Choreographer and Director Jacob Jonas Shares an Intimate Look at His Battle With Lymphoma
In November 2022, choreographer and director Jacob Jonas was diagnosed with stage four lymphoma, developed as a side effect of a drug he’d taken to combat Crohn’s disease. Jonas chose to document his treatment process in a series of journal entries and photos, which ultimately became his new book, Cemented Beauty. (“Each time I tried to share what chemotherapy felt like, mentally and physically, all I could think about was concrete,” he writes in the introduction. “But this journey was beautiful.”) Here are selected excerpts and images from the book.
NOVEMBER 29, 2022
Free of thought. Undecided how to feel. Emotions constantly transforming. A predisposed trust but a new learned betrayal. It seems like there is a certainty of how I’ve gotten here. Side effects from my Crohn’s medication. Nine in 10,000. We never want to be robbed or have an accident happen to us, but when really believing in fate, these events can be great shifts in our lives. I’m still trying to comprehend the diagnosis. It still feels so early for what this all means. But I do feel a sense of gratitude to have this opportunity. In a way, you think about being confined to a bed or trapped in a room as an inhibition of freedom, but in a lot of ways this full stop has liberated my mind.
DECEMBER 23, 2022
Anesthesia. Perforation. Emergency colorectal surgery. Waking up not knowing what happened with acceptance. Upstream. Air in the line. You can’t go outside. Privileges. Hydrogen wash cloth. Group therapy. Normalcy. Rarity. Till death do me part. Blindfolded soaks in the sun. Watch out, a bump. The pain was never that deep before. Came to. It’s over. I’m fine. The universe did its part.
FEBRUARY 25, 2023
Artificial lines. Balancing curiosity and normality. Follow the rules. Stay on this floor. Laps up and down the hallway. Oatmeal with raisins and a little brown sugar. A peek into the other rooms. To think I’m a part of. A reminded hard truth that I’m going through this. Feeling blue. One day I’ll look back and read these journal entries. I’ll look at my bald head and bald face. I’ll try to remember what an impact this all made on me. People around me keep telling me I’m on my phone, that I’m not present with them. It’s been hard to find presence at all. The highs and lows are so extreme. The nausea is so significant. Selected framework. I try to rest my eyes. You can hear the beeping pulse in the hallway. The wet tires driving by from the downpour. I can’t tell if I’m pretending to get through or if I’m just getting through. I can feel every drip of this chemo. It’s breaking me down, but stay up my friend.
MARCH 29, 2023
I recently shared on social media my story with this diagnosis. I was so overwhelmed by the response. This whole time it’s been something intimate amongst a small group of people. Now it really feels like the whole world knows. The amount of messages and calls I’ve received is unbelievable. I feel so lucky, so fortunate, to be connected to so many incredible people around the world. Many of whom I know, some who I have crossed paths with once or twice along the many years, and also many strangers. My work has always been the vehicle for building my community of support, but sharing this personal circumstance created a new vibration.
What cancer represents in this story in sharing it is so much bigger than me. Cancer is such a deep issue that so many people are battling with and such a large part of so many people’s lives. What do you say when so many people say they are thinking of you or they love you or they are hoping I make it through? I’ve been saying I love you so much, and your support means the world. It really does. There’s not much more I can say to people but how meaningful a small connection can be. Our life is unbelievable. This opportunity to dive deep into the science of medicine, of biology. The likeliness that any one of us is alive today. It’s all based around randomness. The same is true with cancer. Our genetics, our bloodstream, our cells, our molecules. There are a million things happening within us every second. As I get closer to the finish line, I feel luckier and luckier each day.
MAY 11, 2023
It’s been a few weeks now since I finished chemo. The bell rang. People cheered. I felt a deep accomplishment. A pause for celebration. A drop of salt water down my face, as the last IV sounds. But the journey continues—emotionally and spiritually.
If everyone only knew what a gift it is to be alive.
Copyright © 2025 Jacob Jonas. Co-published by Jacob Jonas The Company, SpineSun LLC and Atelier Éditions.
Excerpted by permission.
