It was Christmas Eve in 2018, and as I was on my way home from last-minute Christmas shopping, I received a call from my pulmonologist. While I knew she would call any day now, just as soon as she received my lung biopsy results, I pulled my car over, took a deep breath, and accepted the call. After so many doctor visits and doubts that lung cancer would be the diagnosis—given my age and smoking history—it was official: my lung biopsy indicated that I had lung cancer. I didn’t fully grasp the importance of it at that moment, but my doctor also shared the “good news” that biomarker testing had been conducted, revealing that I have an EGFR mutation. We ended the call with a plan for me to meet with a thoracic surgeon, which she arranged for that same day.
As I parked in a spot where I felt I was meant to be—at the church just down the road from my house—I remember feeling numb, frozen by a whirlwind of emotions. Then I looked over at the church and shifted to prayer. I prayed for strength and peace, especially for my children. I was thankful to have this private moment to receive the news and gather strength for what would become my new life.
Just after Christmas, a few days into the New Year, I underwent surgery, which included a bronchoscopy, mediastinoscopy, right lower lobectomy, and thoracic lymphadenectomy. The biopsy from this surgery indicated that I had Stage IIB adenocarcinoma. After recovering from the surgery, I completed four cycles of adjuvant chemotherapy by May 2019.
Due to chronic pain and several other issues, I had a PET scan on February 3, 2023, which revealed that I had bleeding lesions in my brain, spine, scapula, sacrum, and other lymph nodes. The first course of treatment involved a craniotomy followed by SRS radiation. Following the surgery and radiation in April 2023, I started taking Tagrisso, a targeted therapy for lung cancer with specific mutations. I have had a positive response, with my recent scans showing “stable to slight improvement with no recurrent disease.”
Looking back on what felt like a very hopeless day on Christmas Eve in 2018, I can honestly say that learning I had cancer has come to feel like a gift. While there have been many difficult moments, when things seemed dire, hope has kept me going, and I am filled with gratitude for the gift of life and countless blessings. There’s a phrase I say (and live) daily: “progress over perfection.” These three words strengthen me and remind me to focus on what I can do, not what I can’t. No day is promised, and I wake each day with so much gratitude and hope!
The Lung Cancer Initiative (LCI) and LiveLung have been two organizations offering wonderful support and hope. In addition to their boundless support through survivor engagement, fundraisers, research, and advocacy, LCI connected me with Wind River for the Lung Cancer Retreat, the beginning of what has become the most meaningful friendships and connections.
Sometimes, we just need someone to be there—not to fix anything or do anything in particular, but just to let us know we are supported and cared for. The gift of having this support has helped me learn to live post-diagnosis, during and after treatment, and in between each surveillance scan.
My words of hope that I’d like to share with all survivors and caregivers are to remember to live while you’re busy surviving!