Setbacks and Blessings in a Cancer Journey

After being diagnosed with stage 2 non-small cell lung cancer, I had the first of two surgeries. A malignant tumor was removed from my lung; the second operation would be at least three weeks later, when a unique but also cancerous tumor would be taken from my right lung. As a part of the first surgery, lymph nodes were removed from my chest; then two weeks later the phone rang and it was my thoracic surgeon, Dr. L, and the news was not good.

I was shocked and saddened to hear that my lymph nodes were malignant. With that discovery, my cancer was restaged to stage 3B. My treatment was dramatically altered; it went from two surgeries, three to four weeks apart, to the same two surgeries, platinum-based chemotherapy, radiation, and maybe immunotherapy. When I put the phone down after my conversation with Dr. L, I wondered, “is this setback more than I can handle?”

My PCP had told me that traveling through a cancer experience was much like riding a roller coaster. The setback wasn’t a shock, but it made my odds worse. After all, stage 3 cancer is considered advanced stage disease. Also, I was terrified of chemotherapy; my mother had died of metastatic breast cancer, after receiving so much debilitating chemo.

But my thoracic surgeon was still there. I saw him after my second surgery, and he reported to me that my tumor had been tested for PD-L1, and it showed a 60% chance of response to immunotherapy. My first oncologist had been a real inspiration to me. I followed Dr. L’s orders – “Keep in mind that attitude has a big effect on beating this disease.” I started a gratitude journal, and on the first day of chemo, I was ready for it. I had bounced back.

My first round of chemotherapy started in what seemed to be a routine way. What I didn’t realize at the time was that the effects of the steroids I took the day before, the day of, and the day after chemotherapy, enabled my body to remain strong. However, four days after treatment, my body was bombarded by the strong cancer drugs — disease swept through me. And that night was even worse, and I was horribly ill with every stomach issue imaginable; sicker than I’d ever felt in my life. How could I possibly survive this? I was so low mentally, physically and emotionally.

The next day, feeling no improvement and running a 101-degree fever, my oncologist, Dr. G, fit me into his schedule. My husband drove me to the office, and I had to use the motion sickness bag on the way. Walking from the parking lot to the office was almost impossible. The outcome of my visit: All side effect symptoms were normal; “You are dehydrated. Drink more water.”

And my spirits lifted. My symptoms were normal. I was every bit as weak physically, but felt more confident than I had since receiving my initial diagnosis. I could do it.

Just a few days later I was at the supermarket buying baking potatoes, which I ate regularly, topped with shredded cheese, ham, and canned vegetables. Boost nutritional drinks also helped me gain back the weight I had lost. The roller coaster was on its way up again. Would I recover from this? My chances were increasing.

I had completed my chemotherapy regimen, and I was tired, very tired; it was the worst possible time for me to meet with my soon-to-be radiation oncologist, as well as the technician who would enter my data to prepare the radiation machine for my treatment, and if I was still interested, the lead researcher on the local drug trials on the newest immunotherapy to fight lung cancer.

I managed to get through that tough week, never letting my fatigue stand in the way. Because of some of what I’d heard, I began to think of radiation therapy as A Walk in the Park. I was very impressed with the immunotherapy expert and decided to deal with an additional year of treatment, optional treatment, an infusion of Imfinzi (durvalumab) immunotherapy, one per month.

Although radiation treatment was not exactly a walk in the park, it was certainly better than chemo, and was notable because of the awesome experience in the holiday season: the beautiful decorations, the kindness, and support.

There were no side effects with my immunotherapy, and then my treatment was done, but the roller coaster ride was not yet.

Two months after my final clear scan, we entered the COVID era, and I struggled. For most of my cancer journey I had prayed for normalcy. I had fought hard to beat my cancer, yet no normalcy.

Then came six months of difficulty without having the motivation to do almost anything, before my daughter inspired me. I wouldn’t let my daughter down; I would plan a great bridal shower for her, and I did! And in doing so, much of my confidence returned. And it wasn’t long before I was telling friends and family, “All I wanted for Christmas is my COVID shot,” not unlike many others.

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

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