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

My life has changed dramatically since my journey through stage 3B non-small cell lung cancer. I’ve learned, grown and lived my life more fully than I would ever have thought possible before the experience.

I can, and now do, live life “one day at a time” as often as possible. Our lives are precious and limited. Certainly, not every day am I blessed with sunshine, blue skies and spring flowers. There are days when I’m privileged to spend the afternoon with my best friend or hug my grandchild. However, every day provides me with something to be grateful for, something new to learn or teach to another.

Making Something Special of My Second Chance at Life

I want, and sometimes even feel the need, to make my second chance at life something special. Facing life-threatening cancer caused me to lose hope on several occasions. And yet, as I recovered spiritually at least twice, I knew that I could rise above so many, if not all, of life’s greatest challenges. In addition to not letting fear dominate me when life was difficult, I began to take on and even master situations that would have been overwhelming to me in the past.

I respect my body far more than I did before my diagnosis. Although I’m still striving for a better-balanced diet, I’ve come a long way. Although I liked to exercise in the past, I’ve moved on to the next level. Throughout my adult life, I’ve walked and occasionally hiked for pleasure and fitness. I now use my treadmill faithfully in inclement weather and walk outside when the weather is nice. More significantly, I’ve added more exercises. Alternate days, I lift weights, and once a week, I use a rowing machine as well as a stationary bicycle at the gym. I keep a regular bedtime, and most nights, I sleep seven hours. If I have a difficult night, I take a 20-to-30-minute nap.

Realizing now the value of family members, both blood relatives and individuals who are so close to me that we’ve informally “adopted one another,” I am now making every attempt to maintain good relationships with all of them. Soon after reaching the five-year mark since my lung cancer diagnosis, I took on the role of cancer support person to cousins on both my mother’s and father’s sides of our family. I had not had a connection with either of them since we were children, so we were just getting to know each other as we started to share our cancer stories. It was challenging, but also rewarding.

I now understand that I can become very ill, very weak, feel hopeless emotionally, or a financial failure, and yet climb back out of that hole, attaining comparative health and wealth. It took me one ominous physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually overwhelming night during chemotherapy treatment to lead me to the realization that I can’t and won’t give up on myself and even life itself.

I’ve learned that God’s power in my life is limitless. Going forward, I will never forget that my life is a miracle. I will never minimize God’s strength and his capacity to heal me and so many others who turn to Him in their hour of need. I changed churches, which led me to feel more fulfilled in my worship experience. I have become more actively involved as a volunteer in the cancer support group there.

Accepting That My Body Has Undergone Harsh Treatment

My body has suffered damage as a result of chemotherapy and radiation that has likely weakened it. Yes, it is disappointing that I will probably struggle more with other illnesses; my life expectancy could be shortened. However, there is so much more to be grateful for in my new normal life.

It’s hard for any patient with cancer to forget the day he or she was told, “I can treat you, but I can’t promise you that you can be cured.” Hence, anxiety about recurrence is typically in the back of my mind. Because of this, I prefer the term “remission” to “cure.”

And for me, the most important lesson I learned as a result of stage 3B non-small cell lung cancer was that it takes a long time to recover from life-threatening cancer and the treatment necessary to be cured. I had always been a very active person; I wanted and unwisely believed that I would finish treatment and get right back into my old life. I was very wrong, and now I know how important it is to walk, not run, out of treatment and into rest and recovery, then slowly evolve. In my new normal, I am wiser and more content. I am grateful to have become the person I was always meant to be.

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Articles

A journey through stage 3B non-small cell lung cancer has led to profound personal growth and a renewed appreciation for life. Embracing a "one day at a time" philosophy, the experience has fostered a deeper respect for health, family, and faith. The challenges of cancer treatment have highlighted the importance of gradual recovery and acceptance of a new normal. While the fear of recurrence lingers, the focus remains on gratitude and making the most of a second chance at life, with an emphasis on personal well-being and meaningful relationships.

Life-threatening lung cancer has taught me many valuable lessons and made my new normal so fulfilling.

Surviving Life-Threatening Lung Cancer: Lessons Learned

My cousin, Larry, and I were at my mother and stepfather’s home in Chester County, Pensylvania, in 1995. He and his 10-year-old son, and I, with my 14, 13, and 11-year-old daughters, had crossed paths that hot August day. He had arrived with his parents, my aunt and uncle.

As my daughters and I drove up the driveway, Larry and his son were swimming competitively in the average-sized inground backyard pool. The 10-year-old was a big boy, as was his dad, a big man, about 6-foot-4, 200 pounds. As the guys completed lap after lap in the pool, splashing like crazy, Larry’s son could have been a teenager, Larry a 21-year-old.

Actually, Larry was in his mid-30s; I, in my mid-40s. At that time in our respective lives, we were definitely not the golden children in our families, nor had we been for a while. I hadn’t seen Larry since he was younger than his son was that day; I wouldn’t see him again until June of 2024.

Not surprisingly, my girls, all three on our neighborhood swim team, wanted to get into the water as soon as possible. They asked me about Grandma’s health as I walked over to my stepfather, and he said, “Yes, your mother is in the house.”

My daughters and I walked over to the house, and after saying, “Hi,” to their grandmother, the girls changed into their swimsuits, while Mom and I talked.

My mother was not well; she was in her second year of fighting breast cancer. Mom represented the third generation of women on the maternal side of the family who had been diagnosed with the disease. A strong woman, my mom was still confident that she could beat her cancer, despite the fact that about two months earlier it had metastasized. She would pass away thirteen months later.

Our family history of hereditary cancer seemed to have stemmed from Larry’s and my maternal grandmother’s childhood family. She and her mother had both died of breast cancer, her older sister of ovarian. In addition to my mother dying of breast cancer in 1996, her brother, Larry’s dad, suffered from prostate cancer in the early 2000s, in the same time frame that I was stricken by breast cancer. Later, Larry fought off prostate cancer.

Years past, and in the 2010s, my oldest daughter took a significant interest in the genetic issue that caused the occurrence of cancer in our extended family. She and I were both tested for a mutation in BRCA 1 and 2. Our tests came back negative, and soon after, ironically, she became the fifth woman on the maternal side of the family to receive the breast cancer diagnosis.

It’s hard for me to know which had a more profound effect on me — facing five generations of the breast cancer diagnoses, or a stage 3B, non-small-cell-lung cancer diagnosis, which I received overlapping with my 38-year-old daughter’s breast cancer.

Life-threatening cancer left me struggling on all levels: physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Physically, with chemotherapy leading to nausea, vomiting and fatigue. The fatigue made me so weak that I couldn’t type or send a short text message. Mentally, I had such a difficult time focusing that I couldn’t read a light fiction story. Emotionally, I felt hopeless and, as a result, depressed. Spiritually, on the Sundays I was up to it, I would sit in church and have no sense of God’s presence. My feelings of hopelessness led me to question God’s very existence. And that’s not typically me.

Although I did eat when hungry and exercise some, otherwise, I couldn’t believe in myself; I could not even believe in God. I eventually realized I didn’t have the emotional or spiritual support I needed.

I was a year into remission when I heard the news about my cousin. It was January of 2023, and my sister had received a note from our aunt, Larry’s mother. My sister sent the message on to me. After suffering through significant abdominal pain throughout the Christmas holidays, Larry had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

There was never a doubt in my mind. I would be there for my cousin. I would send him, “You’ve got this!” text messages and emojis with gold medals, thumbs-up symbols and muscles, although I hardly knew him and I’m not very outgoing; I would pursue any common interests of ours, and we would talk and text anytime, hopefully more rather than less! I messaged Larry, letting him know of my interest in supporting him.

Larry received strong chemotherapy for six months. All went well, then he had a rest period of about six weeks before the surgeon would do the resection. The surgery involved the removal of the part of the pancreas which was no longer functioning and using some of his stomach tissue to recreate his pancreas. Larry then had additional time to recover from the major surgery, before doing follow-up chemotherapy to kill any remaining malignant cells. He got through his treatment plan, with only minor bumps in the road.

For the prior few weeks of chemo, he and I talked about reuniting. I got increasingly excited about meeting Larry, but there were several other family members and the close friends of family members who I hadn’t seen in decades and knew little about. I was nervous. I had been separated from many family members for so long, yet again with minor pitfalls, it went well, and June 9, 2024, was a special day; ten of us met/reunited at Larry’s home in central Pennsylvania.

I was thanked and praised for initiating the event, which led to reuniting so many. It was uncomfortable for me to be a bit of a hero that day. I was still in remission and then Larry was as well. Larry’s mother and her close friend were back in my life, my husband was there, and I met Larry’s wife as well. My oldest daughter made the trip north from Washington, D.C.

I was so happy to have Larry in my life, and to be appreciated for the support I had given to him.

I have gone on to be a support person to others in the cancer community, including, among others, a cousin on my dad’s side of the family.

And the bonus: It brought joy to me to have two new cousins, after growing up with little support from my family.

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A family history of hereditary cancer, particularly breast and prostate cancer, has profoundly impacted multiple generations. Despite testing negative for BRCA mutations, the family continues to face cancer diagnoses, including the narrator's own battle with non-small-cell lung cancer and their daughter's breast cancer. The narrator's cousin, Larry, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, prompting a reconnection and mutual support. This experience led to a family reunion and inspired the narrator to support others in the cancer community, finding joy in newfound family connections and the ability to help others.

After realizing that a stronger support system would have helped me emotionally and spiritually in my cancer journey, I committed myself to being there for my cousin.


My Cousin and I Journey Through Breast, Lung, Pancreatic and Prostate Cancer

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.

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. 

Sue McCarthy

Surviving Life-Threatening Lung Cancer: Lessons Learned

My Cousin and I Journey Through Breast, Lung, Pancreatic and Prostate Cancer

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

Matching Patient Needs with Oncologists’ Strengths in Cancer Care

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