Archive for May, 2011

You Will Be Able to Breathe Again

May 31st, 2011 - by admin

by Janet Brown

Janet BrownI was diagnosed December  22, 2006 at the age of 47 with NSCLC – Adenocarcinoma, Stage 4.  (cancer started in my right lung, spread to the spine in 3 places and the brain).  My only symptom was a bad back which I thought was a slipped disc.  Up to that point I had never had any health issues. I am a never smoker.

My first oncologist wanted me to go through radiation and then chemo – Taxol/Carbo combination.  After going for a second opinion I tested positive for the EGFR mutation and changed course.   I went through 6 weeks of radiation and have been on Tarceva since February 2007.

The radiation resulted in double vision which has improved with time.  Tarceva comes with many side effects too.

Besides family, and church, LUNGevity was my first source of support.  It is a place I can go to for answers and support, laughter and understanding.  I don’t post as often as I used to, but I still go there to check on friends, and find answers to questions.  Many of those same people I am now “friends” with on Face Book so the support continues there. I also go to a Lung Cancer Support Group at Smilow Cancer Center at Yale New Haven Hospital. That is a warm supportive place.  The group meets every other week. The Cancer Center itself is also a huge support system.  I feel very grateful that I live close enough to use it.

Some of the challenges for me have been dealing with the side effects of Tarceva, worrying about money, worrying about how this is all affecting my children, worrying about how this is all affecting my children, worrying about how this is all affecting my children.  The worst part about lung cancer is seeing the sadness in my children’s eyes.

I would estimate that at least 99% of the people who find out I have lung cancer ask, “Did you smoke?”   I actually had someone accuse me of lying when I said no.  I find that instead of warmth and sympathy, people are more likely to change the subject, look away, and even physically back up when they hear lung cancer.

Now when people ask me if I smoked – I give them the lung cancer facts and educate them.  I am actually thinking of making up little business cards with the facts to hand out!   I have tried to be vocal about my illness to get the facts out there and make people aware.  I was interviewed for the Cancer Center publication and on the local WNPR station.  Also our support group set up an interview in the New Haven paper for Lung Cancer awareness month.

The more information we get out there – the less the stigma will be!

My family is closer than it has ever been.  We have always been close and loved the time we spent together, but in the last 4 years we have made some wonderful memories and cherished each other.  I appreciate every day so much more, sunny or stormy – each day is a gift and I try to always remember that.

If you could give any advice or words of wisdom to a newly diagnosed patient, what would it be?

Don’t listen to the statistics and time lines.

Fight.

Have HOPE.

Live.

Surround yourself with positive people.  Surround yourself with love.  Take care of yourself.  As hard as it is, put yourself first.  Accept help.  It is hard.  But remember, people want to help; you are giving them a gift by letting them.   Take naps.  Sit at the beach, or your garden or wherever you feel alive – and breathe.

Fight for yourself.  If you don’t understand something the doctor says – ask.  If something doesn’t seem right – check it out.  If you don’t get the answers you need – keep asking, keep calling.  GET A SECOND OPINION!!!!  (And a third and a fourth if need be)

Bring someone you trust with you to your appointments.  Have them take copious notes.  Bring written questions you have to the appointment.  (if you don’t write them down, you will forget them)  Ask for copies of all your tests.  Demand a quick wait time between testing and follow up – they CAN do it within a couple of days – they just don’t  always let you know that.

When you are ready – join a support group – either on line – or in person.  You will find others who know what you are going through, who will have helpful suggestions and who will show you that people ARE living with this disease.

It gets better.  I know it is hard to believe – the beginning is a “dark time” – but once you have a diagnosis and a plan – things will settle down.  You will be able to breathe again and laugh again -there IS hope.

A survivor is someone who does not let the disease define them, does not let the disease rule their life and is not a victim!

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Katie Brown

Sitting With Survivors

May 24th, 2011 - by Katie Brown

I spent the weekend with an incredible group of people recently in Washington D.C.

Roughly 20 of us gathered together to meet and discuss issues specific to lung cancer survivors, socialize and strategize. Across the nation from age 25-64, with different stages of disease, this was the real face of lung cancer.

As far as I know this has never been done before. LUNGevity’s initiative was the first in the nation. I had never seen so many lung cancer survivors in one room. It was surreal. It was overwhelming.

THIS is what we work so hard for at LUNGevity.

Hope. Survivorship.

These faces and their stories are what continue to fuel us to be the largest private funder of cutting edge lung cancer research, craft incredible support and advocacy resources and have the largest lung cancer grassroots advocacy network.

At one point during the meetings each survivor stood to tell his or her story. They were each so different and all of them were heroic and moving.

Some of them help people in their communities, another runs marathons, two had long distance biking in common, two had been featured in the media while others were learning to tell their stories with confidence, instead of fear, for the first time.

On the bus ride to the social event I sat at the front of the bus, near the driver. Behind me I could hear the survivors talking about their surgeries, scars, medications and recovery. One particular conversation involved detailed information about removing chest tubes and there was a lot of laughter. This was an important conversation. They were comparing war stories.

There wasn’t much small talk. It was all “lung-cancer-talk” and for some of these survivors it was the first time they were able to talk like this with anyone who really understood.

I realized that “back home” some of these survivors wouldn’t be able to discuss these lung cancer specific issues with anyone else who would understand. Their friends and loved ones just want them to be “normal” and “OK”. Some of them had lost family members and lost friends during their battles with lung cancer.

It was safe to talk about lung cancer here. In this group, they were normal and it was ok.

It was cathartic. It was emotional. It was healing. And it was empowering.

I watched wallflowers blossom. I watched the eldest survivor support and encourage the youngest one.

I watched history being made in the lung cancer movement and I can’t wait to see what our work this past weekend inspires and produces.

THIS is where change begins.

THIS is how awareness spreads.

THIS is how HOPE is born.

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(Not) Being There

May 17th, 2011 - by admin

by Amy May

This isn’t about me. This surprising, frustrating, painful, and yet hopeful situation isn’t about me at all.

But, I have to do something.

I’ve always been close to my brother, John. We grew up in small town Kansas with our Mom and Dad making wonderful family memories. He is such a great friend and a compassionate, funny, and smart person.

In 2009, I was the “best (wo)man” in his wedding to Sara.

She’s amazing and gorgeous and sweet and the kind of person you always hope your awesome brother finds. They still live in Kansas, while me, my husband, and daughter live in Seattle, Washington. Our parents live in North Carolina.

Although, separated by distance, we remain a close family.

In 2010, we were shocked to learn 31 year old Sara’s diagnosis of stage IV lung cancer. She had lived for six months with a misdiagnosis of pneumonia. Because Sara has never smoked and has always been healthy and active, her own medical team did not consider lung cancer a possibility when the screening tests came back inconclusive. Her lung cancer was finally discovered after undergoing intensive and painful lung surgery.

We were all bewildered at the diagnosis, and, then frantically began the search for the answer.

I pray, I wish, I cry, and I scream for a way out of this for them, and I want it now.

What else can I do as they navigate the very unclear and underfunded world of lung cancer treatment options and clinical trials, but stand by and wait? They have many friends and family near them, to cook them dinners, meet for a coffee, and take walks, but not me. I can only awkwardly answer texts and email, and try to judge my brother’s mood (which is almost always confident and determined) by the tone of his voice on the phone. I can send an occasional care package, never really knowing whether it’s helpful or needed.

EnterLUNGevity.

I flew to Kansas City to participate on Sara’s team in the Lung Hill Run for LUNGevity in November 2010. When I returned, I called LUNGevity to see how I could help someone in Seattle put on a race. Diana Fusco and Mandy Holcomb, from LUNGevity, basically said “YOU can put on the Seattle race.” For some reason, I agreed. I am scared out of my mind, but I am so thankful for this opportunity to do something! I just want to earn a TRILLION dollars for lung cancer early detection and treatment research. I’m dedicated to this, and so is the amazing Breathe Deep Seattle planning team.

Sara is my inspiration. The love and partnership that her and John have is so beautiful. Although, it would be so much better if I was closer to them, I have come to realize that I don’t need to be. I can make a dent in my own part of the world, for Sara, for John, and for everyone else fighting lung cancer.

Now, I can’t imagine just standing by and waiting for something to happen.

We have to do this – - we have to work together to end lung cancer!

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Losing a Best Friend to Lung Cancer

May 9th, 2011 - by admin

by Sue Bersh

I lost one of my best friends to lung cancer. I think of her and miss her every day. Elyse was my best friend in high school, maid of honor in my wedding, and the person who knew all of my secrets (I really don’t have that many – but she knew them). We were friends for 30 years, and she remembered many details of my life that I had long forgotten. When we were in high school we planned to marry best friends, live next door to each other, and that our kids would be best friends too. It didn’t work out that way at all.

My sweet, brave and very special friend, Elyse Bernstein Keefe, was diagnosed with lung cancer when she was 42 years old. It was stage 3B. She had an entire lung removed, chemotherapy twice, and radiation. She felt terrible almost the whole time she was sick, but her smile never dimmed and her outlook never faltered. Just when she started feeling good for a month or two after her first chemo and radiation ended, she felt bad again. Elyse didn’t mind losing her hair (she actually looked beautiful bald), but she hated feeling nauseous. She tried a new chemo combination the second round and couldn’t understand why she wasn’t getting better. It seemed so unfair – so wrong!

I went to just about every chemo and doctor appointment with Elyse. I shared that experience with her husband, Steve, and her dad, Harvey. Other family and friends joined us once in a while, but she always had “her 2 guys and her girl.” She liked to call us that with a quiet smile. We laughed a lot during those hours of chemo. We tried to make the best of something terrible. It was special time we all had together — time to unconditionally love and support Elyse. Although the rooms and the nurses changed at every chemo appointment, one thing was always the same – Harvey always left the room for a little while with tears in his eyes. He couldn’t bear to watch what his oldest daughter was going through.

I remember the day that Elyse asked her doctor how much time she had left. She could barely get the words out. It was heart wrenching. Her doctor answered the question tactfully and compassionately. He said he didn’t know. He told her it would be best to do what she needed to do, and say what she needed to say, because no one ever knows when.

When Elyse questioned her faith, I tried to get answers from my rabbi. When she questioned her future, I tried to learn about lung cancer treatments and clinical trials. When she questioned herself, I talked her through it. The only thing Elyse really should have questioned was why the treatments for lung cancer were so limited — but she didn’t have enough time to question that. Her options were few, and it was actually the chemo that took her life. The drugs that were supposed to help her had damaged her remaining lung beyond repair. How could this be?

In the 2-1/2 years that Elyse battled her lung cancer, we laughed, we cried, and we pondered life. We looked for the silver lining all the time. Sometimes we found it, and other times it was nowhere in sight. Elyse did everything she could to fight her cancer. She did it with strength, dignity, humor, and a positive attitude (her dad had t-shirts made that said “ATTITUDE” and gave them to friends, family, doctors & nurses). Elyse was always looking to the future and never letting it get the best of her. She touched many people along the way. Elyse was a hero in the face of cancer – an inspiration to anyone who saw her fight it. She lost her battle on September 10, 2008 at the age of 45. I was holding her hand when she died. It was the saddest moment of my life – and it changed me forever.

After I lost Elyse, I promised myself that I would somehow continue her fight. Four months later I joined the first LUNGevity Chicago Walk Committee, and a month after that I joined LUNGevity’s Communications Committee. And much to my own surprise, about a year later I joined LUNGevity’s Board of Directors. At the first Chicago Walkin 2009, I created a LUNGevity team in Elyse’s memory; it was a great reason to get together, honor her memory, and help fund lung cancer research. Elyse’s Legacy has been the #1 fundraising team since then, and we’re ready to do it again on June 11th. I want to be sure others have better treatment options than Elyse did – and better quality of life too. We need to detect lung cancer earlier so people have a fighting chance. We need lung cancer survivors to live longer, tell their stories, and further the cause. This is the #1 cancer killer, yet it receives very little funding. Things need to change.

I could never do enough to help ease Elyse’s pain when she was alive, and I can’t do enough to honor her memory today. I show my love and admiration for her by supporting LUNGevity. It is the meaning I have found in the loss of a dear friend. Maybe this is how I keep holding her hand. I am determined to help ease other people’s pain, and perhaps I’m trying to ease my own pain a little too. I miss Elyse every single day. I continue her fight. This is my cause, and I won’t ever give up!

I hope more people will make lung cancer their cause too. Walk the walk with me. There are so many ways you can help – big or small. Just make a promise to yourself, and see where it takes you. Together, we can make a difference and find a cure.

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Mother’s Day

May 5th, 2011 - by Colleen Brennan

Mother’s Day has always been a quiet, peaceful kind of holiday in my family. I remember spending the day together going to church, usually going out to eat for breakfast, and then giving my Mom a Mother’s Day card and a small (sometimes handmade) gift to thank her for all she did for us.

It wasn’t until I became a mother in October of 2004 and then was diagnosed with non-small cell lung cancer with brain & bone metastasis in October of 2006 that I realized how much more the holiday really meant to me. When I awoke after the craniotomy to remove my brain tumor and heard the news that the tumor was malignant, two of the people I thought of right away were my Mom and my son. I needed to know where my Mom was and if my 2 year old son was ok and at any risk of having this cancer. I couldn’t stand the thought that I may have passed this on to him or that he would have to grow up not remembering his own Mom.

Colleen's mom Maryanne and son Jack
Colleen’s mom Maryanne and son Jack

The phrase “A Mother’s work is never done,” comes to mind when I think of my Mom theses days. My diagnosis threw us all for a loop – I was 31 years old, a non-smoker, and otherwise healthy. How could this be? My Mom went to work right away – researching this diagnosis, getting a second opinion, being by my side as much as possible and she is still supporting me now. I have been lucky enough to survive this ordeal for 4 ½ years now and the support and care both of my parents have given me is absolutely amazing – they accompany me to appointments, treatments, and support me in any way they can. I don’t think that I can ever thank her enough, but I do understand now that Mother’s day is more than just a “greeting card holiday.” It is about thanking and recognizing all that she does to help me keep fighting the fight to survive cancer and be here to be a mother to my son.

I feel so lucky to be able to be here and celebrate Mother’s day with my 6 year old son too. He gives me the strength and energy I need to keep going. No matter how tired, sick, or just down & out I feel, seeing him always picks me up. Just having the privilege of being his mother and watching him grow is present enough for me for Mother’s Day. I am so lucky and grateful to God that I have been able to continue to be here with him – there is no better medicine than Jack. He makes it all worth it. I want to be here to see him grow, learn, and develop into the great guy I know he will be!

Happy Mother’s Day – to ALL you Mothers out there!!

(Colleen and her husband JB have been members of LUNGevity’s Lung Cancer Support Community since 2007)

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