Suzanne (Sue) McCarthy is a comparatively new writer. Sue graduated the University of Delaware, with a Bachelor of Science degree in Education. After working in several nontraditional academic positions, she started her home-based tutoring business and in 2022 celebrated twenty-five years as a self-employed tutor and business owner, serving school aged students in the Pittsburgh, PA area.


Sue felt inspired and motivated to tell her story, and embarked on an informal six-year journey to completed her memoir. Sue worked with two writing tutors, after realizing she couldn't simply teach herself. Her only experience had been periodic journaling. Her memoir, 

Learning to
Thrive: A Journey from Adversity to Joy and Fulfillment

Sue lives in the North Hills of Pittsburgh, is married, has three adult daughters, and nine grandchildren.

Sue McCarthy

Sue McCarthy received diagnoses of breast cancer in 2001 and lung cancer in 2018. Catch up on all of

I attended my first cancer support group many years ago when my mother was suffering from metastatic breast cancer. It was somewhat comforting and fulfilling to me, and I participated in five or six sessions.

That was before I had received my life-threatening lung cancer diagnosis in 2018 or even learned of my early-stage breast cancer, DCIS, in 2001.

I went to one more (cancer) support meeting in a nearby church on a Sunday afternoon during my non-small-cell-lung cancer treatment journey. I had completed my first round of Cisplatin chemotherapy and had a specific question to ask the group members. I was concerned about my connection with my Medical Oncologist. Prior to chemo, I had had surgery to remove malignant tumors, one from each lung. I had been absolutely satisfied with my Surgical Oncologist, but was initially disappointed when I met Dr. G, who would care for me during my chemotherapy and beyond.

I’m not a very outgoing person and stayed quiet about my breast cancer with all except my closest family and friends, but the severity of my lung disease led me to want to share more about my circumstances even with casual friends. It was immensely comforting to know how many were praying for me. Then I suffered from fatigue and nausea throughout much of my chemo treatment; so despite my resolve to become more social, I didn’t feel up to sharing so many personal thoughts and feelings about cancer with people I barely knew, at a church other than my own. Hence, I didn’t become a member of that group either.

I reached remission about one month before the Coronavirus Pandemic closed down support groups, as well as so many other non-essential businesses and organizations, as well as schools, and even churches. After about another year, they reopened. By then I had completed the initial phase of my cancer treatment journey, and completely coincidentally, joined St. Catherine’s Church, my formerly nearby location of the St. Peregrine’s Cancer Support Group.

As of now, four years have elapsed since I started to regularly attend St. Peregrine’s Group at St. Catherine’s, now my church. Like any other organization, some of our meetings are excellent; others are disappointing. I’ve now taken on a new role in our group. The group’s long-time facilitator continues to lead our sessions; I am now responsible for reaching out to spread the word about St. Peregrine’s.

Some questions regularly come to mind as I mull over what I can and can’t do to see my intention be fulfilled.

How often does a quality cancer support group meet?

How many participants make for a successful group?

Should family members and friends of those who receive diagnoses be included?

How much diversity in faiths, ages, individual cancers, or circumstances in life should be represented in a group?

How does the facilitator of a group help to meet the needs of a wide variety of personalities?

Should group attendees be expected to share from their cancer experiences, or should sharing be optional?

Have you attended an in-person cancer support group? Has it met your needs?

Have you attended an online group? Have you felt fulfilled?

Whether or not your cancer journey has included a support group, I would appreciate any ideas you have. If you have been in a support group (even just once), what did you find useful about it? What did not meet your expectation or desires?

If you were a facilitator of a cancer group, how would you run it?

For more news on cancer updates, research and education, don’t forget to 

Articles

The narrative reflects on the personal journey of attending cancer support groups, initially as a family member and later as a patient. It highlights the challenges and benefits of participating in such groups, especially during a lung cancer treatment journey. The author shares experiences of remission and the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic on support group activities. Now actively involved in a cancer support group, the author raises questions about the optimal structure and inclusivity of these groups, seeking insights from others to enhance their effectiveness and support.

After attending several cancer support groups, I reflect on what makes them helpful, inclusive and healing — and invite others to share their insights too.

What Makes a Quality Cancer Support Group?

mSue McCarthy received diagnoses of breast cancer in 2001 and lung cancer in 2018. Catch up on all of

I want to live to be an old lady and die of something other than cancer. Those were the words I used, more than twenty years ago, explaining to loved ones and friends why I had chosen mastectomy and reconstruction as treatment for duct carcinoma in situ (DCIS).

DCIS is the earliest stage of breast cancer, so it wasn’t astounding to me that they felt confused or even asked, “Why?”

However, there is a lot more to my cancer story, as well as about how I chose mastectomy, over twenty-five days of radiation followed by five years of taking Tamoxifen, the standard procedure for treating DCIS at that time. Tamoxifen was already well-known to reduce the likelihood of recurrence of breast cancer in women who had previously been afflicted by it.

I’d worried enough about breast cancer. It had claimed the lives of my great-grandmother, my grandmother, and my mother. An educated guess told me that it wasn’t a coincidence that the three of them had all been diagnosed with breast cancer and all died of that disease.

It's now known that cancer is often a genetic disorder, and in families where many members have suffered from the diseases, the trend will likely continue into the future. I was at risk of my breast cancer recurring, and by choosing mastectomy, I took away almost all of that risk.

Almost immediately after I started to heal, I suffered a potentially dangerous infection in one of my implants, which delayed my recovery time by months. As I took my antibiotics and had multiple minor surgeries, I thought about my mom and my three daughters, the chances my girls might have breast cancer in their futures. I was hugely thankful that I had survived. I thought about what I had been through and what I wanted in my future.

By May, I was almost completely well, and on Mother’s Day 2002, my daughters and I participated in the Susan G. Komen, Race for the Cure (for breast cancer), which we had done regularly since my mother was diagnosed. That day I was recognized as a survivor in a beautiful ceremony, and I spent a wonderful day with my three high school and college-aged girls.

And I made my decision. In the near future, I would resign my job as a coordinator in an adult literacy program and expand my part-time tutoring work; I’d grow it into a small business. Suzanne the Tutor has recently celebrated its 25th anniversary as a successful business.

So often I’d thought about the role of cancer in my life: From the time I’d heard that Grandma had survived breast cancer in the 1940s (it did recur 35 years later), to my diagnosis with DCIS, and decision to have the mastectomy. Yet, it had never occurred to me that I would be diagnosed with another cancer.

Sixteen years had passed since the 2002 Race for the Cure, and my life had changed so much. Two of my daughters were married; the third engaged. I was a grandmother of four and two more by marriage.

Then late that year, I was in a minor car accident which resulted in a trip to the Emergency Room at a nearby hospital. The report on one of the tests done was of my thyroid glands, so it said, but was actually of my lungs; a huge mistake which probably contributed to saving my life. My PCP, Dr. C., sent me to have a CT of the lungs which confirmed two relatively small tumors, one on each lung.

Two extremely painful biopsies followed, and taught me firsthand that bones (ribs in my case) cannot be anesthetized. Again, malignant cells were found.

I had lung cancer. But how was it possible? I had never smoked or been exposed to secondhand smoke.

Of course, I remembered that I wanted to die of something other than cancer. I was able to calm down and accept my circumstances by the time I met with Dr. L., the thoracic surgeon. Dr. C had sent me to him; I liked and respected him immediately.

I would need two surgeries to remove the tumors, but the only follow-up treatment would be annual scans for five years. I thought, well… ok, I can do that. The first surgery went well, but I was within a week of surgery number two when I received an evening phone call. Dr. L told me that lymph nodes had been removed from my chest at surgery number one, and more than half of the nodes had been cancerous. That was a very bad day.

Then, at my final office visit with Dr. L, my husband asked the doctor, “What is her chance of surviving?” Dr. L paused then responded, “30%, but there is good news too. Your PDL1 is 60% which makes you a good candidate for immunotherapy.” I had the second surgery, then was sent to begin cisplatin chemotherapy.

I was terrified; I’d watched the effect of 1990’s chemo on my mother, an extremely strong woman. Yet, Dr. G, my oncologist, was a real fighter for his patients. I held on to a tiny bit of hope.

Then, I hit the low point of my treatment journey during my first round of chemo. The third night after my infusions, I slept restlessly, going through nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea. As I lay in the bed, I dreaded my husband going to work in the morning and leaving me alone. I had a fever, and it reached a high of 101 degrees, permitting me to get an appointment to see a doctor in the cancer center the next day. I was checked out, and my diagnosis: “dehydration, none of your symptoms are unusual.”

My confidence rose; I could beat this. I decided I would do all I could to pursue wellness and start by telling my husband I needed him to work from home until the end of my chemo. I completed chemo as planned, then went on to twenty-five days of radiation therapy at a closer medical center, getting the opportunity to ring the bell to celebrate the completion of radiation. Finally, I received monthly infusions of Imfinzi immunotherapy for one year and was deemed in remission, but it was early 2020… and by mid-March, the world had closed down for the coronavirus pandemic. I found it extremely difficult to return to normal life when normal life was in an unprecedented condition.

It took me almost six months to overcome depression, anxiety, and to start to feel like the former lung cancer patient who had fought for her life and, if not quite won, become cancer-free, to appreciate my remission.

Looking back to when Dr. C had called me with the news that the tumors in my lungs were malignant, our conversation was more like that of a father to a daughter than a doctor to a patient. Before it ended, he said to me, “Keep in mind that there will be many ups and downs in the near future.” In my situation, that continued until late 2020; and there were many downs.

On the good days, I thanked God over and over as well as all the people who had been with me on that roller coaster ride. I knew I couldn’t have done it alone, and I wanted to become more social, more caring, and giving to others. I wanted to get to know my extended family and become more involved in my church, and especially to be there for those following me in cancer journeys.

Once I’d completed chemo, I made a large, for me, donation to the American Lung Association, the start of my volunteer involvement with ALA. I’ve done fundraising for the annual Lung Force Walk, leading our team, Sue’s Prayer Army, for five years now, and have no intention of stopping.

Two of my first cousins were diagnosed with cancer in the early 2020s. I’ve developed new relationships with them. In early June of last year, Larry and I reunited after about thirty years and brought together ten other family members who had not seen each other in many years.

As I sat in church one Sunday in late 2021, I decided to become involved in the cancer support group there, despite the fact that I had never thought of myself as a support group person.

But it didn’t matter. This is now my new normal. I’m so thankful to be alive.

A personal journey through breast and lung cancer highlights the impact of genetic predisposition and the importance of proactive treatment decisions. The narrative underscores the emotional and physical challenges faced during treatment, including mastectomy, chemotherapy, and immunotherapy. Despite setbacks, the story emphasizes resilience, the significance of support systems, and the pursuit of a fulfilling life post-cancer. The experience led to increased involvement in cancer advocacy and support, fostering connections with family and community. The journey reflects a transformation towards a more engaged and purposeful life, embracing survivorship and giving back.

I was diagnosed with breast cancer, then lung cancer 17 years later — and both ultimately led me to make meaningful, positive changes in my life.

Facing Breast and Lung Cancer Led Me to a New Purpose in Life

As I paged through the Spring print issue of CURE magazine, an article caught my attention so much that I read it immediately and decided I would have to respond to it. The story, “With Cancer in Remission, What is the New Normal for Patients?” fascinated and pleased me. The title of the piece speaks for itself, and it spoke loudly and clearly to me! If only a program, such as one of the two described in the story, had existed in my city when I entered remission from stage 3B lung cancer five and a half years ago.

In his column for CURE magazine, Alex Briese explained the physical and emotional, nutrition, and exercise needs that cancer patients typically have as they enter remission. In retrospect, I had the same physical, mental, and wellness issues as those described in the article. Yet, I was eager to get back to work, back to my normal routines. I was thankful to be cancer-free (at least temporarily) and just plain tired of being sick. So, I didn’t take it easy. I encouraged myself to do as much as I possibly could, for as long as was possible.

As I think back to June 2018, I remember surgeries to remove tumors from each of my lungs, Cisplatin chemotherapy, radiation, and Durvalunab immunotherapy. My oncologist was an amazing cheerleader, encouraging me to move rapidly through all of my treatment. At times, I wanted to delay doctor appointments, but with a 30% chance of survival looking me in the eye, I felt the need to push on. My body, mind, soul, and spirit were totally exhausted. I never thought I had a choice but to fight! Fight! Dr. G drove me, and I nudged myself along as fast as I could.

I left the infusion area of the cancer treatment facility on my last day of Durvalunab immunotherapy with the intent of celebrating with a small party for my closest friends and family, then resuming life, picking up where Stage 3B Lung Cancer had so rudely interrupted.

However, my plan didn’t go as expected. As time went by, I found myself continually sad, maybe depressed. Sometimes I was unable to accomplish even some of the most basic tasks. First, I neglected my physical health needs; I ate poorly and made little attempt to sleep sufficiently; then anxious sensations led to severe anxiety.

I definitely needed to see the eye doctor; my eyes were my most troublesome medical issue and were getting worse. I made two appointments, and soon after scheduling, I canceled each of them. In a very similar manner, I twice told the therapist whom I started to work with during my cancer journey that I no longer needed her help. I needed her more than ever!

In July, I went for my routine CT scan, and the scheduled appointment with my oncologist was the following week. Dr. G said everything was fine. I was cancer-free. But I knew something was not right, so I had scheduled an appointment with my PCP immediately after I met with Dr. G. As I walked into the doctor’s office, I was so anxious that I was shaking, and when my doctor of twenty years entered the examination room, the shaking only got worse.

Dr. C offered me a sedative, and I said, “I don’t need it. I won’t use it.”

The doctor looked at my husband and said, “How long has she been like this?”

Dan said, “For about six months,” which may have been a bit of an exaggeration, but nonetheless, I had made a lot of mistakes in attempting to move on immediately after life-threatening lung cancer. Dr. C went on to examine me and to try to gently encourage me to consider the sedative. But hearing the first few words exchanged between Dan and Dr. C was what I really needed to start actively pursuing wellness. I made an appointment with my eye doctor, and this time, I was there and on time. I resumed meeting weekly with my therapist for the first few months, before meeting just biweekly.

My appointment with Dr. C was in July, and my daughter had asked me to plan her outdoor bridal shower for early September. It wasn’t easy for me, but I managed to do it, and I felt reasonably comfortable at the event. My daughter’s wedding was on the beach on Florida’s west coast, and by then, I felt good. For the first time, I enjoyed life in remission!

Might my immediate post-lung cancer experience have been different?

I’m so pleased that the new normal is headed that way. It meant so much to me to read “With Cancer in Remission, What Is the New Normal?” and to learn of the opportunities available to present-day and future cancer patients to recover from all the elements of cancer.

I hope most cancer patients will be in the position to receive survivorship care and that they will benefit from it as they move forward with their lives. Mostly, I hope these programs will reduce the likelihood of other patients suffering as I did.

For more news on cancer updates, research and education, don’t forget to

Cancer remission presents unique challenges, including physical, emotional, and mental health needs. Survivorship programs can aid in addressing these issues, offering support for nutrition, exercise, and mental health. The personal narrative highlights the struggle of transitioning back to normal life post-treatment, emphasizing the importance of comprehensive care. The author reflects on their own experience, underscoring the necessity of support systems to prevent neglect of health needs and mental well-being. The hope is for widespread access to survivorship care to improve quality of life for cancer survivors.

I entered remission from lung cancer 5.5 years ago, but faced a tough road readjusting, with ongoing physical, mental and emotional challenges.

Caring for Patients With Cancer Beyond Remission

Recently, I sent a nice “Thinking of you” card to a fellow member of our Catholic Parish’s cancer support group.

I am a survivor of two cancers: for seven years, I have remained cancer-free after a diagnosis of stage 3b lung cancer in 2018; twenty-three years have passed since my duct carcinoma in situ breast cancer diagnosis in 2001. There has been no recurrence of that cancer either. I am so thankful! The new woman in our support group was also diagnosed with lung cancer. Hers has metastasized.

Kathy responded to my card by text, asking me, politely, to send no more cards at this time. “They remind me that I have cancer, when I want to just enjoy feeling good. I know you care.” I was surprised and confused when I first read her message, but I did appreciate the candid nature of it. 

And then I remembered the hodgepodge of emotions I had felt during both of my cancers. During my breast disease, I was especially sensitive to those who asked, “How are you feeling?” during and after my treatment. It was not the more typical and familiar, “How are you doing?” “How’s it going?” or “What’s new?” I felt I was being singled out and didn’t like it. I was not necessarily being logical, but that’s how I felt.

Lung cancer was entirely different for me. Midway through my planned rounds of chemotherapy, I hit what seemed like rock bottom. Five days after my first round of platinum-based treatment, I sensed every part of myself dying – physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. As my fever reached

101 degrees, I felt sicker than I had ever before in my life. My oncologist fit me into his schedule that day.

The verdict: I was fine, with no unusual symptoms. I realized that lung cancer, and the treatment necessary to have a chance to beat it, was just as serious an illness as I feared it would be. That day I learned what I was facing, and with that knowledge I felt I had as good a chance to recover as anyone did.

So, I struggled to keep going – to take the best care of myself that I possibly could have. I knew I needed to seek out all the help I could get – from God, and from friends, family and other loved ones. My diagnosis had already dictated the distinction between myself and the other 90% of people in my life.

It was fine to be asked by anyone, “How are you feeling?” Also, it was a great pleasure for me to tutor a few of the children I typically helped in my small, home-based tutoring business. As I spent that hour with my student, my life was normal, cancer had no part in it, and although that was not reality, it felt great.

But there is a more important lesson for me to take away from the text conversation I had with Kathy. My role in our group is no longer one of a patient. It is one of a support person to those who are following me into their cancer journeys.

St. Peregrine’s Group’s purpose is not so much simply to say the right words and provide the most delicious treats. The first group meeting I attended left me knowing that the group’s members listened to my questions, and several offered helpful opinions which I took home with me and mulled over in my mind.

Surviving later-stage lung or colon cancer comes about as a result of a combination of healthy eating, remaining as active as possible, holding onto courageous and optimistic thinking. Equally important to most cancer patients is to receive quality support from their family and friends.

How can cancer support group members, especially those of us who have reached remission, best provide for our peers? By listening, empathizing when possible, and if not, simply caring.

I’ve sent many kind greeting cards, especially to those who are in special need of comfort. I like to get them myself! But this week I learned that sometimes kind, comforting messages via cards aren’t necessarily a good idea for an individual working their way through cancer treatment. I learned, first by listening to Kathy, then as I continued to think deeper, and ultimately to write this blog.

The narrative reflects on the complexities of providing support to cancer patients, emphasizing the importance of understanding individual preferences. The author, a cancer survivor, shares personal experiences and insights into the emotional challenges faced during treatment. A key takeaway is the realization that support should be tailored to the needs of each patient, as exemplified by a fellow support group member's request to avoid reminders of her illness. The author highlights the significance of listening, empathy, and personalized care in fostering a supportive environment for cancer patients.

Those of us who’ve survived our cancer treatment journeys need to be role models to those who follow us.

Sue McCarthy

What Makes a Quality Cancer Support Group?

Facing Breast and Lung Cancer Led Me to a New Purpose in Life

Caring for Patients With Cancer Beyond Remission

When a “Thinking of You” Card Isn’t the Right Support for a Patient

Latest News