I discovered while pondering my identity as a survivor for this article, that I have felt like a survivor all my life. A survivor who used grit and stoicism to meet all the adversities, abuse, and loss that frequented my life. I learned early in life to set aside my needs and feelings, get busy and move forward. And as an early childhood teacher with a home preschool program for 20 years, I was a doer, and a helper, and a caregiver, through and through. I was a practiced, “do it alone,” grit survivor, and was proud of it.

Then, in summer of 2019, I received a lung cancer diagnosis. I cranked up my “do it alone” grit and stoic survival strategies and quickly learned their limitations in the face of my new challenge; surviving cancer. I will defend many aspects of grit that can be helpful when surviving cancer. Sometimes you must gather your resources and persevere through symptoms, pain, fatigue, and emotions. But over the last 7 years living with a lung cancer diagnosis and two recurrences, I realized I needed to learn and adopt some new strategies if I was going to truly live and have a fuller, more joyful and enlivened life. Pauses, accepting help, and joining other survivors on their journey’s have been some of the deep and healing gifts of this journey. Here is a brief picture of that journey.

Fortunately, I was first diagnosed early. I told my primary care doctor at an annual visit that I was having a wave of heat in my chest that woke me up at 3am. She ordered an EKG and X ray during that visit. The X-ray revealed a “spot” on my lower left lobe. After a round of antibiotics, CT scans, a bronchoscopy, and lobectomy, the “spot” was confirmed to be non-small cell adenocarcinoma.

After my surgery the first time, I remember thinking I could not be the caregiver. I had lots of needs, and I couldn’t busy myself out of the situation. I needed care and I needed to learn how to receive it. My family became my caregivers; they catered to my every need and loved me in my vulnerability. The post-surgical OT gave me a touchstone lesson that has informed my survivor hood from the beginning. She put an oximeter on my finger and asked me to do a household task. As I started moving around doing household tasks, my O2 levels dropped. She suggested that I pause occasionally for just a moment and see what happened. Well, my O2 levels stayed up. I know this isn’t rocket science, but for this busy, go go, lady, this little exercise was a revelatory picture of the deep value of a pause. I took it to heart and began creating more “pauses” in my life.

Six weeks post-surgery, I decided to take a big pause and went to the Martin Clinic in Georgia and had 6 weeks of IV Mistletoe treatment. There, I surrendered to nurturing care, and had time to journal and cry. When I returned home, I resumed running my home preschool and felt like I was on the other side of this “cancer project”. I felt no need to connect with other survivors or integrate “cancer survivor” into my identity. Then in 2020, Covid arrived, and running my school and daily living got more complicated and stressful. I recognized I needed more “pauses” than my business and life were offering me. So, my husband and I sorted through 40 years of family stuff, sold our home and the preschool program, and downsized dramatically. I went to work as an assistant teacher and worked only 16 hours a week. My doing was less, and my pauses were more. I was 2 years with clear scans and felt great. Then, in February 2023, at my 2-and-a-half-year scan, a small “spot’ on the lobectomy surgical line appeared. Six weeks of radiation and 4 rounds of chemo put me back in a vulnerable, needy, uncomfortable place, but my grit survivor instincts and my acceptance of help and care allowed me to work throughout the three months of treatment and finish up the school year. What got me through that time was my family and an enormous outpouring of care from the community of preschool families who rallied around to support me. They buoyed me up with 3 months of delivered meals, precious cards and pictures from children, notes and gifts of encouragement, flowers and visits. It was such a deep and meaningful experience of support that I understood in my independent minded little soul that I could allow others to care for me, and that vulnerability in community can create magic and healing. I also began to realize that living with cancer was part of my identity, and I began thinking about exploring cancer support groups.

And as the universe would have it, I stumbled upon a FB post from our dear friend, Teri Baron, who was celebrating 5 years as a lung cancer survivor. I knew Teri back in the 90’s, but we lost touch and had not connected in over 20 years. I messaged her and within a week I was sitting in her lovely home, Camp LaTeDA, having lunch, sharing stories, laughing and crying. It was Teri’s welcoming warmth and deep understanding of the challenges of living with cancer, coupled with her joy and vitality for living, that opened my eyes and heart to a new way to “be” a survivor. Her connection to LCI and the community of cancer survivors gave her “life” and “joy”. She encouraged me to apply to the LCI Survivor Retreat in September of 2023. This invitation introduced me to another LCI angel, Cheryl LeCroy, who took me through the application process for the retreat. She also had a welcoming warmth, compassion, and playful spirit that drew me toward the LCI survivor community.

But, as the universe would have it, I was diagnosed with a reoccurance and instead of going to the retreat in 2023. I had a cranioplasty to remove a tumor from my skull and started radiation for tumors in my hip bone. Support arrived again through family, church, preschool families, and with Teri and Cheryl checking in on me. Post surgery, I also began taking a magic pink pill called Tagrisso as a targeted therapy. Now, there was no doubt that “cancer survivor” was a part of my identity, and it was time to connect with other survivors.

Luckily, the following fall I was able to attend the 2024 LCI Survivor Retreat. At the retreat, we were immersed in the nurturing, nourishing, and enlivening LCI retreat program, and a magical bond was created with the retreat leaders and the seven retreat participants who now call ourselves The Seven Sisters.

This survivor sisterhood now includes virtually going to each other’s scans, celebrating good results, sharing supportive messages in times of challenge, and holding the loss of other survivors in sacred space together. And as Sharon Faw always says, “Sending infinite love and Gratitude” to all.

After the retreat, I began to attend other LCI events. The virtual luncheons, survivor’s day gatherings, and the Have Hope monthly outings lifted my spirits and introduced me to many amazing survivors. My recent attendance at the LCI program, “Understanding Your Lung Cancer Diagnosis”, truly wowed me and gave me such a sense of profound hope and deep gratitude for the work of LCI and the oncologists and researchers that are passionate about finding cures and innovations in lung cancer treatment, screening, and care.

My survivor journey continues. I am still learning to be less independent with the challenges that come my way and reach out to family and community when I am in need. I am still learning how to create pauses and rest in my day and life, and appreciate the magic, miracles and support that is everywhere. LCI events now dot my calendar and my contact list of LCI friends continues to grow along with my deep appreciation of the wider support that LCI, oncologists and researchers provide each survivor. And I am still learning how to be a cancer survivor. My life is fuller, more joyful, hope filled, and enlivened by the journey. Thank you to everyone for being my companions on this survivor journey.