With Cancer, 'Your Outlook Will Be Significant in Beating This Disease'

"Dr. L" was my thoracic surgeon, and I felt quite comfortable with him. I’d met with him after having tumors in each of my lungs biopsied. The tumors were both malignant. I had felt hopeful about him, my first lung cancer doctor, since "Dr. C," my longtime and much-loved primary care physician (PCP), had referred me to him. As it turned out, I was really pleased to have Dr. L as my doctor throughout the process of my eventual stage 3B diagnosis.

There are so many ups and downs in the cancer journey, especially the process of diagnosis, that I often felt like I was on a roller-coaster ride. My PCP had initially seen the spots on my lungs as an incidental finding, the report on a CT scan that was done in the emergency department of a nearby hospital, after I had suffered a probable seizure as I backed out of my driveway one morning.

From the day I first met my thoracic surgeon, he gave me reason to feel optimism. It started with my doctor educating my husband and me. At that first appointment, Dr. L drew pictures of lungs on the dry-erase board in his office and explained how lung cancer can be cured surgically. He hadn’t even mentioned chemotherapy, which made me very happy. Then he looked me straight in the eye and said, “Your outlook will be significant in beating this disease.”

At that moment, I felt empowered. I knew that was something I could do. Before that, I hadn’t even considered the possibility of having any control over my disease. I moved on to level 1 of self-initiated lung cancer patient rehab.

However, two weeks after my first operation in the summer of 2018, my thoracic surgeon called to let me know that, in addition to removing the tumor in my left lung, he had taken lymph nodes from my chest and found that many were malignant. Despite that alarming news, Dr L’s tone of voice and comforting words helped a lot. He told me that my updated treatment plan would begin with cisplatin chemotherapy as soon as possible.

There’s no doubt in my mind about the relationship between mental, emotional, spiritual and physical health. Dr. L’s words, “Your outlook will be significant,” were the first of at least three significant optimistic turnarounds, and there were smaller ones as well. They were all life altering to me.

I am now a leader in my church’s cancer support group, and I have met and even become close friends with individuals who have overcome amazing cancer challenges. A very special person to me is Donna; she joined our group four years ago. Six months prior to that, she had been diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer, yet her attitude that day was one of motivation and inspiration to fight and rise above her diagnosis. She even had the group roaring with laughter as she described the role a stink bug (a mortal enemy of hers) played in her diagnosis.

And I’m in awe of Melanie, a woman who came to the group to support her husband, Jim, who was in treatment for a malignant sarcoma in his upper arm. Jim did well in treatment and had reached his fifth year since his diagnosis. He was at his appointment and was expecting to be told, “Congratulations, you are cured!” But that was not the case.

At his CT scan a few days earlier, the technician had adjusted the machine somewhat differently than at previous scans, and Jim’s oncologist shocked him when he said, “I’m sorry to have to tell you, but a mass has been found in your pancreas.” He lived about 15 months, and Melanie made it possible for him to die at home, his only request. Melanie is still a loyal group member; she wants to be there for others who are going through cancer with their significant other.

As our group grows and reaches more patients, caregivers and survivors, I remember back to the lowest point in my journey. Soon after falling asleep one night, I awoke and felt the full force of the chemotherapy in my first round of the infusions. I felt helpless, and, to a large extent, I was. Throughout the night, I suffered through diarrhea, nausea and vomiting. I couldn’t even drink water. The next morning, my fever reached 101 F, and I called my oncologist’s office. My husband took me to the medical center, and because of the motion of the car, I threw up yet again. I could only walk into the office by clinging to my husband. The aide took my vital signs, and they were fine, with the exception of my weight being extremely low. Finally, the oncologist who was seeing sick patients examined me and said, “You’re dehydrated. Drink more water.”

“That’s all?!” I said. “Yes,” he responded. “All of your other symptoms are completely normal.” Soon after that day, I realized that I could — and would — get well. I started eating better, sleeping better, and after each successive round of chemo, I used the mantra: "I am not sick until proven healthy, but healthy unless proven sick."

Through daily radiation and monthly immunotherapy, I maintained a positive attitude, most of the time. And my now good friend Donna is an incredible role model of faith, hope and positivity to me. Donna has had all the chemotherapy she can take at this point, as well as radiation, but yesterday, she let me know that she’s getting closer and closer to acceptance into a new drug trial. I am so blessed to have her in my life. Nothing seems to scare her; her perseverance is incredible.

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

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