We are all here because Cancer sucks!

Preparing my remarks for today was only the third, and last time I will allow myself to express that feeling. The first time was when I tried to say the word after they finally figured out that I had lung cancer. I got a catch in my throat, and it came out so tentative, high pitched and weak — “cancer.” I decided right then and there not to allow Cancer to have that kind of power over me. From then on, every time I used the word, I injected humor, because I firmly believe laughter is the best medicine. Of course, my Duke Oncology team may take issue with that, since they are working tirelessly to provide me with the best available medicines and treatments and not just relying on jokes. One friend told me she had never seen anyone have so much fun with a cancer diagnosis!

It did take way too long to diagnose me in my small town of Wilmington, NC, but a triage nurse at the ED, when I went in for an embarrassing fall off an ottoman, was the first one who said we needed to get a chest X-ray and see what else was going on. Once the word “Cancer” was used, I headed straight to Memorial Sloan Kettering, top of my mind for me since I had lived in NYC for 20 years. Boy, was that an experience! I felt like I had boarded the Starship Enterprise! It was run like a starship too. No waiting three weeks for a scan — my surgeon just sent me downstairs. No waiting six weeks for an MRI — my pulmonologist just sent me upstairs. He also gave me great recommendations for Broadway shows, and we saw them all!

I did have a robust group of Klingons with me, who, by the way, were like a bunch of middle schoolers wanting to be the closest one to the popular girl when only two visitors were allowed at a time — but that’s another story, and I love them all dearly.

The surgery was successful with all clear margins and no lymph node involvement or metastasis, but the tumor was much larger than expected, so a round of “mop up” chemo was prescribed. My MSK team connected me with Dr. Jeffrey Clarke at Duke, much closer to home for treatment. We decided I was healthy enough to join a clinical trial that added immunotherapy at the same time as chemo rather than afterward. That’s the only time I’ve ever been sick, but it was only three months, and there are great drugs to help with side effects. Dr. Clarke and his Duke team were amazing, so it wasn’t too bad.

The second time I felt that cancer sucks feeling was after my surgery and chemo, when I went back to MSK for a six-month follow-up with my surgeon. I was ready for the “all clear,” and so were my Duke and MSK teams. I took my son with me, and we had a wonderful week visiting friends and boppin’ around NYC. At the appointment, my surgeon — a “Sheldon Cooper” type — came in and put his hand on my arm. I knew by his touch that I hadn’t been cured, and thought, for that second time, Cancer sucks.

Maybe because my son was with me and I didn’t want to scare him, maybe because I’m hardheaded and stubborn, but mostly because I didn’t want Cancer to take over my life, I chose to accept the only gift that comes with a cancer diagnosis: the stark focus that assures you of how precious life is and what is truly important.

Positivity and humor were my go-to’s. I became irreverent about Cancer and have remained so for three years. So, when I was asked to share my cancer journey with you today, it brought me to a place I didn’t want to be — the third “Cancer sucks” feeling. Trying to write my cancer journey made me realize just how hard I have worked to keep the negative aspects of the disease out of my life, and I’ve taken people and providers off my team who were not on the same positive wavelength.

At Duke radiology, when the tech came out to get me, he said, “Are you ready to get lit up?” I replied, “Beam me up, Scottie!” Much to my dismay, he did not get the reference. I stopped dead in my tracks and told him I wasn’t comfortable with him using medical devices whose origin he didn’t know! I did go through with the procedure, with a promise from him to rectify that gap in his knowledge. At my next round, he had been true to his word!

Of course, I know this may be the thing I die from, but I don’t accept the premise of sharing my “cancer journey” with you today. I don’t have a cancer journey — I have a life journey, and in part because of cancer, it is a glorious journey. I say yes to everything; there is not one moment in my life that I take for granted. I hold my loved ones close, I find joy in even the smallest things around me every day. I smell the roses and feel compassion and kindness for everyone I meet. Not a bad way for all of us to live, really.

At Thanksgiving, I hosted 15 people and 8 dogs at my house. Going around the table, each of us said what we were grateful for. On my turn, I said, “I am grateful for all of you being here, but don’t think it has gone by me that you are here because you think it might be my last Thanksgiving!” The elephant in the room got outed, and there was so much laughter and so much joy. This year, I am planning the 3rd Annual Sandy’s Last Thanksgiving at my house. It’s so fun that even more family members are planning to attend — and no doubt more dogs!

Lung Cancer Initiative has played a big role in my ability to stay positive and upbeat. I’ve bonded deeply with survivor sisters, and together we feel a joie de vivre like never before. LCI is doing all they can to raise awareness, support survivors and families, fund research, and bring lung cancer out of the shadows of a “smoker’s disease” and into the light of common cancers. I was firmly in that camp since my father, who grew up on a tobacco farm and started smoking at the age of 10, died from lung cancer at the age of 46, when I was 14. It seems all he was able to give me was an X chromosome and a cancer gene.

All of you are here to bring lung cancer into the world of the young and healthy with screenings, and we survivors are extremely grateful to you. We would be even more grateful if you would “kick it into warp speed, Scottie!” and find new effective treatments so more of us can live with the idea that cancer may suck, but it doesn’t have to color your outlook on life in shades of grey. If you let it, it can help you see all the bright colors that life has to offer.

So, from the deck of the Starship LCI, I urge all of you to join the mission…

“Lung Cancer: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship LCI. Our mission: to explore strange new biomarkers, to seek out new targeted therapies and new and innovative treatments, to boldly go where no one has gone before. To find a cure for cancer.”