared to train again, I was pumped. But then I learned I’d still need monthly chemo. That meant flying from New Jersey back to California once a month—a six-hour flight each way—to get chemo at UCLA, then flying right back to practice with my team. I’d get treatment for five or six hours, go home to rest, then fly back the next day, and be at 7 a.m. practice the following morning.

Physically, it was rough. My body ached. I was constantly nauseous. My legs felt like jello. I couldn’t jump or move like before. Two weeks out of every month, I’d be sick, trying to rebuild strength—just to get knocked down again. It was a vicious cycle. Mentally, it was exhausting. You look in the mirror and see how far you’ve fallen. You want to quit. But I reminded myself that I was lucky to even have the chance to play again—lucky to be alive.

Every round of chemo felt like two steps back, one step forward. I’d start to feel strong again, only to get hit by another treatment. That happened ten times. Ten rounds of chemo while playing college volleyball.

ALLIÉ: That’s unbelievable. You were 21 when diagnosed, and now you’re 24—still fighting, still moving forward. For others still in the fight, what advice would you give?

SINA: For me, it comes down to goals and faith. Have a goal big enough to carry you through the pain. My goal was to play again—but it could be anything. Just something worth fighting for. And faith—that’s number one. My faith in God got me through everything. I put my stress and fear in His hands and trusted the process.

And don’t play the victim. You can have moments of frustration—I’ve had plenty—but don’t stay there. If you walk into treatment feeling defeated, it’s going to hit harder. You have to face it head-on. Yes, it’s hard. But you’re still here. You’re still fighting. Gratitude changes everything.

ALLIÉ: I love that. You can’t control whether or not you’ll have cancer—but you can control how you respond to it. You can be the victim for a moment, but then become the victor.

SINA: Exactly. I’ve had days where I’d break down—cry, pray, ask God for strength. But then I’d reset. If chemo was on Monday, by Sunday I’d lock in. I’d remind myself I was going to war… that I could do this. The rounds when I went in with that mindset were always better. It’s all about attitude. ∎

Learn more about AwareNow Ambassador Sina Sinbari:
www.awarenowmedia.com/sina-sinbari
Find & follow Sina on Instagram:
​@sinaandsina