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

In late 2017, incidental findings on a CT revealed two primary tumors, one in each of my lungs. Because of the rarity of a diagnosis of multiple primary tumors, my case was sent to the hospital Tumor Board for evaluation. It was determined that I would have both tumors biopsied. When those biopsies revealed malignancy, two surgeries followed. Lymph nodes were removed from my chest during the first operation. In the spring of 2018, my cancer was diagnosed as stage 3B non-small cell lung cancer; I was given a 30% chance of survival.

My treatment plan would include cisplatin chemotherapy, radiation therapy, and Imfinzi (durvalumab), a checkpoint inhibitor immunotherapy. Chemotherapy was the most challenging part of my treatment journey. I suffered all of the typical chemotherapy side effects and a few more. On one particularly emotionally and physically exhausting night, anxiety gripped me as I struggled to rest or even sleep. I could hardly stand up; I suffered from vomiting and diarrhea. In my mind, I replayed memories of my mother’s chemotherapy experience in the mid-1990s.

The following Sunday, I first attended the cancer support group at my church. My husband took me, and we sat at a large rectangular table with about 10 others who had been affected by cancer in some way. Some were patients, others caretakers, and a few were good friends or family members of a patient. I had gone to St. Peregrine’s, the support group, just once, mainly because I had never seen myself as a support group person.

However, I decided to return to the group when they resumed after not meeting during the 2020-2021 pandemic.

It was sometime in the fall of 2021 when the group again met; I was in remission at that time. There was only one other person in attendance that day, but in the next few months, more of the members returned, and I met Jim and his wife, Melanie. Meeting the two of them, I found Jim a rather quiet, mellow guy; Melanie was much more outgoing. It was standard procedure at St. Peregrine’s to go around the table, sharing our various cancer journeys or relationships to others who had received a cancer diagnosis.

As Jim shared his story, he told us that he had noticed a lump in his upper arm under the skin. Initially, he thought it was an injury, possibly a muscle issue. However, it was not. Jim was diagnosed with a sarcoma, a soft tissue cancer. He, like I, was in the process of receiving follow-up CT scans at that time. I believe that he also had reached remission.

I was doing very well at that time, and I assumed that Jim was, as well. But about a year later, I became aware that Jim had suffered some health problems that he had asked his oncologist about more than once; his doctor assured him that he was fine.

Then Jim and Melanie missed a couple of group meetings, and our leader shared some information about Jim with the others of us.

Apparently, the CT scan that he received earlier that week revealed that malignant cells had been detected in his pancreas. Looking at the scan results on his computer, Jim’s oncologist was as puzzled as Jim and Mel were distressed. The radiological tech had made a mistake. Often a childhood cancer, adult sarcomas most commonly metastasized to the lungs, and unlike Jim’s earlier CTs, this one was directed partially toward his abdomen, rather than strictly at his upper body. Before Jim’s new treatment plan could be developed, it would have to be determined whether the cancer in his pancreas was, in fact, pancreatic cancer or was sarcoma that had metastasized to his pancreas.

Jim shared this sudden turn of events with us at our group, periodically with tears in his eyes, at what I believe was his last St. Peregrine’s meeting. After that, Melanie continued to attend our group and keep us posted on Jim’s condition. And Mel, in her new role, became a special member, as over time, we followed not only Jim’s metastatic cancer journey but also Melanie, in her role as his full-time caretaker.

Always a tall, thin man, Jim had gained a lot of weight in his final year on Earth. I continued to see Jim at church for the next few months. Feeling privileged to be in the right place at the right time, I was able to give him a quick hug in the spring of 2023 as I left Mass early to pass out flyers for the Lung Force Walk. The LFW is one of the fundraising activities I’ve been involved in as a lung cancer survivor. Jim was in and out of the hospital as he struggled with the harsh chemotherapy prescribed for him.

Jim’s highest priority as his life waned was to die at home, and Meli made sure that happened. Jim passed away in late January 2024, just a year ago, and at Mass last evening, Jim’s name was read in honor of his memory. My husband and I were, by chance, sitting adjacent to Melanie and her family gathered to attend Meli’s church and then spend the evening with her.

I had become much closer to Melanie in the 2024 calendar year. She impressed me with the loving, faithful care she had provided for Jim in his final days and months. Jim lived one and a half years after his cancer metastasized, and this world lost an all-around, good man. Both he and Mel brought so much to St. Peregrine’s Group.

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Articles

In late 2017, a patient was diagnosed with stage 3B non-small cell lung cancer after incidental CT findings revealed two primary tumors. The treatment plan included chemotherapy, radiation, and immunotherapy. The patient joined a cancer support group, where they met Jim, a fellow cancer patient diagnosed with sarcoma. Jim's cancer later metastasized to his pancreas, leading to his passing in January 2024. The narrative highlights the emotional journey of cancer patients and the support provided by caregivers and support groups during challenging times.

Diagnosed with stage 3B lung cancer in 2018, I joined a support group where I met Jim and Melanie, and learned about Jim's sarcoma diagnosis.

Facing Cancer Together: Jim and Melanie’s Patient-Caregiver Story

I’m from the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania area. Pittsburgh is not a large metropolitan city, but it does have two excellent healthcare systems.

A few months ago, I wrote a blog, “Still Wondering.” In that blog I revisited my lung cancer treatment journey, questioning why, in 2018, my oncologist chose Cisplatin, a harsh chemotherapy over Imfinzi (durvalumab), a checkpoint inhibitor immunotherapy, as the first-line treatment for my stage 3b non—small cell lung cancer. He chose chemotherapy despite the fact that my tumors had been tested for PD-L1, and my results indicated that I was a good candidate for an immunotherapy treatment. Dr. G was a very good oncologist in many respects. He fought right with his patients, motivating them to overcome often daunting cancers. I was impressed by his enthusiastic manner rivaling many talented motivational speakers one day after he encouraged me following an extremely difficult round of chemotherapy. I also saw the situation as an interesting irony.

Dr. G never forgot that I had expressed an interest in what he thought of as the new treatment of the day, immunotherapy. He directed me to a consultation with a local expert in the most recent immunotherapy trials for Imfinzi. My cancer treatment journey continued from mid-2018 to the early 2020s. After two lung surgeries, I would go on to receive chemo and radiation before Imfinzi.

Then earlier this week, I read an article in the Winter issue of CURE® magazine entitled, “Lung Cancer: 10 Commonly Asked Questions.” With the exception of question number one, which focused on post-treatment monitoring (annual surveillance scans were recommended), I had very little understanding of the questions asked. Having stayed involved — primarily as a volunteer — in the lung cancer community, I was astonished that my knowledge of the latest medical breakthroughs was behind the times. I was astonished by how much research, development and treatments had changed since my diagnosis; it was certainly a learning experience for me.

In reading the most frequently asked questions of lung cancer patients diagnosed in January of 2025, I also became more sensitive to my oncologist’s experience with me in the fall of 2018.

There will always be a gap between the time an oncological researcher in a lab discovers the chemical formulation that will lead to a new cancer therapy, and the time that therapy is actually put in use for a patient with cancer. But there are frequently other gaps in the process, and even sidesteps, some of which are detrimental to patients whose lives are not being saved, but others may be advantageous to more successfully meet their needs.

I have a cousin, who two years ago was treated with chemotherapy, surgery and additional chemotherapy for pancreatic cancer. He was deemed in remission a year and a half later, but he was only briefly there, before the number of cancer cells in his body began to rise. At that point biopsies indicated that his cancer was no longer stage 2, but was restaged to level 4. As of now, L has almost reached remission again. L’s doctor is a young, high achieving, very knowledgeable oncologist, and he is keeping on top of all the latest cancer discoveries and treatments, and passing them on to L, who, is thrilled by his doctor’s care. L is in his early 60s, was in excellent health when diagnosed, and continues to keep in great shape. He wants the latest treatment there is to offer.

However, I recently met a woman who has undergone significant emotional trauma in her life, including the loss of her daughter to lung cancer at the age of fourteen. Recently diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer herself, she is suffering from depression and is being tormented by the thought that she was a bad mother. A good oncologist for her would not necessarily be the one most up to date on the latest research or the most promising treatments, whether or not she has had a chance to research their effectiveness. The best oncologist for her would likely have an excellent bedside manner and choose therapies for her patient that have the most manageable side effects.

Every oncologist is not equally up to date on the latest treatments; a particular doctor may or may not be the best at deciding the most appropriate treatment for his or her patient. Another oncologist could be the most experienced with the different therapies but not as open-minded regarding a patient’s strength in coping with the challenging side effects connected with the drug he has in mind. One is not necessarily a better doctor than the other. And what about the possibility of the best doctor for the patient based on personality?

There are so many ways to choose a good doctor. In my experience, and in talking to current and former patients, I’ve noticed that even spiritual preferences can make a significant difference. It is so important to ask your doctor good questions. Your oncologist will prove to be an extremely important person in your life.

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

The narrative reflects on the complexities of choosing appropriate cancer treatments and oncologists, emphasizing the evolving nature of cancer therapies and the importance of personalized care. It highlights the gap between research advancements and clinical application, illustrating how different patients may require distinct approaches based on their unique circumstances and needs. The author shares personal experiences and observations, underscoring the significance of oncologists' bedside manner, adaptability, and understanding of patients' emotional and physical conditions in determining the most suitable treatment paths.

Following a lung cancer diagnosis, I learned that it is important to ask oncologists thoughtful questions to know if they are the best doctor for my needs. 

Matching Patient Needs with Oncologists’ Strengths in Cancer Care

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

Gratitude was not something I learned in childhood. Well, I learned when to say, “Please” and “Thank you,” but I didn’t believe I had anything to be grateful for. I struggled in my young life, knowing little love or support in my family. However, I experienced joy as a teen, and as a result, enjoyed the first real gratitude in my life. 

I became involved in a Christian youth organization that provided for me, what I had missed in my childhood. That source of community enabled me to feel grateful. The organization, not allied with a particular church, was loosely connected to my public high school in eastern Pennsylvania. The following summer, I was thrilled to be given the opportunity to travel by bus to the Young Life ranch in Colorado. That week at Frontier Ranch, I began to feel like somebody; I felt intense gratitude, so much appreciation for having friends and happiness.

After I graduated from high school and college, I decided to move across my state. I felt welcomed by a small group of friends, met a guy, got married and had three daughters.

When my first daughter was born, joy and gratitude were there, and within the first few days, then weeks, of her life, what might be obvious to some, dawned on me! I would raise my daughter much differently than I had been raised! I did the same with each of my girls and never regretted the extra effort it sometimes took. As the months and years went by, I knew that not only had I raised strong, smart, loving daughters, l but I had become stronger and more loving to myself than I would have felt possible. Grateful? Absolutely!

Life was much better, but when I was about 40 years old, cancer first touched my life. When my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, I faced two challenges: I still had a strained relationship with her, partially because of the bitterness that I held onto, despite years of reading forgiveness books and articles. (By then my daughters had a good relationship with their grandmother.) Secondly, I had to face the fact that the maternal side of my mother's family was indeed being affected by genetically linked breast cancer. Mom was the third generation of women who had received a breast cancer diagnosis.

Although my mother told me that her cancer was caught early, it was only a few months before it had metastasized. She suffered a lot. Mom struggled through many rounds of harsh chemotherapy until metastases reached the liver and she declined further treatment. At the time she was in treatment, I was conflicted a lot. At times I even felt as if in standing up for myself in a disagreement, I would expedite her death. Nevertheless, my daughters and I traveled the five hours to see her regularly.

Strangely, I found myself in the position of the adult child in the family who spent a lot of time with my mother in her last few months of life. My sister, the golden child of the family, did not step forward to be there for Mom, and I felt I needed to. I felt amazing joy in the fact that as she faced her final weeks and days, she was clearly grateful for my help, and I was grateful to God for enabling me to do what was right, regardless of whether it made a positive difference in my life going forward.

My mother passed away in the mid-1990s six years later, I was diagnosed with early-stage breast cancer, ductal carcinoma in situ. Initially so glad that the mammogram had detected the cancer early, I soon realized that I was at a great risk of recurrence. I had heard about mastectomies being done preventatively. However, it was uncommon at the time. I wasn’t rich or famous. Was there any chance my insurance would cover the surgery?

I scheduled an appointment with a recommended breast surgeon, listened to her tell me about the standard oncological procedure of the time, and took a deep breath.

“Would it be possible for me to have a mastectomy and reconstructive surgery?” I asked her quietly. She told me yes.

Oh my, the gratitude!! I had worried and worried, for years, even before my mother’s diagnosis.

Thanksgiving days in my home have never been just about reading a prayer handed out in church or printed off the internet, before the big meal. Because of my fondness for the concept of gratitude, as my children have grown up (our family now includes grandchildren) the last Thursday of November isn’t Thanksgiving without each of us sharing at least one thing we’re thankful for with the group.

In the spring of 2018, after surgeries to remove malignant tumors in each of my lungs, I was diagnosed with stage 3B lung cancer and given a 30% chance of survival. Although my journey was difficult, there were times of gratitude, filled with joy.

One was following my first round of chemotherapy: I had spent a physically, emotionally and spiritually draining night. I was nauseated, with ongoing vomiting and diarrhea, anxiety and depression. I was thankful just to see that my fever was sufficiently high to justify a special trip to see an oncologist. My diagnosis: all symptoms are normal, with some dehydration. I was told to drink more water.

As I rode home in the car, I felt no different physically, but my anxiety and depression were gone; my spirits lifted! And by that Thanksgiving, three months later, it made no difference whether I could taste the turkey and stuffing, I was grateful, beyond belief for having completed chemotherapy!

I subsequently had five weeks of daily radiation therapy, and on the final day, participated in an old cancer treatment completion tradition, I rang the bell in celebration, with gratitude! Finally, in early January of the following year after finishing a year of immunotherapy, I reached remission.

Gratitude was not innate for the author, who faced a challenging childhood. However, involvement in a Christian youth organization and later life experiences, including motherhood and battling cancer, fostered a deep sense of gratitude. The author navigated complex family dynamics, particularly with her mother’s breast cancer diagnosis, and faced her own cancer journey with resilience. Despite the hardships, she found joy and gratitude in small victories, such as early cancer detection and treatment success. Thanksgiving became a meaningful tradition, emphasizing gratitude for life’s blessings.

Through cancer and life’s challenges, having and showing gratitude changed everything for me.  

The Importance of Gratitude During Cancer, Not Only in November

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.

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. 

Sue McCarthy

Facing Cancer Together: Jim and Melanie’s Patient-Caregiver Story

Matching Patient Needs with Oncologists’ Strengths in Cancer Care

The Importance of Gratitude During Cancer, Not Only in November

Rest and Recuperation After a Cancer Diagnosis and Treatment

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