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

Prior to my diagnosis with Stage 3B Lung Cancer, I had spent many years reading self-help books. I worked hard, but never felt successful, or took pride in myself. Then the world started to emerge from the pandemic, and I realized God had given me a second chance at life. He had brought me back from a 30% chance of survival, and I knew I wanted my life to be worthy of His incredible gift. I am a different person today. My new normal is so much more rewarding, and I feel so much joy.

An ordinary day in my life before Stage 3B Lung Cancer included enough work in my tutoring business to pay the bills and save a little. I told myself I had to be kind and caring to everyone I interacted with. Although my expectations of others were reasonable, my expectations for myself were not. I told myself I needed to be available for my husband, adult children, step-children and grandchildren, and if not, I would 

even when I hadn’t promised anyone but myself. 

Was I living my life as my own worst enemy? 

I was not happy. I wanted the students I tutored to always be successful; I wanted to be a good person, all of the time. I wanted to please the special people in my life, routinely.

Then I was diagnosed with lung cancer in the spring of 2018, and subsequently received treatment: Malignant tumors were removed from each of my lungs. The lymph nodes taken from my chest at the time tested cancerous as well, so I had chemotherapy, followed by radiation, and immunotherapy.

A month later I had a CT scan, and it showed my lungs were cancer free. 

I was so thankful, so grateful, and soon my lifestyle would change. I would start to learn to thrive, and slowly but surely, I began to experience more and more joy and fulfillment.

However, I had attained remission just two months before the pandemic would close down most of the world; I struggled throughout the COVID era with something similar toPTSD. I felt the need to push through the challenges of the pandemic in the same way that I had fought, long and hard, to beat lung cancer. In my first nine months of remission, I spent my time attempting to catch up on all I had fallen behind on while in cancer treatment.

But, in the fall of 2020, as the spread of COVID slowed down, I also slowed down, and asked myself, 

 God had saved my life. My chance of cancer survival had been much less than 50%, and yet I was alive. If God had wanted me to have a second chance at life, I wanted to live a life worthy of His miraculous gift to me.

Since that day, I have focused on giving back to today’s cancer patients – by blogging for CURE magazine, as well as by continually increasing my involvement in my church’s cancer support group, St. Peregrine group. I’ve reduced my tutoring to six hours per week, leaving me with quality time to spend with my husband, children, step-children, grandchildren and even to make periodic visits to extended family members who I had only had minimal contact with throughout my life.

I still work a little too hard at times, but I feel so rewarded by my work, especially having made the commitment to serve those who continue to receive cancer diagnoses. I sense so much joy and peace as I go forward in my new normal.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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Articles

A personal journey through Stage 3B Lung Cancer led to a profound transformation, emphasizing gratitude and a renewed sense of purpose. The experience of surviving cancer, coupled with the challenges of the COVID-19 pandemic, prompted a reevaluation of life priorities. The individual shifted focus from self-imposed pressures to a more fulfilling life, engaging in cancer support activities and cherishing family time. This narrative highlights the impact of life-threatening illness on personal growth and the pursuit of a meaningful existence, underscoring the importance of support and community involvement.

Prior to my diagnosis with Stage 3B Lung Cancer, I had spent many years reading self-help books. I worked hard, but never felt successful, or took pride in myself. 

How Lung Cancer Helped to Save My Life

About a week ago, I first noticed the email to the CURE bloggers promoting “Stand Up to Cancer Day,” and later that same evening, I received a text message from a special friend: “We’ll talk soon. I love you.” Although I didn’t know that my friend had contemplated hospice care, I wondered whether that was what she wanted to talk about, and I felt uncomfortable and very sad.

I believe I had been sleeping restlessly that night, but I woke up at 4:30 a.m. the next morning suddenly feeling a sense of panic. Thoughts skyrocketed in my mind. Was I trying to read her mind? Or was this all a figment of my imagination? Was my special friend going to die? Could I cope with her death, maybe imminent, but likely within the next year? I had told my friend, on the only day she brought up the topic of her passing, that I would be OK; but then I questioned myself; might I let her down? I knew I couldn’t let her down at that critical point.

Then suddenly the email came back to mind: “Stand Up to Cancer.” That’s absolutely what I have to do. I will be there for my special friend until one or the other of us is gone. Although both of our journeys have involved life-threatening cancers, hers (three years after mine) was at a more advanced stage when diagnosed. Her cancer had metastasized to her lungs and liver, and she had experienced more complications and side effects than I did. On top of it all, she is ten years younger than I am.

All of these are good reasons to stand up to my special friend’s cancer.

My friend had been struggling with low blood counts for the past year or two, yet she continued her chemotherapy regimens, interspersed with shots to stimulate white blood cell production, primarily to prevent infection.

A physically strong and confident woman, my special friend completed her chemo in June of this year, but soon after spent four days in the hospital. At that point, her oncologist, who is also my oncologist, told her she was not well enough to have any more chemotherapy. The next day, she saw a radiation oncologist, who told her she wouldn’t be able to receive radiation therapy either because of the large number of malignant nodules in her lungs, as well as the location of the growths in her liver.

This meant that the only cancer treatment she was still possibly eligible for was surgery. Although her liver specialist was initially reluctant, he reconsidered and decided that my friend was, in fact, strong enough for liver surgery. He would remove the two cancerous nodules in her liver, despite one being located very close to her stomach. The surgery was performed on August 12, 2025.

My special friend did well with the surgery; however, she soon began suffering from two concerning complications. She developed a rash covering her body and, more worrisome, was seeing blood in her post-surgical drains. She was at the hospital emergency room less than a week after being discharged. It was determined that infection was the most likely cause of her symptoms, and she was put on a strong antibiotic. My friend is home again now and is being seen by a home health care nurse twice a day.

It’s very reassuring to me to know that she’s being well cared for. I am hopeful and prayerful that she will recover completely from her surgery.

I’ve had some weak moments, but generally I’ve got this. I am successfully standing up for my special friend. I’m not sure whether it’s harder to stand up for her now, in her journey, or for myself in my own voyage. Although the perspective has been different, both challenges have been immense. Cancer is never easy; cancer is a formidable enemy.

The narrative explores the emotional and physical challenges faced by a cancer survivor supporting a friend with advanced cancer. The friend, younger and diagnosed with metastatic cancer, undergoes surgery after chemotherapy and radiation are deemed unsuitable. Post-surgery complications arise, but with medical intervention, recovery is hopeful. The author reflects on the difficulty of supporting a loved one through cancer, emphasizing the importance of standing up to cancer for both the friend and oneself. The piece underscores the shared journey and resilience required in the face of cancer's formidable challenges.

Receiving a “Stand Up to Cancer Day” email gave me the strength to support a friend through her darkest cancer days. 

 Standing Up to a Friend’s Cancer Is as Hard as Facing My Own

It happened on the fifth day, after my first cisplatin chemotherapy treatment, in mid-September 2018.

My husband, Dan, had been my primary support person leading up to my final diagnosis with stage 3b lung cancer. Dan encouraged me as I approached testing procedures, often feeling terrified; he accompanied me to all my doctor appointments. Frequently, he took half a day or one day off from work to be there for me. My thoracic surgeon removed malignant tumors, one from each lung, in two separate surgeries; my husband called off for two or three days for each of the surgeries, in the summer of 2018.

By that time, Dan was in his 5th decade of his career as a high-quality structural engineer. My husband had traveled for his employer often, over the years. Not uncommonly, he worked a six-day week. Dan was quite comfortable in the office, maybe more so than ever when I suffered from life-threatening lung cancer. I completely understood the logic of his thinking but had had an incredibly challenging night and struggled with the concept of his going to work that morning. I was overwhelmed by the effect of the chemo. Having lain in the bed all night, sicker than I had ever felt in my life, I was afraid. Could I die of the side effects of the chemotherapy? I wondered. I periodically vomited and had diarrhea, I continually experienced nausea, had a fever and chills. Walking to the bathroom was as exhausting to me as running a marathon might have been had I been well. And I’m just a woman who likes to walk around my neighborhood. I didn’t have the pep to send a short text message.

I said, “Dan. Just until I complete chemo. PLEASE, ask Ken, (his boss) to allow you to work from home.”

“How about I just work for half day?” he responded.

“I’ve never felt this sick; I’m afraid I might die… not of cancer, but of the side effects of the chemo.”

Dan responded, “Let me just go in; if you’re still sick in a little while, I’ll come home.”

Dan took his breakfast into the TV room and ate it, then he sat down on the bed and said, “Goodbye, Sue, and paused. Please call me if you need me.”

I took my temperature for the third time that morning. My temperature had to be at least 101 degrees for an oncologist to make a special appointment to see me. I walked slowly to the stairs that led to the garage where Dan’s car was parked. My husband was at the door to the garage but hadn’t opened it yet. “Dan, I said, my temperature is 101; I need to go to the doctor. Will you take me?”

“I’ll stay home today and take you to the doctor.”

My appointment at the Oncology Office was at 1:00 p.m.; Dan drove us to the office. Fortunately, I was well prepared for the 35-minute ride south of State Route 8. I brought three throw-up bags like those in airplanes, in the pouch, on the back of the seat in front of the passenger. And packing those for the road proved to be a wise decision. The motion of the car resulted in my stomach issues intensifying. I vomited a lot and used two of the three bags.

Not surprisingly, I was quite weak and fatigued and thus struggled to get from the parking lot into the medical building. I was virtually unable to walk at all and leaned against Dan, who supported me in more ways than one.

We got on the elevator and rode to the third floor of the building. Dan helped me a few doors down the hall to the Oncology Suite. After sitting briefly in the waiting area, my name was called. After taking my vital signs, an aide took Dan and me to see the doctor. It was only a few minutes later that I was given my diagnosis. “You are dehydrated,” said the cancer doctor, “you need to drink more water.” He went on to tell me that all my symptoms were normal side effects of Cisplatin chemotherapy.

That day became a turning point for both Dan and me. Dan asked Ken’s permission to work from home throughout my chemo, then radiation therapy. And I listened carefully as the doctor said, “You’re fine. Your symptoms are normal.” In my mind, I said, “Sue, you’ve got this!” My mental and emotional health were turned upside down.

In a little over a year, I would be in remission; in another three and a half years, I would be officially cured.

A patient recounts her experience with stage 3b lung cancer and the challenges faced during chemotherapy with cisplatin. Her husband, Dan, initially struggled to balance work and caregiving but eventually worked from home to support her. The patient experienced severe side effects, including nausea, vomiting, and dehydration, leading to a pivotal doctor's visit. The oncologist reassured her that these symptoms were normal, which helped improve her mental and emotional outlook. Over time, she achieved remission and was eventually declared cured, highlighting the importance of support and perseverance.

In a defining moment for both my husband and me, we learned of the need for and the meaning of support during a cancer journey.

A Close Companion Throughout my Cancer Journey

It all started when I was diagnosed with life-threatening lung cancer toward the end of the summer of 2018. Relatively small tumors had been found, one in each lung, and biopsies had revealed them both to be malignant. The tumors were removed in two separate surgeries.

My thoracic surgeon, Dr. L, also removed lymph nodes from my chest. Most of the nodes tested cancerous; none had metastasized, the first blessing on my road to recovery.

I was blest once again when my tumor was tested, and it indicated a 60% likelihood of responding to checkpoint inhibitor immunotherapy. Thus, the rest of my treatment plan would include chemo, radiation, and immunotherapy.

The third, and maybe most significant, cause for optimism occurred five days after my first round of Cisplatin chemotherapy. At that point, I was already aware that Cisplatin was a chemo known to be especially hard to tolerate.

After a traumatic night, feeling sicker than I had ever felt in my life, my husband, Dan, asked his boss and got permission to work from home for the rest of my treatment. That meant so much to me. When my fever reached 101, he took me to the oncology office that day for a special visit. Neither of us could believe my diagnosis and directions going forward, “Dehydration, drink more water.”

In having Dan at home, available to help me, and hearing the doctor’s words, I was encouraged, for the first time in many weeks. I knew I could recover.

I would finish my treatment plan by January 2020 and enter remission.

However, I had to face an astonishing turn of events in late 2018. My 38-year-old daughter was diagnosed with breast cancer. Her daughter was six years old, and her son three at the time. I made multiple trips to the Washington, DC area to be with her and support her family; I took the train and traveled whenever I was healthy enough to do so.

My daughter is strong; she fought and beat her disease.

Just two years later, I heard from my 91-year-old aunt. My aunt had been married to my mother’s brother for many years before he had passed away a few years earlier. Cancer had appeared in our family yet again. This time it was my first cousin, her son. L had been suffering from severe abdominal pain, which eventually led him to the Emergency Room of the nearest hospital in the rural area where he lived. He was admitted and spent more than a week in the hospital, undergoing a lot of testing. 

It was determined that he had Stage 2 Pancreatic Cancer, which made him eligible for a strong chemotherapy regimen followed by resection surgery if and when his tumors had shrunk sufficiently. My cousin had been referred to a pancreatic oncologist at the University of Miami (FL), who specialized in doing research on the mutant gene that probably caused L’s cancer. 

Fortunately, his wife owned property in southeast Florida, not far from the University of Miami Cancer Center. They moved to Florida, and L began treatment.

At least thirty years had passed since I had seen or had any contact with my cousin, and I wondered whether he had any idea who I was. However, I wanted to revive our childhood relationship, especially because of our new common bond, our respective cancer journeys. I assured my aunt that I would contact her son. She gave me his email address as well as his cell phone number.

Although our communication was primarily limited to email and text messages, we got closer and closer; we were soon typing away about much more than infusions, ports, and side effects. We corresponded about our shared grandparents and other family members, and in time shared some more serious concerns.

By April 2024, L completed his chemo regimen and did well with the surgery. He would visit his mother, who lives a 4-hour drive from me, a month later. L and I were both eager to reunite after so long. My cousin talked to his wife, mother-in-law, and 20-something daughter. I had never met any of them; I talked to my husband, my daughter, and the very close friend of my aunt’s and cousin’s family. I had not seen my aunt or her friend in about 25 years. We set a date for us all to meet, near L’s mother’s home, on June 9, 2024.

And it was a day that was incredibly special. Our family had, over time, become so detached. With the exception of my husband and daughter, it was highly unlikely that I would have ever, in my life, spent time with my aunt’s and cousin’s family, which was also my mother’s side of my family, again. The experience was so much more than just that one day, and as of today, I continue to feel genuine love for all of them. The force of the bond L and I formed has extended and become the core of what was, until eighteen months ago, a painfully disconnected group of individuals connected by blood only. Now we are a loving, supportive family.

Who would have thought that two life-threatening cancer diagnoses would reunite a long-time disconnected family?

A personal journey through cancer diagnoses highlights the transformative power of shared adversity in reuniting a disconnected family. The narrative begins with a lung cancer diagnosis, followed by a daughter's breast cancer and a cousin's pancreatic cancer. Each family member's battle with cancer becomes a catalyst for renewed connections and support. The story underscores the emotional and relational impact of cancer, illustrating how life-threatening illnesses can foster resilience, empathy, and familial bonds, ultimately transforming a fragmented family into a loving, supportive unit.

Through three family cancer diagnoses, and my own life-threatening stage 3b lung cancer verdict, family support and reconnection helped support me.

Sue McCarthy

How Lung Cancer Helped to Save My Life

Standing Up to a Friend’s Cancer Is as Hard as Facing My Own

A Close Companion Throughout my Cancer Journey

Reuniting a Family After Multiple Cancer Diagnoses

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