Confronting Lung Cancer: A Personal Journey

“I have lung cancer?” I whispered to my doctor over the phone, almost hoping it wasn’t real. “I am afraid so,” he said with certainty. When I hung up, the room fell silent. I rushed to my husband’s office, seeking support, disbelief echoing in my voice: “It’s cancer.”

My husband, Jimmy, embraced me and said, “Helene, I am sorry to tell you, but you’re nothing special.” After over 35 years of marriage, I understood he was comforting me in his factual manner. Though not what I wanted to hear, his words carried truth.

Lung cancer is the second most common cancer type. Over 200,000 people receive this diagnosis annually, as stated by the American Cancer Society. Often, it is detected after spreading, reducing survival chances. Early detection can lead to discussions of survivorship and cures.

A month before my diagnosis, I was navigating Central Park on my way to an annual checkup. I had left the gym feeling strong, swinging 30-pound kettlebells. At 63, my age limited me only in fashion choices, like avoiding low-rise jeans.

Considering my age, my doctor included extra tests like a chest X-ray, a routine every five years for patients over 50. Standing next to him, we noticed a white shadow on my right lung, previously absent. Though potentially harmless, he prescribed a CT scan for thoroughness.

The CT scan led to further tests, including a PET scan and a biopsy, culminating in that phone call. Such diagnoses mark unforgettable moments. The 14 days until surgery dragged on, although I shared the news with few people. I couldn’t keep it from my children, who tracked my location, calling me from the hospital on our anniversary. In tears, they asked, “What are you doing there?” then, “Are you OK?”

In those anxious times, my husband’s words comforted me: “You’re nothing special.” Relinquishing my uniqueness was freeing, shifting my perspective from “Why me?” to “Why not me?” Almost 20% of U.S. women with lung cancer are nonsmokers. I became one of over 22,000 non-smoking women diagnosed, nothing unique.

This experience brought a clear view of human vulnerability. Bodies can be remarkable, like mine birthing twins, but they err. I questioned my actions, but ultimately anyone with lungs faces this risk. Complete health control is a myth; I’m not special.

Prepped for a lobectomy, my surgeon asked if I had questions. Early in the morning, my husband jokingly queried the surgeon’s caffeine levels. The doctor laughed, having already completed a procedure and participated in an international panel.

As he left, my husband reiterated, “See, I told you, you’re nothing special.” The Irish nurses, starting IVs, found this humorless. I laughed for the first time in weeks, explaining, “It’s a long story.”

Two weeks post-surgery, my doctor delivered good news. My early-detected cancer hadn’t spread, sparing me further treatment like chemotherapy or radiation. With a smile, he encouraged me to enjoy life, scheduling a follow-up in six months.

Eight months later, I embraced life, abandoning the anxiety that once loomed. My mantra, saving me throughout this ordeal, also kept frustration at bay. At work, rejected pitches no longer felt personal but a challenge in a competitive freelance field.

Approaching my six-month checkup, nervousness replaced calm. Nurses reassured me, reminding me of the growing number of annual lung cancer diagnoses. Since 2019, diagnoses among women have climbed by 6%. However, early detection and advancements are increasing survival rates. I accept this unremarkable survival.

Helene Rosenthal resides in Miami, writing about the dynamics of families, friendships, and relationships. Her essays feature in major publications, sharing personal insights.

All views are her own. For personal essays, contact Newsweek at [email protected].