I have lung cancer? I whispered to my doctor over the phone, struggling to come to terms with the diagnosis. I am afraid so, was his response. The news hit me hard, and the room began to feel eerily silent, reminiscent of the calm before a storm. I hurried to my husband’s office, seeking comfort and clarity. It’s cancer, was my difficult confession.
My husband, Jimmy, pulled me close and said, Helene, you’re nothing special. After 35 years together, I understood he wasn’t dismissing the gravity but offering comfort in his analytical way. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear; however, his words held a profound truth.
Lung cancer is the second most prevalent cancer type, with over 200,000 new cases annually, as reported by the American Cancer Society. Many diagnoses come after the cancer has spread, minimizing survival rates. Early detection, though, shifts the narrative towards potential cures.
Just four weeks before, I was navigating Central Park for my annual checkup. I was full of energy, fresh from a gym session lifting 30-pound kettlebells. I felt fit at 63, my age solely limiting my wardrobe choices, such as avoiding low-rise jeans.
Due to my age, my doctor included additional tests, like a chest X-ray, something routine every five years for patients over 50. As I stood beside him, reviewing my films, a new white shadow on my right lung emerged—previously unseen.
Despite the discovery, my doctor remained untroubled, suggesting it might be benign scar tissue or harmless spots. He ordered a CT scan as a precaution. Other than this suspicious spot, my checkup was ordinary. My health seemed intact.
The CT scan led to a PET scan, then a biopsy, finally resulting in that life-altering phone call from my doctor.
The 14 days between diagnosis and surgery felt eternal. I shared the news sparingly, almost concealing it from my children, until they noticed my hospital visit via a location-sharing app. In a tearful call, they inquired about my presence there and my well-being.
My husband’s words continued to offer solace: You’re nothing special. Embracing this notion was freeing. Instead of asking, Why me? I considered, Why not me? Research shows nearly 20% of U.S. women diagnosed with lung cancer haven’t smoked. I was simply one among 22,000—nothing extraordinary.
This experience led me to confront human fallibility. Despite my body’s abilities, such as bringing twins into the world 31 years prior, it was prone to error. Upon introspection, I realized anyone could develop lung cancer. Health autonomy was an illusion; I simply wasn’t that unique.
Prior to my lobectomy, removing a fifth of my upper right lung, the surgeon checked in for questions. My husband humorously inquired about his caffeine intake, to which the doctor laughed, sharing that his day began with surgery and a panel discussion in South Korea on the rise of lung cancer among nonsmoking women.
After the doctor left, Jimmy reiterated, See, I told you, you’re nothing special. An Irish nurse, busy with IV lines, commented with a chuckle, Not too funny, is he? I simply replied, It’s a long story, lightening my mood with laughter.
Two weeks post-surgery, my doctor shared positive news. The early detection prevented the cancer from spreading, negating the need for follow-up treatments like chemotherapy or radiation. With enthusiasm, he urged me to enjoy life with plans for a six-month follow-up CT scan.
Eight months have passed, and life no longer feels on the verge of disaster. My guiding mantra remains: I am not special. At work, when facing rejection prompts overreaction, I remind myself of competitive challenges as a freelance writer, persevering through the setbacks.
Even when a recent cough threatened my resolve, I attributed it to common winter ailments—no uniqueness in that. This sentiment was tested during my first post-op checkup, where anxiety contrasted with nurses’ reassurances.
My experience mirrors a broader trend. From 2019, lung cancer diagnoses among women have surged by 6%. Thanks to early detection and better treatments, survival stories increasingly lack novelty—and I find peace in this pattern.
Helene Rosenthal resides in Miami, focusing her writing on various personal relationships. Her work has appeared in publications like The New York Times, The Guardian, Slate, Allrecipes, and TODAY.
All opinions expressed are Helene’s own.
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