Diagnosed with stage 4 non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma while playing for the Chicago White Sox, Liam Hendriks now raises awareness about blood cancers and disorders, encouraging open discussions and active lifestyles.
Tell me about your initial diagnosis experience and how it shaped the beginning of your journey with blood cancer.
It was very difficult to define and find. I had what’s technically a non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma — there are 82 different variations. I noticed lumps on the back of my neck while playing with the White Sox. I got a blood test in May, which came back clear, so I chalked it up to stress. But the lumps never went away. By November, they recommended more testing. I saw an ENT who did a needle biopsy, and it came back inconclusive. Eventually, I had a lymph node removed, and it came back as cancerous.
At first, they thought it was maybe stage two. Then a CT scan showed a cluster in my neck. A PET scan revealed it was actually stage 4. That wasn’t a fun experience, but I had mentally prepared myself. The weird thing was that the painless, immovable lumps were more suspicious than the painful ones.
My oncologist had gone through leukemia herself, which was comforting. She told me, “It’s stage 4, but I’m not worried.” That was huge. People hear “stage 4” and assume the worst, but mine was non-aggressive and very treatable. We started a treatment plan right away.
What was the most challenging part of your diagnosis and treatment, both physically and emotionally?
My treatment was a mix of immunotherapy and chemotherapy. Oddly, the immunotherapy hit me harder. My first session lasted eight and a half hours. I got sick during it, so they had to do the full length again the next time. The exhaustion was brutal. Then you start questioning, “If I don’t feel that bad, is it working?”
The neck lumps shrank, but the ones in my hip were actually worse on the scans. You just never know how it’s going. Emotionally, it’s tough because you Google everything. My type of cancer is usually diagnosed in people over 65, and the fatality rate is higher due to age. That scared me.
I found comfort in researching athletes and public figures who had been through it: Mario Lemieux, Michael C. Hall, Jane Fonda. It helped to see people bounce back and return to what they love.
The White Sox were amazing. I was treated at Mayo Clinic in Phoenix, and they adjusted everything during Spring Training so I could still work out, rehab, and maintain a routine. That was important for my mental state.
The Red Sox have also been fantastic. They set up meet-and-greets with patients through Dana-Farber and the Jimmy Fund. Talking to others has helped my mental health. Removing the stigma from words like “cancer” or “chemo” is powerful. Just talking about it lightens the load.
How did your overall experience with cancer shape your outlook on life and your career in baseball?
I don’t sweat the small stuff anymore. I’m 36 now, diagnosed at 33, and spent my 34th birthday in treatment. It changed me, but the hardest part was watching my wife go through it. She felt powerless. Seeing me in pain and not being able to help was brutal for her.
She dove into therapy and never let me see her break down. That helped me focus on healing without worrying about how it was affecting her. I could just focus on getting better.
What message do you hope to share with others facing blood cancer, especially young patients or fans who look up to you?
Talk about it. Especially young adults — age 18 to 40 — often don’t know how to open up, and neither do their friends, so it just bottles up. But the more you talk about it, the lighter it becomes.
When I was diagnosed, I thought there was just one kind of cancer and one kind of chemo. I thought everyone lost their hair and lost weight. I didn’t. I gained weight due to steroids. My biggest side effect was nausea, and eating helped with that.
Life expectancy has increased by 30% over the last 30 years. Treatments are improving. I was lucky to be treated at Mayo Clinic, a cancer center. If you’re in a smaller town, still know that doctors collaborate. There are ways to get what you need.
This isn’t a death sentence anymore. That mindset helped me, and I wish more people knew that.
Do you have any final thoughts you’d like to share?
I got a message from another player who’d had testicular cancer. He told me, “Don’t let anyone tell you what you can and can’t do.” That stuck with me. Everyone’s limits are different. If you can work out and recover well, do it. The more active you are, physically and mentally, the better your outcome can be.
It’s easy to say, “I have cancer, so I’m just going to lie on the couch.” But get up. Walk the dog. Move around. Push yourself a bit — just enough to feel like you.
I also found new hobbies. I couldn’t read or focus, so I built a lot of Lego sets. It gave me something to control, something to keep my hands and mind busy. Find your version of that.
