Elaine J.

Diagnosis: Stage 3 non-small cell lung adenocarcinoma, 1990
Treatment: Concurrent chemotherapy and radiation, surgical removal of the right lung

Diagnosis: Nodal recurrence in neck, 1992
Treatment: Surgery and radiation

Profession: Administrative assistant, now on disability

Near the end of 1989, I had what I thought was a common cold with a really bad cough. In January 1990, I began to have chest pain when I coughed. Because of the chest pain, I went to the hospital emergency room near where I worked. There I was diagnosed as having pneumonia and the doctor prescribed an antibiotic. Four months later, I continued to have a bad cough, especially during the night. Dr. Peter Gross, my primary care physician, ordered a chest X-ray because of the previous pneumonia diagnosis and the prolonged cough. A few days after the X-ray, I was scheduled for a CT-scan, which changed my life forever. I was told that I possibly had lung cancer. After that I was scheduled for a series of tests. I was devastated. Never in my life had I felt such fear.

I cried all the time. I thought I would be dead in six months. All the people I had known in the past with cancer passed on quickly.

My children were 33, 31 and 29 at the time and my granddaughter was turning 6 and my grandson was 2. I wondered if my grandchildren would remember me. I wondered how I would keep my family together. I couldn't go to work. No one authorized my absence; I just didn't go.

Dr. Gross was available to me and my family whenever I needed him. He also assembled a terrific team to care for me. I didn't have a clue where to begin to find the doctors I needed. The first member of the team I met was Dr. Noah Choi, who gave me my first ray of hope. He said, "Our goal is to cure you." That got my attention! I couldn't imagine that the word "cure" was being used in a sentence about cancer.

Later that same day I met Dr. Jerry Younger, who gave me a book that had three methods of treatment: chemotherapy, radiation and attitude. I thought to myself, "I can take care of the attitude."

I then decided to stop smoking because I wanted to live and just maybe I could help make that happen. I focused only on getting better. I neglected everything else. Immediately, I was scheduled for a bronchoscopy and a mediastinoscopy to confirm that surgery could be performed.

The first trip to the hospital was horrible. I went alone, which was a mistake. I began to cry during the admitting process and I just couldn't pull myself together. Dr. Gross's secretary, Kathy Jay-Aguirre, spent unlimited time with me until I was calm. That act of compassion got me through the afternoon.

I don't remember much after the bronchoscopy because I was so overcome with fear. When I saw Dr. Younger the next day, the only words I heard was that the cancer had spread. That day I froze. I felt like ice water had been intravenously fed into my veins. I became so cold. I shivered all the way home. Since that day, I don't think I'll be warm again.

Following the bronchoscopy, doctors scheduled scans of my body, head and bones. Fortunately, all the scans were clear. Yet the fear was overwhelming. I shut down emotionally during the chemotherapy and radiation planning sessions and most office visits after that. The plan was for two rounds of chemotherapy and radiation concurrently, then surgery. After the surgery, I was given an additional round of chemotherapy and radiation. I was very disappointed when I found out I needed an additional round.

I was extremely sick from the chemotherapy. I was throwing up and had diarrhea all my waking hours. Not only did I lose a lot of weight, I also was shriveled up and had dark circles under my sunken eyes. I didn't believe I could tolerate another round of treatment. I had told myself that all I needed to do was recover from the surgery and I would be my old self. After the last treatment, in addition to being fearful, I became sad and angry. I was so depressed. I wondered why this had happened to me. I'm a good person; I had worked two jobs and all the overtime that was available to me in order to support my family. I had driven a cab nights and on weekends in Boston to save money to buy my first house. Most of my life I had looked forward to turning 55 so I could retire and have a fun life, and here I was with a terminal illness.

In December 1990, I returned to work part time, 20 hours a week. I was useless. I couldn't focus. My attention span was practically non-existent. Yet I was proud to be back at work. Looking back, I realize that returning to work was a mistake. Each day of the week I became more and more tired.

In September 1992, the cancer recurred in my neck. That ended my work life. I was placed on long-term disability. By then I had lost most of my friends, my job and my credit. I was in a financial mess. I have just begun to rebuild my credit. It took years to adjust to not working. Even now, I still miss working. However, now I have accepted my limitations. I have learned ways to function physically and emotionally. For example, if I want to attend a social gathering in the evening, I rest the entire day; or if it's an all-day affair, I spend the following day resting. I learned to obey my body.

From diagnosis until 1994, I existed from day to day. I cried almost every day and sometimes in the middle of the night. One day I decided to plan my memorial service. It is important to me that the service be a celebration of my life. I feel I gave my family a valuable gift by making those plans. The fear of follow-up doctor appointments and tests began to lessen after that. In addition, for the first time, I faced my death, which allowed me to live with cancer. Now, I volunteer at my granddaughter's school library. I spend most of my time watching decorating shows on TV. I don't remember the last time I cried.

In March of 1998, doctors found two masses in my left breast. One was found by my oncologist and one by the surgeon. Both the tumors were benign. I am proud I didn't panic when I got the news, and I didn't freeze. I know that a tumor may be found at any given time or at follow-up appointment. Yet, the tumor may or may not be malignant. After the recurrence, I made a choice to wait until I received the test results and treatment plans before allowing myself to panic. I am confident with my team of doctors and I know they and their staff, along with my family and friends, will be there to support and encourage me along the way. I greatly appreciate their support, compassion and encouragement. They help make my plight bearable.