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

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

Articles

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.

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

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.

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

Can I ever get past cancer recurrence anxiety?

Less than two weeks from today, I will have my annual lung cancer “Check-Up”. This June is the seventh anniversary of my diagnosis with stage 3b non-small-cell lung cancer. Lung cancer was my second experience with the disease; in 2001, I was diagnosed with early-stage breast cancer, duct carcinoma in situ, which was cured with surgery that year.

I was deemed a lung cancer survivor in 2023, but there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that I would want Dr. L to follow me beyond the five-mark. I knew how very fortunate I was to be officially cancer-free that June, and I continue to count my blessings that God’s grace has kept me safe from recurrence these past two years.

However, my trips to the Radiology Department of my local hospital and the subsequent consultation with my oncologist in his office have not been easy. As of last year, I have continued to suffer from significant anxiety.

I have struggled with anticipation before and during each visit to the hospital’s Imaging area. Beginning approximately five days before test day, periodic anxious thoughts have danced around in my mind, and in the last couple of days, it’s been hard to focus on my daily activities. Those last two nights, it’s been virtually impossible to get a good night’s sleep.

But this year, I hope it will be different.

My life has changed a lot in the past month. I am facing the fact that in the near future I could lose two very important people in my life to cancer: Lenny and Dawn. Lenny reached remission from pancreatic cancer for the second time about six weeks ago. It was good news, but wasn’t as special as it might have been.

He had also reached remission in April 2024, and at that time remained cancer-free for only two months. Lenny has been back in treatment since late summer of last year, receiving challenging chemotherapy, followed by radiation therapy, which is targeted at the particularly troublesome area of his pancreas. His original treatment plan included a successful resection surgery, recreating his formerly damaged pancreas from some of his stomach tissue. Now he is receiving yet another chemo, this one more and more difficult for him to tolerate. He tells me it’s also been taking longer between treatments to get his strength back.

Lenny is my first cousin whom I have gotten closer and closer to as a result of our mutual cancer diagnoses. He is a strong guy, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I’ve been so proud to be an important source of support in his life. Sometimes I feel that Lenny is more of a mentor to me than I am to him. Yet now I feel concerned about his circumstances.

And then there’s Dawn. She’s a close friend of mine, and like Lenny, is also a mentor to me as much as I am to her. Dawn was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer in the spring of 2021. I met her as a result of recruiting for the cancer support group at my church. Her name was on a list of individuals who might be interested in our group. She was. Dawn is a very strong woman, takes excellent care of her body, and has a quality relationship with her oncologist. She has received various chemotherapies, via infusion, and in pill form. I often visit with Dawn at the cancer treatment center, largely because I am comfortable in that environment, more so than her other friends. Dawn has the utmost of confidence that God has a plan for her, that involves much more than a challenging cancer journey. Her faith is formidable, her worries seemingly nonexistent.

Then, a week ago, primarily because her immune system was hugely compromised by the toll all the chemotherapy has taken on her white and red blood cells, and her platelets, Dawn was hospitalized for five days. She received a CT scan during her stay. Her cancer had grown and spread, and her doctor let her know she is not up to any more chemo. She thought she would receive radiation soon, then two days later the radiation oncologist told her that radiation treatment was no longer an option either. Dawn will have liver surgery within the next few weeks; that may be her last cancer treatment.

Next week is my third return visit to my oncologist since I reached cure status. And this June it’s hard to imagine I will suffer much anxiety leading up to my CT scan. My attention will probably be focused on Dawn and Lenny, both loved ones, both fighting for their lives. Any worries I start to sense as I anticipate entering the Radiation Department at St. M’s hospital will be more beneficial as prayers, love, and sincere wishes for the best for each of them.

The narrative reflects on the emotional journey of a cancer survivor dealing with anxiety related to recurrence, especially during annual check-ups. Despite being cancer-free, the individual experiences significant anxiety before medical appointments. The recent health struggles of two close individuals, Lenny and Dawn, who are battling cancer, have shifted the focus from personal anxiety to concern for their well-being. This shift in perspective may alleviate some personal anxiety, as the individual channels energy into supporting loved ones and finding solace in faith and community support.

If there is ever an annual follow up CT scan that does not cause me significant anxiety, this year will be the one.

Cancer Recurrence, Getting Past the Anxiety

My family of origin was never close, emotionally, or for a long time, geographically, either. Until I was 14 years old, we lived in Seattle, Washington, almost 3,000 miles from my grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins; they all lived in the Mid-Atlantic States.

My parents had issues, and eventually divorced, but that wasn’t until much later. Aside from the summer swim club, my siblings and I spent little time together. I felt isolated, lonely and unloved, and proceeded to make a number of poor choices early in my adult life.

Then, in the course of the first 15 years of the new century, I suffered three major illnesses which led me to want to make positive changes in my life, if I was fortunate enough to recover. Early-stage breast cancer in my late 40s, then the removal of a large benign tumor, a meningioma, from my brain three years later resulted in my developing a stronger Christian faith and increasing my commitment to my church. I started my own business, as well, which I would run successfully for 25 years. And ten years after that I would be diagnosed with stage 3B lung cancer and need to fight for my life. When I reached five years of remission from my disease, I would be deemed cured and subsequently decide to become actively and publicly involved in helping others fight against cancers, all of them.

One of the first things that came to mind soon after I became a lung cancer survivor was to revisit my family’s breast cancer saga, something I had mulled over in my mind from the time I was a young teen, and first heard that my maternal grandmother had suffered from breast cancer as a middle-aged woman in the World War II era. I was impressed; she was a survivor! Then, in 1980, a few months before my first child was born, Grandma’s cancer recurred, and she passed away. In the early 1990s, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. It wasn’t long until her cancer metastasized, spreading to her bones, lungs and ultimately, her liver. She struggled through many brutal rounds of chemotherapy, before letting her doctor know that she’d had enough, dying three weeks later.

My breast cancer, duct carcinoma in situ (DCIS), was discovered on a mammogram, just six years after my mother passed away. My oldest daughter was also diagnosed with DCIS; hers was not confined to the milk duct as that type of breast cancer typically is; however, she continues to do well. Both my daughter and I opted for mastectomies followed by reconstructive surgery because of the history of breast cancer in the family. Soon after my daughter’s journey, my aunt shared with me that my great-grandmother had also received the diagnosis. Hence, five consecutive women on the maternal side of my family had received a breast cancer diagnosis.

My daughter and I got BRCA1 & BRCA2 tests at that point. Both of us tested negative. Good news, but… five generations? Maternal side of my family? No genetic link? Was that possible?

In 2019, my daughter took the lead in studying gene mutations, and their connections to cancers. She was tested, and it was determined that she had an Ataxia-Telangiectasia Mutated gene, also known as ATM, as well as CHECK2, a less concerning mutation. We had the first piece of information which would hopefully one day give us a little control over the disease that has been deadly to three women in our family.

The ATM mutation, which my daughter tested positive for several years ago, does not exclusively lead to breast cancer but has a direct link to other cancers: prostate and pancreatic among them. My mother’s brother and his son, my cousin, both had prostate cancer; each was diagnosed at a relatively young age. Both survived their journeys, and although my uncle has since passed away, he lived into his late 80s.

After recovering from prostate cancer, my cousin was experiencing a lot of abdominal pain two and a half years ago in late 2022; he was ultimately hospitalized and diagnosed with Stage 2 Pancreatic Cancer. My cousin was tested for all the genetic mutations that can lead to Prostate and Pancreatic Cancer. Like my daughter, my cousin tested positive for ATM, as well as one other mutation. The determination was that his cancer was primarily caused by ATM. He’s been fortunate to have a clinical oncologist who also does research on the ATM gene. He continues in treatment, which has been exhausting, but as of just last month, he has reached remission… for the second time.

It was only about three months ago that I learned of the ATM connection between my daughter and my cousin. At that time, I knew it was the time for me to be tested as soon as possible. It seemed that I may provide the hereditary connection between my daughter and cousin. Nonetheless, I will have to wait until October 2025 to get an appointment to meet with a genetic counselor and then be tested.

Clearly, there is no rush with five months before I can be tested, but I began to gather genetically oriented medical records: mine and those of other family members. As I was doing that task, I reviewed my cousin’s genetic testing information and found that his second mutation was on the KRAS gene. The KRAS gene is linked to two cancers in addition to the two my cousin has faced: colorectal and lung cancer. Lung is the cancer that I fought for seven years!

Finally, after so many years, we have more knowledge. Although it’s certainly not good news, it is news, and I feel passionate about providing for the future of our family by sharing it… but my family of origin still is not close. Just because I am passionate about sharing my new knowledge and understanding doesn’t mean other family members will be.

A personal journey through cancer diagnoses reveals a complex family history of breast, prostate, and pancreatic cancers, highlighting the role of genetic mutations such as ATM and KRAS. Despite a lack of BRCA1/2 mutations, the discovery of ATM and KRAS mutations in family members provides insight into the hereditary nature of these cancers. The narrative underscores the importance of genetic testing and counseling in understanding cancer risks and guiding treatment. The author emphasizes the need to share this genetic information with family, despite emotional distance.

I want my family to understand our shared cancer risks, but I sometimes struggle to face the painful reality of the disease myself.

Sue McCarthy

Caring for Patients With Cancer Beyond Remission

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

Cancer Recurrence, Getting Past the Anxiety

Tracing a Five-Generation Cancer Legacy Through Genetic Discovery

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