Charles DeBoer’s testimony is more than 20 years in the making
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A voice for the voiceless. Charles DeBoer’s physical and mental health journey is a story of trials, tribulations but ultimately triumph.
Neglected: that’s how Charles DeBoer would describe his health leading up to his life-changing Parkland Memorial Hospital visits.
The 62-year-old’s plate was full.
Between bouts with depression, navigating homelessness and unrelenting medical issues that included high blood pressure, diabetes and squamous cell skin cancer—life overwhelmed the former schoolteacher.
Without a place to call home and support from loved ones, waking up every morning became its own burden.
“I wasn’t going to try anymore,” he said—deciding that in an attempt to end his life, he would walk an extended distance and allow himself to succumb to exhaustion.
Fortunately, that moment never defined his story. Instead, fate led him to Parkland—the beacon of hope that set him on a path toward healing and renewed purpose.
“Parkland gave me that motivation and is the one place that I can go and not feel the weight of the world.”
Taking matters into his own hands
Everything changed on August 12, 2024—the day that DeBoer made his way to Parkland seeking medical attention. Treatment that eluded him for years.
“I didn’t have any hard knowledge [regarding his health], but I knew I wasn’t healthy,” he said. He was, however, aware of his high blood pressure and diabetes—yet he wasn’t taking his prescribed medication for either.
For years, he found reasons to ignore both.
Whether he suffered in silence as a result or grew to accept the repercussions, there was an asymptomatic element to his chronic conditions that allowed him to disregard them.
But ignoring what you can’t see is easier than confronting what stares back at you in the mirror.
That moment came in May 2024, when a squamous cell skin cancer bump appeared near the top of DeBoer’s head.
Also known as squamous cell carcinoma, it is a type of skin cancer that starts in the squamous cells—the flat cells that make up most of the top layer of your skin. It usually shows up as a rough, scaly patch, a sore that doesn’t heal or a firm bump.
He initially mistook the cancerous bump for a pimple or an ingrown hair but was unmotivated to do anything about it. “I didn’t care to find out because as far as I was concerned—my life was done. I was ready to be finished. So, I just kept putting on hats and doing my daily things,” he said.
The cyst eventually grew past the ability to be hidden, prompting DeBoer to take matters into his own hands.
By attempting to cut into the cyst with a sterilized knife, he not only made a mess but endangered himself in the process. With eviction looming in the near future, DeBoer knew something had to be done about the exposed cyst on his head.
“I won’t go into detail, but it was horrendous, and I couldn’t walk around like that,” he said. “That’s when I finally said I have to go to Parkland.”
Treatment that changed his life
The emergency room visit wasn’t just a spur-of-the-moment idea, born in an attempt to treat his cyst. It was the first time (in a long time) that DeBoer cared enough to reach out for help.
And that olive branch resulted in medical care that extended his life. Even if he struggled at the time to see the value in extending it for his own sake.
“It [the cyst] was probably the biggest I’ve seen, but what’s amazing about squamous cell skin cancer is it responds really well to immunotherapy, no matter the stage,” said Kana Tai Lucero, MD, Hematology and Oncology Fellow at Parkland.
In addition to taking a year’s worth of immunotherapy, he also underwent four surgical procedures—two Mohs surgeries, a microscopic technique used to treat skin cancers, as well as two plastic surgeries.
And Parkland Financial Assistance (PFA) helped it all happen—playing an integral part in ensuring DeBoer received the support needed to cover his medical expenses.
“People made things happen,” DeBoer recalled. “But I’m really grateful because I was totally despondent.”
It wasn’t just the treatment—there were relationships he built with Parkland employees that gave him connection. Bonds unlike anything else currently in his life. For example, a social worker helped facilitate his approval into Austin Street Center, a homeless shelter that gave him a roof over his head after he was evicted.
His most special connection of all was with Dr. Lucero, someone who extended herself beyond her job as his primary medical oncologist.
“I just think she was the greatest caregiver ever,” he happily declared.
“He was very open with me during that first visit, which I appreciate because it can be hard being so vulnerable to a complete stranger,” Dr. Lucero said. That level of vulnerability set the precedent for a friendship that shaped DeBoer’s entire stay at Parkland, as well as his subsequent check-ups.
“I look forward to coming to Parkland,” he said. “I love everyone here.”
Permanently turning a frown upside down
DeBoer not only beat cancer, lowered his A1C with the help of his insulin infusion and a diet change, but overcame his depression. A 20 year-battle that stole his zeal for life.
This is where he credits Dr. Lucero and other healthcare providers for inspiring him to fight. And more importantly, to live.
“I remember Dr. Lucero saying to me, ‘Will you at least give this a try and find a reason to keep pushing?’’ DeBoer reminisced.
“And I felt like I owed it to them—to at least try.”
But there was never a guardian angel. The man in the mirror was solely responsible for his own transformation, at least according to Dr. Lucero.
“He honestly saved his own life with him being so open and compassionate,” she said. “Not just toward the medicine team, but to himself.”
Regardless of where the credit lies, one truth remains: his perspective is dramatically different from what it used to be.
This is a man who once struggled daily to find reasons to live—now, he’s managing his health, transitioned out of Austin Street Center as he prepares to move into his new apartment and determined to leave the past behind.
DeBoer’s greatest victory isn’t just better health, it’s rediscovering joy in living—something that was made possible by an impromptu August ER visit.
“I have a positive outlook again,” he said. “Living isn’t a drudgery anymore and that’s because of Parkland.”
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