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 

It’s very necessary to spend time resting and recuperating after a cancer diagnosis and treatment.

Many of us who survive lung and other life-threatening cancers are thrilled to be told we have reached remission, or even declare ourselves as survivors. Many feel great and are eager to jump right back into work, and a variety of other responsibilities they managed before being diagnosed. Some of those individuals successfully resume all their prior responsibilities without significant issues.

Despite longing for what I thought of as normalcy through 1 1/2 years of treatment, and finally reaching remission, my body and mind still needed rest and recuperation. Yet, I wanted to move on and resume my enthusiastic, active life. As a result of not getting ample recovery time, I struggled through most of the year in 2020, suffering from physical, mental and emotional health problems. What a shame that I hadn’t read something similar to what fellow CURE blogger 

Yes, 2020 was the primary pandemic year, but that year certainly didn’t bring normalcy for any of us, and for me, it brought several new and different challenges in my life. I’m sure it was suggested to me by more than one caring person in my life that I slow down and rest more, but I wanted my normalcy back. I wanted to fully participate in the second chance at life, which God had granted me.

Like me, Bonnie sought to live life with intention after cancer, making sure she accomplished everything she wanted or needed to. She wrote that after mentioning to her husband one day that she was tired, he reminded her that she could finish that day’s project the next. As she thought about it, she realized he was right, that adequate rest was necessary and valuable after a cancer diagnosis and treatment; Bonnie slowed down.

I absolutely needed to slow down, as well. My journey through the steps leading to diagnosis with stage 2 lung cancer was challenging in itself. Then I had the first of what would be two lung surgeries which led to the restaging of my lung cancer to 3B after the lymph nodes removed from my chest were found malignant. My second surgery was followed by chemotherapy, radiation and immunotherapy. Soon after completing my immunotherapy, I reached remission and believed the arrival of my normalcy was right around the corner.

I don’t know whether it was a physical reaction to fighting the life-threatening disease, or that I was emotionally unable to see myself as weak, even after I’d been told my cancer was unlikely to recur. Regardless, and unfortunately, I didn’t have the presence of mind to slow down and rest, eventually resulting in a diagnosis of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

I was able to enjoy my “I-Used-to-Have-Cancer" party, on March 1, 2020, but two weeks later, the COVID-19 pandemic caused a nationwide lockdown. For 20 years before my diagnosis, I had run a successful and hugely rewarding tutoring business. When I began treatment, I lost about half of my approximately 20 school-aged students. Then with the pandemic, things got even worse, and the number of students further dwindled…10, seven, four, three… Not at all technologically oriented, I had to learn online tutoring, which was a challenge, to continue to help a couple of students. I also had to master the Pennsylvania Unemployment Assistance website, to receive the compensation I was entitled to, and truly needed. My business was not successful or rewarding at that point, and I was frustrated.

My daughter and son-in-law both have jobs working in essential services. However, there was no daycare, and the schools were closed. I watched my grandchildren, which was fun, with the exception of needing to master cyber school for my active, social granddaughter in second grade…the tech was hard for me, as was keeping my granddaughter focused and behaving. I was starting to feel a little depressed.

Then the following month, my elderly father passed away. He’d had a good long life, but the end of his life, confined in his room in assisted living with no visitors, must have been devasting for an outgoing, mentally proficient 94-year-old.

In the next two months, both my physical and mental health deteriorated. An online celebration of life was planned for my father, and I was mostly disinterested. In my mind, it was not a real memorial for him or a real celebration of his life. I joined the Zoom meeting but was not there in spirit.

The high point of that online session for me was when my sister-in-law shared with me that a few days before her mother’s death, her mom had told her a similar story to that which I told the group about my dad. I had shared with our family group, “I spoke with my father a few days before his death, and he told me that when looking out the window of his room, he had seen a big bird sitting on a small tree branch; the branch did not break and the bird flew away.” We understood each other’s grief.

Several weeks later, I made a truly wise decision. In early August I called and made an appointment with my primary care physician, who I had seen for about 15 years, and I was very fond of. Since my doctor’s office is only about a mile from the hospital cancer center where I would have my semiannual meeting with my oncologist, I scheduled it for an hour later. My reply was, “I don’t need a sedative, and I’d be afraid to take it.” Turning to my husband, the doctor asked, “How long has she been like this?” By that point, I stopped listening, but by the end of that week, I had realized something was terribly wrong.

In addition to side effects resulting from the chemotherapy and radiation I received, I have a dry eye condition which causes a lot of irritation and squinting. Despite all the discomfort, I had canceled two eye appointments. I had been in psychological therapy during my cancer journey, but even as I struggled emotionally, I had told my counselor that I no longer needed help. I made appointments with both healthcare providers in the next two weeks.

My youngest daughter was planning an outdoor bridal shower in September 2020, and a Florida beach wedding in November 2020, and although it was challenging at times, I took charge of the shower, and it went well. I felt almost my normal self by November and enjoyed her wedding in my mother-of-the-bride mask.

I felt joyful to reach the almost normal self-mark. 

Thank you, Bonnie, for your simple solution, which I will use at any time in the future that I overdo it on a special project, Christmas decorations or even mastering yoga.

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

Articles

After a cancer diagnosis and treatment, rest and recuperation are crucial, even when remission is achieved. The desire to return to normalcy can lead to neglecting necessary recovery time, resulting in physical, mental, and emotional health issues. The COVID-19 pandemic exacerbated these challenges, adding stress and responsibilities. Personal experiences highlight the importance of slowing down and seeking support when needed. Recognizing the need for rest and making informed decisions about health and well-being can aid in recovery and prevent further complications.

After cancer treatment, I wanted to go right back to living my life normally, but a fellow CURE blogger’s post reminded me that rest is necessary too. 

Rest and Recuperation After a Cancer Diagnosis and Treatment 

Here are some methods that helped me lessen the apprehension I experienced in my lung cancer journey.

In the chemotherapy phase during the fall of 2018, I began my meditation practice. Mindfulness is the state of being developed by meditation, which I continued to practice daily. Six years later, my mindfulness continues to grow.

Being able to wait in peace during the testing, analysis and treatment for cancer is challenging at best and certainly doesn’t develop overnight. Last weekend, I spoke with a long-term acquaintance who has become a close friend. Her recent mammogram revealed an irregularity. Despite taking the first available appointment for her follow-up mammogram and ultrasound, she still had to wait 2 1/2 weeks to go back. My friend was struggling with the waiting and anxiety, ever-present. I had an idea. Maybe I could best help her by going back and reviewing what had helped me. I’m happy to share my experiences with you as well.

My middle daughter, who I nicknamed my social worker at the time, visited me at home after my first chemotherapy treatment for stage 3B lung cancer. Almost two weeks after my drug cocktail infusions, I was still extremely fatigued. I had a hard time even getting dressed in casual clothes before her arrival. However, that day led me, albeit indirectly, to a much improved mental and emotional outlook: first, in my cancer experience, and eventually in my life in general. My daughter and I explored possible wellness techniques before focusing on meditation and mindfulness. She then helped me install an app on my phone which I have used faithfully ever since.

I started on my meditation practice, and then on the days I felt up to it. A foundation of meditation and mindfulness is the concept that everything in nature, and therefore, in life, is constantly changing — our thoughts and feelings included. When we feel worry, joy, sadness, fear, anger or another emotion, our minds can hold on or let go when the thought or feeling is no longer useful. With a focus on deep breathing, listening to nature sounds or visualizing smiling faces, meditation can enable us to replace worry or anger with peace or joy.

Meditation has worked so well for me. However, meditation is not for everyone: some may prefer prayer, getting comfortable in a rocking chair or even chewing gum.

Because the preliminary diagnosis of my lung cancer occurred as an incidental finding, I felt additional confusion and frustration. I doubted any connection between the probable seizure I had backing out of my driveway and cancer, but I absolutely wanted to get myself away from the discouragement I was feeling. My husband and I decided to go on a short, spontaneous vacation. We visited two nearby national parks, stopping at my sister’s home on the way back. The time we spent in nature was calming and helped me clear my mind. By the time we returned home, I was absolutely ready to see my primary care physician. Getting away from it all really helped me.

As I began to notice the difference between my mind at rest and my mind busy, I was able to gently say “No thank you” to negative anxious thoughts that would run around in my mind as I waited for difficult doctor appointments or CT scans. Certainly, everything didn’t change overnight, but things got better.

I was beginning to see how thinking, “You 

 stop worrying,” didn’t enable me to stop worrying but to settle my mind on a recent positive experience or nice message I had received did bring peace to my mind.

My lung surgeon was helpful to me in making sure I didn't 

 had a significant effect on my treatment outcomes. Dr. L gave me that message very early in my journey. I reminded myself of his words over and over throughout its duration. His information was invaluable to me; it encouraged me in many and varied ways, and over time I learned to effectively encourage myself.

Here are 10 methods I used to remain calm and peaceful:

By surrounding myself with empathetic people, I learned how much difference it can make to live in an environment where people care about one another.

By walking in my neighborhood, I thought, just keep feeling my body move; don’t dwell on emotions or thoughts.

I used journaling to express my thoughts and feelings; I reread my writing and was often pleasantly surprised by how realistic and confident I sounded a few days later.

Listening to Christian contemporary music brought me joy and peace.

Keep as active as possible. I have a home-based tutoring business, and often, while in cancer treatment, the money I earned was less significant than the uplift I sensed in being a part of the working world.

In time, I was able to trust myself as I was able to make decisions about my health care, and later distinguish between a variety of good choices.

I thought I would be more likely to survive stage 3B lung cancer because I hadn’t smoked…I was generally healthier. I decided to make even more healthy choices: eating an improved selection of meat and fish, fruits and vegetables, dairy products and healthy carbohydrates. I started going to bed earlier.

Joining a support group was so good for me. Being together with others on cancer journeys, similar to and different from mine; it was so comfortable to share and we helped each other immensely.

It’s something that’s been hard for me, but setting boundaries allowed me to put myself in positions where I could focus as much as possible on my physical health and my mental, emotional and spiritual health.

Holding on to an attitude of gratitude. Especially when I had been quite ill or I was feeling discouraged and frustrated, it was so rewarding to focus on what good had happened that day or that week.

Once when I returned home from a diagnostic appointment, I turned on the local TV news, and heard the meteorologist say, “We’ll have some rain, but the forecast looks worse than it is.” What a perfect analogy for what I was feeling.

And whenever I felt anxious or frustrated, I turned to this well-known prayer.

God, grant me the Serenity to Accept the things I cannot change,

Mindfulness and meditation played a crucial role in managing anxiety during a lung cancer journey. Techniques such as deep breathing, nature sounds, and visualization helped replace negative emotions with peace. Surrounding oneself with empathetic people, journaling, and staying active were beneficial. Trusting oneself in healthcare decisions and making healthy lifestyle choices contributed to a positive outlook. Joining support groups and setting boundaries were essential for mental and emotional well-being. An attitude of gratitude and the Serenity Prayer provided comfort and perspective during challenging times.

During my lung cancer journey, I learned a few important ways to help me lessen the apprehension I felt, including meditation.

Lessening My Apprehension Using Meditation During Lung Cancer

As I remember the cancer journeys of four generations of women in my maternal family, I feel sorrow, as well as joy.

As a child and a much younger adult, I didn’t like the color pink at all. Then, in the 1980s, I had three smart, beautiful and strong daughters. I avoided pink in choosing their clothing, as well as their playthings and other miscellaneous items. Yet, shortly after my youngest was born, I found the color pink starting to grow on me.

 for a long time, in 2019, my daughters and even my granddaughter proudly participated in our city’s Susan G. Komen, Race for the Cure. I tolerated pink that day and wore my bright pink breast cancer survivor shirt and cap with enthusiasm. Or maybe because of the magnitude of the family breast cancer journey our family had taken in those 40 years since my first child was born.

My maternal grandmother died of breast cancer the year my oldest daughter was born, but I didn’t consider breast cancer as a hereditary risk quite yet. Grandma had recovered from breast cancer in the World War II era, so I thought of her as a survivor as I grew up. However, when she was in her 70s, the disease recurred and took her life. Soon after, I had a new baby to care for, so I didn’t dwell on the family breast cancer situation.

Then, in the early 90’s, my mother called one day with “news.” She had breast cancer but would be fine. They had caught it early, on a mammogram. But unfortunately, mammograms then were not what they are today. Mom’s cancer soon metastasized, and she suffered through round after round of harsh chemotherapy. At that point, I had to tell my elementary and middle school girls about their grandma’s illness. They didn’t ask about her possible death, and I didn’t bring up the topic. I struggled emotionally; then it was clear that there was a hereditary element to the family cancer. I struggled even more because my mom and I were not close.

After 2 1/2 years of cancer and chemotherapy taking its toll on her body, my mom made what I considered a wise decision. She decided to forego further treatment and let nature take its course. My mother’s home was 275 miles from mine, and after her decision, I traveled back and forth across the state multiple times, just to be there for her. My daughters came with me once,and they understood the significance of seeing their grandma, if only for one more time. My mom and I felt rewarded by the special time alone, and together, and I was able to be with her when she passed away peacefully in her sleep. All of our differences were not magically resolved, but I felt joy and peace soon after the sadness was minimized.

In close to 10 years, I’m sure, the quality of mammograms had improved, and I had not missed my annual breast exam since my mother’s cancer experience. Each annual visit brought with it a lot of anxiety, no more or less than when I visited my imaging center in the spring of 2001. The test seemed fine, but I was called back for a follow-up ultrasound, which showed that I likely had ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS; stage 0 breast cancer confined to the milk ducts).

At the Race for the Cure that year, my sixth year of participation in the Mother’s Day event, I was in the process of a final diagnosis. My emotions ranged from: Is this exactly where I belong? or will I be wearing the survivor shirt next year? To: I just want to deny it all.

Soon after the Komen Run/Walk I was officially diagnosed. I had DCIS, and I found myself telling my daughters. By then, they were high school and college-aged. It was much the same thing my mother had told me, “It was caught on the mammogram… I will be fine.” How could I expect them to believe me? I was having a hard time believing in myself. However, my daughters were encouraging and supportive of me. One morning, I went downstairs into our kitchen and found several small posters on the walls with optimistic messages, they helped me keep my spirits up.

I met with an excellent breast surgeon, and at our consultation, I told her, “I have a family history of breast cancer, and I’d like to have a bilateral mastectomy and reconstructive surgery. Am I allowed to? Will my insurance company pay for it?”

She immediately told me they would. I had some complications with the reconstruction, but the breast surgery was completely successful, and I was wearing bright pink, and being honored with gifts, a special breakfast and an uplifting song, as we, the breast cancer survivors, stood in front of the stage at the 2002 Komen Race for the Cure.

Years went by and my daughters became adults. They got married and each did well in her chosen careers. Then along came the grandchildren: two boys and two girls. A fifth grandchild is now on the way. I’m so blessed to have good relationships with each of my daughters, most recently, the four of us have started a Zoom book club. Life has been busy, but good.

More time passed, and although not breast cancer, I was revisited by cancer, and this cancer was life-threatening. In the spring of 2018, incidental findings on CT scans showed what appeared to be malignant tumors on each of my lungs. Biopsies confirmed lung cancer. I had completed surgery and chemotherapy.

Facing radiation, then immunotherapy, I got a call from my oldest daughter. “Mom, I have ductal cancer.”

She had the same breast cancer diagnosis I had; she planned to have the same treatment: a mastectomy and reconstruction. Yet she and her family live 225 miles from me. As a mother, I also ruminated, I have to get well as soon as possible, so I can be with my daughter and her family.

I traveled back and forth to help her. Although my daughter’s initial treatment seemed successful, further testing revealed that her breast cancer had spread out of the milk duct and into her breast tissue. She needed chemotherapy and radiation. She suffered a couple of more setbacks but did complete treatment, and is fine now.

Last October, my two younger daughters had flowers sent to my older daughter and me to commemorate the special month, designated for Pinktober. I now buy and wear the color pink fondly, and as I do so I commemorate some of the highest and lowest points in my cancer journey, from 1980 to today. Pinktober, and the pink ribbons that come with it, have always been a part of life for me: whether I’m noticing the implants that are my breasts, or drinking tea from the mug that’s covered in pink ribbons, surrounding the message, “She Who Survived.”

My second cancer, and with it the Lung Cancer white ribbon, led me to dedicate many volunteer hours to those who have and are experiencing their cancer journeys. I’ve met incredible people and learned to love others more than I otherwise may have. Then, early this year, my oldest daughter accepted a new position putting her journalism skills to use, while giving back to the breast cancer community. I AM SO PROUD!

Reflecting on the cancer journeys of four generations of women in a family reveals a complex tapestry of sorrow and joy. The narrative spans decades, highlighting the hereditary nature of breast cancer and the emotional and physical challenges faced by each generation. The story underscores the evolution of cancer detection and treatment, the importance of family support, and the personal growth that accompanies such trials. The color pink, once avoided, becomes a symbol of survival and resilience, representing both personal and collective battles against cancer.

As someone who disliked pink for years, it has grown on me over time, especially after having breast cancer.  

Pinktober: A Whole Family Commemorates the Breast Cancer Experience 

For the past six years, I’ve wondered why my primary treatment for lung cancer was cisplatin, a harsh chemotherapy, despite the fact that my PD-L1 test results were at 60%, which made me an excellent candidate for immunotherapy.

Six years ago this month, I sat in the waiting room of my hospital’s cancer center, anticipating my first appointment with my new doctor. The medical oncologist had come highly recommended by my thoracic surgeon.

I trusted my surgeon and felt comfortable with him. He had removed malignant tumors, one from each of my lungs in the summer of 2018. My non-small cell lung cancer was diagnosed as stage 3B: two tumors and eight cancerous lymph nodes, taken from my chest during the first of my two surgeries. 

Despite feeling discouraged and rather negative, I sensed a bit of optimism for one reason and one reason only. My thoracic surgeon had my PD-L1 tested and the results, at 60%, indicated there was a good chance I would benefit from a checkpoint inhibitor type of immunotherapy. Not only was I happy with what my surgeon had shared with me, but I was also terrified of chemotherapy.

As I continued to wait for the doctor in an examination room, anxious thoughts bounced back and forth in my mind, from my fear of chemo to my hope in the newer cancer treatment: immunotherapy. It would use my own immune system to kill cancer cells. In my mind, there was very little doubt that immunotherapy was the better choice for me, specifically better than platinum-based chemotherapy. I was feeling good as the doctor walked in; I sensed that my oncologist would trust the PD-L1 results and choose immunotherapy as my primary treatment. However, not so! Why not? I wondered.

It was hard for me to even listen to the oncologist after he started talking about my planned chemotherapy regimen. Cisplatin and Alimta (pemetrexed disodium) were in the drug cocktail which I would receive every three weeks. My oncologist’s manner indicated that he was stressed; I sensed no compassion in his voice.

I saw myself only as a victim that day. A life-threatening cancer had taken hold of me and then a reputable oncologist had just explained to me what I must do to survive. I knew I must tell him that I had a high PD-L1 score of 60% and I did, yet he gave me no explanation for his choosing cisplatin as my primary cancer treatment. And I wondered

Yet, in a matter of minutes, my experience changed significantly. As a new oncology patient, I needed to have blood work done, and as I waited for the phlebotomist, my doctor tapped me gently on the shoulder and quietly said, “It will be OK.” I felt relieved. He cared.

One week later, after another scan to make sure there was no change in the stage of my cancer, and a procedure to implant a port in my upper left chest, it was time to begin chemotherapy. I was called into the treatment area, this time with a much different attitude; I was absolutely ready to begin the infusion.

Resilience is a trait I’ve had many chances in life to practice — from years of family issues to earlier serious illnesses. I smiled at the kind, caring oncology nurse, but was not surprised as she read me the long list of side effects commonly suffered by patients with cancer who receive cisplatin. In anticipation of intense fatigue, nausea, diarrhea and vomiting, my husband drove us home. However, it took almost four days for me to become ill.

My chemotherapy treatment had taken place on Thursday, Sept. 6, 2018, but it wasn’t until the following Monday evening that the full force of the harsh, platinum-based chemo, went to work on my body. I felt sick — sicker than I had felt in my entire life. Maybe chemo would do me in. I was scared I wouldn’t make it. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. At that point, I was too sick to wonder

Anxiety gripped me as I called the oncology office first thing Tuesday morning. I was able to get an appointment to see the doctor later that day, but the movement of the car and my sense of nausea as my husband drove toward the doctor’s office caused me to vomit before we arrived at the cancer center. I clung to my husband, enabling me to walk the short distance from the parking lot to the medical building.

The medical assistant took my vital signs, and all were fine. However, I weighed only 103 pounds, despite my height of 5 feet 6 inches. One of my oncologist’s associates examined me more thoroughly and diagnosed me with dehydration. “Drink more fluids,” he said. “You are fine. All your symptoms are normal."

Astounded to hear that, I felt a bit embarrassed but trusted the doctor and appreciated that I was not nearly as ill as I thought I might be. I knew I would get through that first round of chemotherapy. Drinking water, even sip by sip, was a priority, as was eating simple and bland food that my stomach could tolerate.

From that point forward, I did well with all my treatments, including the optional immunotherapy I received at the end of my treatment. Some would question why I continue to wonder about the immunotherapy as my primary treatment, but to me, it was completely clear: if not to help me, then to help the next patient.

I visited my daughter for the weekend soon after and while at their home I talked to my son-in-law, a PhD research microbiologist. He explained to me: PD-1 is a protein found on T cells that helps control the body’s immune response. When PD-1 is attached to another protein, PD-L1, it helps keep T cells from destroying cancer cells. The checkpoint inhibitor immunotherapy blocks PD-1 and allows T cells to kill cancer cells. Again, I understood some more, and again I wondered.

Today I saw my primary care physician for my annual exam, and when the topic of my lung cancer journey came up, he said, “That…PD-L1 score saved your life.”

I thought, but for only a moment. Then again, I wondered. Why?

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A patient with stage 3B non-small cell lung cancer reflects on their initial treatment choice of cisplatin chemotherapy despite a high PD-L1 score, which indicated potential benefit from immunotherapy. The patient recounts their experience with chemotherapy's harsh side effects and the emotional journey of resilience and trust in their medical team. Despite eventually receiving immunotherapy, the patient continues to question the initial treatment decision, seeking understanding for themselves and future patients. Conversations with family and healthcare providers further illuminate the complexities of cancer treatment decisions.

When I was diagnosed with lung cancer, I didn’t want to receive chemotherapy, especially when I was a good candidate for immunotherapy. 

Sue McCarthy

Rest and Recuperation After a Cancer Diagnosis and Treatment

Lessening My Apprehension Using Meditation During Lung Cancer

Pinktober: A Whole Family Commemorates the Breast Cancer Experience

I Still Reflect on My Lung Cancer Treatment Decisions

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