This Is Me

My Medical Apocalypse has allowed me to connect with many people and communities on many levels.  I've been able to find others with similarities to my own experiences when they share their fights and struggles.

When I find these connections it makes my own fight and struggles a little easier.  Knowing I'm not the only one helps me. Hearing and learning about others surviving stage IV Lung Cancer, recovering from stroke and living with Moyamoya gives me a sense of community,  guidance to face difficult situations and inspiration to carry on.

This Is Me is my latest article for Lungcancer.net.  it touches on how finding people that share their stories can inspire and unite individuals and communities.

Click HERE to read the article.

Diagnoses Divided, Where Does A Medical Apacolypse Belong?

After my 2015 lung cancer diagnosis, I found comfort and friendship within the online lung cancer community.  It was a sense of comradery.  We were all in this together.  The common adage: No One Fights Alone.

 After my 2017 Moyamoya diagnosis,  I didn't  feel like part of  my lung cancer community anymore.  I was very isolated.  In addition to incurable stage iv lung cancer, I had a second incurable disease that nobody else had or even heard of before.  With that came a new set of symptoms,  anxieties and feelings I didn't share or discuss with my lung cancer peers.  I put myself in my own category, separate from my lung cancer friends and online support groups.

I searched online for support from the Moyamoya community.  I was looking for the comradery  I found before when diagnosed with a scary,  incurable disease.  I found I was an uncommon case. My Moyamoya was diagnosed without a neurological event like aneurysm or stroke.  Because Moyamoya is so rare,  the support group options were limited.
Most of the people posting in the Moyamoya groups are parents of small children and babies diagnosed with Moyamoya or adults that have experienced strokes or other neurological events that lead to their Moyamoya diagnosis.    I couldn't relate to them on any level.  I didn't feel like part of the that community either.

I was conflicted and alone with my thoughts,  living with two incurable diseases.  I was my own with no sense of community.

I felt even more isolated after my December 2017 stroke. Not only did I survive a hemorrhagic stroke,  I recovered rapidly and continue to overcome my deficits.  I was having a hard time relating to others and their stories.

My isolation and seperations were thoughts that manifested on their own with no particular experiences or situations to cause such feelings. I was having a period of time when I needed to feel 100% understood.  But my Medical Apacolypse is so unique and complicated.  I'm the only one living with this particular
combination of diseases and stroke deficits.

The last couple of months have changed my thoughts.  I have a new sense of self and a renewed sense of community,  in all my communities.  As I was feeling isolated,  I found my stroke "twin" in an online stroke support group.  We both had our strokes on the same day.  We had similar outlooks and attitudes about stroke recovery.   Together, we explored in person stroke support group options in Colorado Springs. Through this connection I found a brain injury/brain disease support group at Memorial Hospital.  They meet once a month and each meeting has included guest speakers, tips and topics that I found helpful in my stroke recovery.

My twin connected me with another stroke survivor, Mike, in Colorado Springs.  He's now my friend, my stroke brother.   I follow his progress and accomplishments throughout his stroke recovery.  Walking is an important exercise in both our recoveries.  We recently cheered each other on during two different stroke walks. One in Denver, The Comeback Trail  5k for the National Stroke Association.

The other was this last weekend at the Heart and Stroke 5k Walk for the American Heart Association.

I was able to attend the Lungevity Hope Summit in Washington DC at the end of April 2018. I was awarded a full travel scholarship thanks to the donations from my Hope Summit Survivor Challenge.  

The trip to DC for Hope Summit was quite an accomplishment.  I utilized the  airport wheelchair assistance program, by myself, for the first time.  That was helpful.  I was able to get to my gates and make my connecting flight at O'Hare on time without any troubles.  Navigating in unknown territory is a challenge with my vision,  cognitive and executive thinking deficits. 

The Hope Summit trip was very important to me.  I needed to be with my tribe and get my sense of connection back with my lung cancer community.  Not only did I get that connection back, 

I realized the lung cancer community was with me the whole time, praying for me and cheering me on through my Moyamoya diagnosis to my surgery,  after my stroke and into my recovery.  It was still the,  No One Fights Alone adage.

Although my Medical Apacolypse is a combination of many things,  I'm learning I'm not alone.  I can break it down to my individual diseases and deficits and reach out to those individual communities.  

And on some days,  like May 6, 2018, all those communities will collide.  May 6 was World Moyamoya Day. I walked the Comeback Trail Stroke Walk with stroke survivor,  Mike, and lung cancer survivor,  Ali. 

Where Do I Get My Strength?

I've never really questioned where my strength comes from.  

People ask, "How do you do it?, when referring to my attitude, resilience and perseverance while dealing with my continuing, life threatening, medical diagnoses and complications. Someone coined the more than appropriate term,  'Medical Apocalypse', to describe my compilation of ailments and diseases.  Throughout life my general feeling was, my strength came from within. I never questioned it or doubted it. I was lucky to have it.

I met Marilyn Pinaud in the summer of 2016.
We were both speaking and sharing our lung cancer stories at a Lung Force Walk in Denver, CO. Although both of our stories were different, they both started with the same underlying storyline. If our stories were two different newspaper articles, they could have the same headline, "Active, Otherwise Healthy Woman Surprisingly Diagnosed with Lung Cancer"

Marilyn and I didn't live close. I didn't see her very often. We both periodically attended the same lung cancer events. Marilyn was my Facebook friend. I followed her posts about her artwork and her lung cancer treatment plans and options and sometimes, lack of options. Since we didn't see each other often, one particular visit in May 2017 was special. I was at University of Colorado Hospital for what should have been a routine, outpatient needle biopsy. My lung collapsed.  I was admitted for my first ever overnight hospital stay, . Marilyn happened to be at the cancer center while I was in the hospital.  After her appointment she found my room and stopped by to check on me. 

Fast forward to another hospital stay for a different reason.

December 20, 2017: I was admitted to an inpatient acute rehab in California following a hemorrhagic stroke and emergency brain surgery.

 My sister and boyfriend were posting updates on my condition on social media. I had contracted two infections while in ICU after the stroke and emergency surgery. I was very sick and weak. I lost feeling on my left side of my body. I was curled up in a ball in my hospital bed, asleep most of the time. I couldn't wiggle my left toes. I couldn't move or lift my left leg.

As I mentioned in a previous blog entry, something miraculous happened after just days in the rehab. I regained movement on my left side.  Each day I would wake up with much more energy than the day before. It was like I was a new person each morning

December 26, 2017: I stood during my physical therapy session.

December 27, 2017: I walked down the hall of my hospital ward.

December 28, 2017: Two things happened on this day. I received news that my discharge date would be eight days earlier than originally planned because I was recovering so quickly.  I also read a moving message Marilyn Pinaud had sent to me via Facebook, four days earlier, on December 24, 2017. She had offered the strength she had left, at the end of her own life, to me as I was recovering from my stroke.

How do you reply to a message like that?  I wanted to thank her for the sentiment but I didn't want to think of another one of my friends losing their life to lung cancer. 

January 3, 2018: I was discharged from the California acute rehab and flew home to Colorado.

I was home for about a week before an extreme fatigue set in. The rapid recovery I was experiencing in rehab had come to a screeching halt.  I was getting weaker and weaker by the day. It got to the point that I couldn't take more than a few steps without my heart racing and getting out of breath.

I had an appointment with my primary care physician. I told him we needed to figure out what was causing the lethargic type fatigue. Because of the Medical Apocalypse, it could be one or a combination of multiple things.  Was it new medications?  Lingering infection? Or was it lung cancer progression? He listened to my heart and lungs, checked my oxygen level, and ordered bloodwork and a chest xray. The xray showed no pneumonia. 

January 25, 2018: Just as miraculous as my California recovery, two days after seeing my physician, I woke up completely frefreshed and energized. That afternoon my doctor called. I had to go to the ER to be examined for a possible pulmonary embolism (blood clot) in my lungs. Even though my energy had returned and I didn't have any shortness of breath the ER visit was necessary.  The  ER ct scan showed no pulmonary embolism. 

Several days later I learned of Marilyn's passing. She died on January 25, 2018, the same day my energy and strength was renewed. 

Did Marilyn Pinaud give me her strength as she left this earth? I can't say she did. But I can't say she didn't. 

After my lung cancer diagnosis in 2015, I added a ritual to my morning routine. Each day I start with a morning stretch. I take in three deep breaths while I say three things,

Help me, body.

Help me, Angels.

Help me, Universe.

Then after, I take in three more breaths and say,

Thank you, body.

Thank you, Angels.

Thank you, Universe. 

The body is the easy part. It's just little ol' me, standing over here, doing my thing.  The Angels and the Universe are a little harder for me to fathom. The Universe is too vast and complicated for me to try to visualize or comprehend. What is an angel? Who are my angels that i speak to every day?  Sometimes I picture my angels as family members and loved ones that have passed away.

Sometimes I visualize an angel from a set of Christmas cards that I purchased many years back. Now, sometimes, Marilyn Pinaud comes to mind.

R.I.P. Marilyn Pinaud. May you be painting your greatest masterpiece on the largest canvas you've ever seen.  The next time I see one of those unforgettable Colorado sunsets  or multicolored morning skies,  I'll wonder if  your brush was behind it. 

If No One Fights Alone, Why Do I Feel So Lonely?

I've wanted to make this blog entry for some time. It's been a working title for weeks. I've been searching for the correct wording and message to convey my feelings without making it sound like a pity party or a guilt trip.

Then this week someone did it for me. I read Linnea Olson's latest blog and it said just about everything I've wanted to say and more.

It’s a jungle out here

Posted on June 12, 2017

Pretend for a moment that one hundred people are standing in front of you. The only thing you know about them is that they all have lung cancer. One at a time, each person approaches you and then shares some intimate detail about their lives. Sometimes you sense that you have much in common with the speaker, sometimes little. In each case you get an overwhelming sense of their humanity.

You are thinking about how you would like to get to know some of them better when I drop a bombshell: only eighteen of these people will be alive in five years.

It shocks you but I assure you I have not told you this merely for dramatic effect; statistically speaking, this is an actual scenario. The five year overall survival statistics for all stages of lung cancer cancer are only 18%. At stage IV, that number drops to 2%, or just two individuals out of one hundred.

Statistics only tell part of the story because numbers are not nearly as compelling as living, breathing human beings.

Now imagine what it’s like to be one of those hundred; that you too have been diagnosed with lung cancer; that you too will fall somewhere along this statistical curve.

It is a terrifying feeling, and isolating as well–as many of us feel that friends and family can’t really comprehend the sometimes debilitating anxiety that is part and parcel of our diagnosis.

We often combat that feeling of isolation by connecting with others people living with lung cancer–through support groups, social media, summits, or advocacy work. However, this network can become a double edged sword, as we are now invested in each other’s outcomes. When one of us passes away, a collective shiver runs through the entire community. We grieve, we rage, but we also rightly wonder if we might be next.

Over time, it becomes a trauma–this mix of fear and sadness. And for those whose cancer is considered incurable–and in the case of lung cancer, that would be most of us–there is no post to our traumatic stress. It is ongoing, or OTSD.

We focus on staying alive even as we worry–constantly–about dying. And, because we often don’t look as if we are ill, it is very, very difficult for those around us to fathom what it’s like to live on borrowed time.

Can you plan a vacation six months from now? Is it worth spending the money to get your dental work done? Will you be there when your kids graduate from high school?

As a society there is a great deal of emphasis on planning for the future. When you are living with cancer, it often feels as if the future has nothing to do with you.

I’ve now been living with the idea of dying for over twelve years–more than 20% of my time on earth. How do I do it? One day, one moment, one person at a time.

xo dedicated to all we’ve loved and lost–far too young, far too many

It's not easy living in the 2%. But I'm still living. It's tough being so far away from most of my friends and family. I recently participated in a lung cancer walk. I was a speaker and shared my story at the event. If my mom and sister wouldn't have come from out of state, it would have been me and Jeremy, team of two.

At times it feels like it's just me and Jeremy against the world, against lung cancer and against the clock. More often than not, lately, it's me against him and him against me. We butt heads over the tiniest of things.  In the past we've recognized this behavior and realized it wasn't us. It's the stresses of lung cancer on our relationship. So for those periods of time, it's just me against everything I have and everything I don't have control over.

The next time you see me begging for your support for an upcoming event and we live in the same town, it's not all about the money and donations. It's about needing time together and your presence in my life, how ever long that may be.

A Clinical Study and a Collapsed Lung

Twenty-one days ago I participated in a clinical study. At one point I thought a clinical study and/or trial meant you are a guinea pig and even though you were seriously or terminally ill you got the placebo (sugar pill) or the trial drug that may or may not work. That's not the case. There are many different types and stages of clinical trials.

To learn more about clinical studies, CLICK HERE.

The study I took part in was to improve blood biopsies. There was no medication to take or multiple trips to the doctor to be examined or monitored. I simply had to agree to submit some vials of blood.

Twenty-one days ago I remembered what it was like to have to go through a surgical biopsy. For me, that was traumatic (my first surgery) and painful with a three week recovery. I submitted a few vials of blood to improve a non-invasive procedure to diagnose lung cancer. I was all for that.

If you thought I was on board twenty-one days ago, I am now the head engineer on that train that can't go fast enough. This week I was scheduled for an outpatient lung biopsy procedure. In and out, they send the tissue to pathology for diagnosis and we know what we are dealing with. It's a common procedure, but there are certain risks that are discussed before you start. One of those risks, ever so slight, is a collapsed lung. For the biopsy procedure they are putting a needle into your lung to capture tissue. In a sense, they are puncturing your lung. In most cases, after the procedure, the lung closes on its own and heals up at the puncture site. Not in my case. My lung collapsed.

Lisa at University of Colorado Hospital with DC, her #hopebot

I was admitted into the hospital and had to have a chest tube put in place to help "re-inflate" my lung. Although, not as traumatic as my first surgery, it was my first overnight hospital stay, EVER! 

I can't wait for the day when a lung cancer biopsy will be a simple office visit and a blood draw only.

Please note: these are descriptions of my medical experiences, how I understand them, in my laymen's terms. The procedures mentioned and defined may not be 100% medically accurate/correct or my doctors words. Thank you.

What is HOPE?

I was diagnosed with stage iv lung cancer in August 2015. I didn't register for the 2016 LUNGevity Hope Summit. At the time, I was just getting used to life with lung cancer. I followed the social media posts and photos. It looked like a good time was had by all. It gave me hope and inspiration. I got to attend and be in the photos this year.

Hope Summit features inspirational speakers, medical expert forums, lung cancer survivor-specific sessions, and opportunities for lung cancer survivors to connect with other survivors and share their stories. Their stories of hope. Hope Summit is appropriately named because that's what this last weekend delivered. I'm at a new step in my treatment plan. You would think being immersed in three full days of lung cancer talk would be depressing and make me worry about these next steps. It was just the opposite.

As a first time attendee, I applied for and was granted airfare and hotel stay to attend this year's Lungevity Hope Summit in Washington DC . Lungevity provides this so all lung cancer patients have an opportunity to participate in this event.

I also attended an advocate day, which was on the eve of the Hope Summit kick off. I was interested in finding out information on advocacy and how to be more involved, if possible.

On Thursday evening I went out to dinner with a fairly large group of lung cancer patients and survivors. This was one of my favorite moments of my trip. I find it interesting that 17 people, with 17 different backgrounds, 17 different lung cancer stories and probably 17 different combined lung cancer treatments and/or drugs and we instantly bond with one another. Some have had it rough and some have been to hell and back. Some have been dealing with this for months and others for 12+ years. But having lung cancer is our common ground. I heard a good comparison once. Someone was taking about skiing. He said the downhill skier going 70+mph has the same adrenaline rush as the beginning skier, even when they aren't going the same speeds. I'm guessing the 17 of us have the same hatred for lung cancer.

Having time with other lung cancer patients and survivors was my best part of going to Hope Summit. It gave me the opportunity to thank two of them, in particular, in person.

I was at the top of my physical fitness game when I was diagnosed. One of my first fears was the possibility of never running again or working out like I used to. But I watched videos of Juanita power lifting and doing what she loved and what she did before lung cancer. That gave me hope.

The other was Patty. I would see her online, participating in events with Team Draft. Her smile and attitude would shine in the photos and videos.

I knew I wanted to be a part of that. It gave me hope that one day I would. And I did! Down to the wire, Patty was my biggest competition during the Team Draft Lung Cancer Survivors Super Bowl Challenge. If anyone was going to raise more funds than me and knock me out of the running, I wanted it to be Patty.

Several weeks ago this question came up. What is hope? Without thinking too hard about it, this acronym came to mind.

Hope

is

Having Optimistic Perspectives Everyday.

Facing My Own Mortality

I participate in online lung cancer support groups. It seems like there is a daily post from a caregiver or family member regarding their loved one's lung cancer death. Hearing these stories makes me sad for those families. It also makes me angry. I HATE lung cancer. But after hearing and processing the horrible news of another life lost, my thoughts go elsewhere. I know every lung cancer is different. I think to myself, that's not me, that's not my cancer. I'm so lucky to be as well as I am.

This last week there was a death that hit me hard. It took my thoughts to places they haven't gone. It wasn't a lung cancer death. It was the untimely death of a former co-worker. He was a passenger in a Jeep Cherokee that missed a turn on a mountain road and went down a ravine. Two of the five people in the vehicle died.

It's so unfair. Jacob was a young, smart, healthy, fun loving prankster with his whole life ahead of him. Why is he gone and I'm still here? I have stage iv lung cancer. Shouldn't I, the one with the terminal illness, be gone and Jacob should be here living out his life and carrying out his practical jokes?

I have heard of survivor's guilt. I thought I experienced it. Well, whatever I felt while reading news of a lung cancer death was nothing compared to the feelings that have come up since Jacob's death. I know it sounds strange to experience survivor's guilt in this situation. I wasn't in the accident. He didn't have lung cancer.

I was diagnosed with stage iv lung cancer in August 2015. To tell you the truth, I've thought of my impending death. It's inevitable that one day lung cancer will take my life. I came to terms with that early on. What is difficult to process is the new thoughts of, why am I still here? I have never questioned that. My thoughts, until now, have always been along the lines of, "how lucky am I to be here", not, "why aren't I dead yet?"

I'm a genuinely happy person. My blog is Peace Lungs & HAPPINESS. Can I get back to my happy go lucky self again? I've heard the saying, you can't unsee something. Can I unthink these dark thoughts? Will I always doubt my current existence on this earth? They also say, time heals all wounds. I hope that in time I can get back to appreciating and enjoying every moment of the rest of my life without questioning it.

We are gathered here today to get through this thing called life...

Yesterday was a bittersweet day. Lung cancer has a lot of ups and downs.

Elizabeth Dessureault lost her life to lung cancer yesterday.

Elizabeth Dessureault, wife, mother, lung cancer advocate and fighter

She was so young and vibrant. It's just not fair. She was very positive through all her ups and downs. She raised lung cancer awareness and spirits with her attitude and just breathe bracelets.

I have a From Lizzie's Lungs bracelet. It was a gift from another lung cancer survivor, Nicole Russell. Nicole's 1 year cancerversary was yesterday. A cancerversary is the one year anniversary of one's lung cancer diagnosis. She is beating the odds, changing the face of lung cancer and surviving stage iv lung cancer for over one year. Congratulations Nicole. I love you and want to thank you for your friendship and support on this roller coaster called lung cancer.

Giving and Receiving

Giving Tuesday was followed by Overwhelmed Wednesday. I expected a few additional donations to my Lung Cancer Survivors Super Bowl Challenge on Tuesday due to the nature of the day. But I never imagined I would receive nearly $2K in one day. That amount is amazing. I'm so grateful for everyone's generosity.

Giving Tuesday was a great big success. I created a one day Facebook fundraiser that will be matched by the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation as part of their Giving Tuesday campaign. That means the $742 that was donated will become $1,484!!!! In addition to the donation made directly at my contest site, the Giving Tuesday donations totalled $1984!!!!

I have taken advantage of opportunities presented to me to represent the lung cancer community. One is the chance of going to the Super Bowl, the Pro Bowl or the Taste of NFL as a lung cancer patient advocate while raising awareness of lung cancer and the need for research funds.

At this point 50% of the donations collected will be be donated to the foundation of my choice, the International Association for the Study of Lung Cancer (IASLC). When my donation total reaches $5,000, 80% will be donated to IASLC.

Thank you to everyone that donated and shared my fundraiser links. Because of you I'm currently in the top running for the Lung Cancer Survivors Super Bowl Challenge.

The Facebook fundraiser was a one day event. But the Lung Cancer Survivors Super Bowl Challenge is not over. You can still donate until January 1, 2017.

Click the link on my blog or HERE to donate today.

Super Bowl Challenge

I kicked off my Cleveland Fans Against Lung Cancer fundraising campaign this month. This is part Team Draft's 2017 Lung Cancer Survivors Super Bowl Challenge. This is a friendly competition between lung cancer survivors to raise funds for lung cancer foundations and cancer centers of the survivor's choice. The survivor that raises the most funds will win a trip to the Super Bowl in Houston, TX. Second place is a trip to the Pro Bowl in Orlando, FL and third place gets to attend  26th Annual Taste of NFL.

I set my fundraising goal high. I know with your help I can reach that goal. Lung cancer research funds are critical to my future and my quality of life.

My funds will be donated to the International Association for the Study of Lung Cancer in Denver, CO. I attended my first lung cancer event in September 2015. It was just two weeks after my stage iv lung cancer diagnosis. That event was the Pancake Walk Kickoff Breakfast for the World Conference on Lung Cancer in Denver. That day I was introduced to a handful of peopleand survivors in the lung cancer community. They gave me information, hope and advice that I will always remember and hold near and dear to my heart.

In Week 10 of  NFL season, the Browns have an 0-10 record. The Cleveland Browns may not be going to the Super Bowl this year. I may never get to see the Browns at a Super Bowl in my lifetime. But you could help send this Cleveland fan to the big game this year.

Together we can #tacklelungcancer.

I challenge you to make a donation today and find one (or more) person to match your donation.

Click HERE to make a donation today.

The Ones That Give Me Hope

Earlier this month I attended the GRACE Targeted Therapies in Lung Cancer Patients Forum in Denver, CO. It was a one day conference focusing on lung cancer treatments for patients with genetic mutations, like me.

Lisa Moran at GRACE Targeted Therapies
in Lung Cancer Patients Forum, August 20, 2016

While learning a few new things, I realized I already know a lot there is to know about my disease. Early on I found out that I must be my own patient advocate. The conference was full of other self educated, lung cancer patient advocates.

I was lucky enough to spend some time outside of the forum with these lung cancer patients. I said before that lung cancer was like a sorority that I didn't ask to be a member of. But this lung cancer community is more like a supportive family that I wouldn't want to be without. I learned just as much as about my disease at dinner than at the forum.

Lung cancer patients and family members at dinner

Holding up fingers for number of years we've been surviving lung cancer.
Bottom left: Linnea Olson had to borrow a finger from her son for 11 yrs.

When I first spoke to my lung cancer friend, Mara, on the phone, it was like we were old friends catching up. We had never met. But we had this common ground, kinship, and bond already.

I felt the same way when I met Linnea Olson at dinner after the forum. I was familiar with her. I had seen her profile photos and read about her online.

Linnea Olson, diagnosed with lung cancer 11 years ago

I now know what her profile photos sound like. Her laughter and zest for life are contagious. We shared the biggest, (maybe) too loud for a hotel restaurant, belly laugh at my expense. It was our own "Who's On First?" moment. I was racking my brain trying to remember a session from earlier in the day. Linnea said, "Chemo brain." I agreed and added something about how frustrating it is to have moments when I can't remember things. Turns out the session I couldn't recall was called 'Combating Chemo Brain'.

Linnea Olson and Lisa Moran, August 20, 2016

I wondered what the female version of The Godfather was. I almost felt like I should kiss Linnea's ring. I guess she's the Matriarch of lung cancer? But seriously, she is a remarkable woman, a pioneer in lung cancer research and a true inspiration to me and many others.

Recently the ASCO Post (American Society of  Oncology) published an article featuring Linnea Olson, her lung cancer story and her outlook on the future.

http://www.ascopost.com/issues/august-25-2016/my-oncologists-make-me-feel-safe-even-while-living-with-terminal-cancer/

One Year Ago Today...August 21, 2015

One Year ago today I had my first surgical procedure. My PET scan showed multiple, multiple, tiny, star like nodules throughout both of my lungs. This was discussed at my cancer center's tumor board. A tumor board is a panel of oncologists, thoracic surgeons, radiology oncologists and others involved in diagnosing and treating cancer. My tumor board could not come to an agreement about my scan. It was inconclusive. The star like nodules could either be an infection, I had already tested negative for tuberculosis, or it could be cancer that had spread from the main lung tumor in my upper right lobe.

Until this point, the my biggest medical procedure was my bronchoscopy. I was scared. I've never been under anesthesia before. It was very early in the morning. My boyfriend, Jeremy, my mother and I were driving to the hospital. I had my usual satellite radio station playing, 50's on 5. We're pulling into the hospital. I'm thinking all the scary, anxious, thoughts any normal person that has never had surgery would have. And this song comes on while we are parking the car.

The first thing that comes to my mind is, of all the fabulous fifties songs, THIS will be my last song I ever hear if I don't make it out of surgery!!!???!!!!

Don't worry. I pulled through. 

Just as before, the staff were more than considerate when I voiced my fears of medical procedures while they were wheeling me into the surgery room. One man told me not to worry and to think of it as a day at the spa. I must have been the first to reply with, "I didn't pick out my nail polish color yet." I made myself laugh. He was not amused. 

My next memory is waking up in the recovery room. Of course, my first surgery experience wouldn't be typical. I got used to that recovery room. I was there the entire day. I was supposed to be moved to a hospital room. But there were no rooms at the inn that day.

It felt like it was almost immediately after coming out of the anesthesia that I was told that the stars were cancer. I remember speaking with my mom and Jeremy over the phone because I was still in a recovery area they were not allowed in.  They moved me off to a corner and as out of the way as possible. But at least at that point Jeremy and my mom were able to come back to see me.

After several, long, hours and being moved one more time, I was released to go home to my three week recovery period.

Just My Luck

Since my lung cancer diagnosis there has never been, why me? When talking about my lung cancer, the words, luck and lucky have come up over and over.

• How lucky am I to have a genetic mutation?
• How lucky am I to live in Colorado, so close to University of Colorado Cancer Center and possibly the best lung cancer doctors in the world?
• What luck to be diagnosed just weeks before the World Conference on Lung Cancer in Denver and I was able to register and attend a session.
• How lucky am I to have a beer dedicated to me and brewed in my honor?

That's right! My own beer! My friend, Todd Greiner, is behind this. He made a home brew. I taste tested it in April 2016 during a visit to Ohio. That is when the beer was, I don't know how to say it, 'gifted' to me. He said he wanted me to name it. He would brew the beer in my honor and portions of the proceeds would go to lung cancer awareness and research fundraising. After some brainstorming, we had a name. Lisa's Luck Amber Ale was created.

Todd entered Lisa's Luck in a brewing contest. He won! Fifth Street Brewpub in Dayton, OH is brewing 14 kegs of Lisa's Luck Amber Ale. It will be available on tap mid September.

Todd brewing the first batch of Lisa's Luck Amber Ale

at Fifth Street Brewpub on August 18, 2016

The beer will make it's debut at the Lisa's Luck Tapping Party and fundraising event on September 17, 2016.

Click HERE for details and to RSVP.

Stage IV Lung Cancer/One Year Ago Today...August 14, 2015

One year ago today Jeremy and I went to the appointment to get the results from my pet scan. We scheduled it for lunch time. We had plans to break off of work, go to the appointment, get the info and plan of action and return to work.

With the ct scan only, we knew there was a large tumor in my upper right lobe and I was a good candidate for surgery. We thought we were going to find out when my surgery would be scheduled and what the recovery time would be. We got some very different and shocking information...

INOPERABLE, INCURABLE,

STAGE IV LUNG CANCER WITH METASTASIS TO THE SPINE

We did not return to work. That wasn't what we had prepared ourselves for.

Lisa's 8/14/2015 Facebook post, hours after diagnosis

Not many stage iv lung cancer survivors get to celebrate a one year CANCERversary.

I got to have one hell of a celebration last night.

F*ck lung cancer with LessThan Zero
at the 1 Year CANCERversary Party

Lisa doesn't play bass, but looked the part
while sharing her lung cancer story.

Lisa and Jeremy

I'm sure that out of the ones that get to celebrate the one year mark, not many are NED, like me.

I did not beat lung cancer. I am not cured. I don't get to celebrate winning. I celebrate surviving. My fight is ongoing and has no end.

I would love to say I'm no different than I was a year ago. But so many things have changed.
I've lost:

• Energy
• Half of my hair
• My complexion
• Friendships
• A year of exercise and running
• Fears
• Life as I knew it

But I've Gained:

• A new appreciation of life that I think I could I have only achieved by facing the possibly of death head on
• Friendships
• Fears
• New traditions
• New motto: No missed opportunities...When you have a 4 hour layover in Utah. Don't sit in the airport. Jump in an Uber and track down the best burger in Salt Lake City.

One Year Ago Today...August 4, 2015

One year ago today I had the biggest medical procedure I had ever had, up to that point. August 4, 2015 was my bronchoscopy. This is a scope biopsy to get tissue from my largest lung tumor for testing.

I remember some things about that day. To say I was scared is an understatement. I had avoided all things medical my whole life. I do remember the nurse who was in charge of getting me prepped for the procedure. She made things a little easier after I told her why I was so scared.

It's funny how the mind works. Of all the things I should remember from that day, I remember the shoes I had on. They were my new Keds. I bought them that summer and only really worn them with my retro outfit I sewed for the Brian Setzer concert several weeks before. I called them my "cute shoes".

Brian Setzer concert, Hudson Gardens Event Center, June 14, 2015

While I was laying in the bed, scared, I would look down at my shoes and remember how much fun Jeremy and I had at the concert. And I thought about how I felt that day in my retro dress with my cute shoes.

I remember being in the biopsy room. The Drs. and I looked at my CT scan together. We discussed why I was having the procedure. I was given a sedative and someone either said I would smell or I would taste something bad. The next thing I know, I was back in the first room with the nurse and my mom.

I know someone from pathology looked at the biopsy that day, immediately after the procedure. Someone told my mom that it looked like cancer. They would send it off for testing and it would be several days before we would receive a confirmation.

I know my mom told me this news at some point that day. I don't know if it was the sedatives and my selective memory. I can't remember that exact conversation or the location of the conversation. Was I still in recovery? Were we in the car on the way home? Or was I at home?

I do know that I stayed off the Google searches. I didn't want to waste time searching for ailments and diseases I may or may not have. I waited to Google until the biopsy results came back and were official.

World Lung Cancer Day 2016

Today was a very special day for two reasons.

A Cough Equals A Dark Cloud of Doubt

Yesterday was my 3 month PET scan. I had the usual scan anxiety. But the rational part of my brain was trying to rule my thoughts to a good outcome. I've been feeling great. Two weeks ago, I even had my best mental and physical day of the last 12 months. I had no pain. I had energy. I was feeling good. I even had thoughts of, it could be possible to have many, or most of my days, pain free and without a care.

Encourage your hopes / Not your fears

But then I crashed. I felt like I was getting sick. I never did get full on sick. I did get a cough. At first it was annoying. But this last weekend and the beginning of this week it was bad with congestion. I decided not to wait until my already scheduled appointment to report my cough. I called the Dr. on Monday.  They said it probably was just the start of an upper respiratory infection and called in an antibiotic prescription for me.  

The combo of not feeling 100%, anxiety about my scan and the sound of my horrible cough got me down. I just needed that cough and my fears to go away!!!!

How do you overcome the fear of the unknown?

The bracelet in the photo was given to me by an acquaintance that is a pancreatic cancer survivor. I don't wear it all the time. But I put it on when I feel the fears overpowering the hopes. I wore it yesterday.

The scan results reflected how I was feeling before the cough set in. No active cancer is visible on my PET scan! There will be no changes in my current treatment plan. You don't fix something that isn't broken.

My next set of follow up scans will be at the end of October, 2016. Instead of a, more detailed, PET scan, it will be a CT scan with contrast. I will also have a brain MRI. This is just a routine one year scan. There is no current reason or concern that requires an MRI.

One Year Ago Today...July 24, 2015

One year ago today the Uncle Samta windsock was hung with care and the first toy donation was under the tree. I had last minute preparations to complete for our Christmas in July party that was scheduled for the next day.

One other thing I had to do that day was get a CT scan. This was the next step after something cloudy showed up on an xray two weeks before. I was to get the scan and have a follow up office appointment, a week or two later, with my primary care physician, Dr. Bird. I never expected a follow up phone call within hours of my scan appointment.

It was Dr. Bird. I can't remember the words he said. Whatever it was it sounded serious enough for me to grab the nearest pen and piece of paper and started writing words and notes from our conversation.

For other breathing issues I had a CT scan in 2008. So we had a baseline to compare to. When referring to my upper right lobe he used the words, mass and slow growing neoplasm. There were spots and nodules throughout both of my lungs. The nodules looked like an infection in the scan. I had been tested for TB. But it was days before we had the final results. There was a possibility I had tuberculosis. But I hadn't been out of the country or around anyone with TB. I discussed the party with Dr. Bird. I didn't want to spread an infection to my family and friends. And I didn't want to cancel the day before. He suggested I cancel the party. But if I decided to still have the party, I needed to keep my distance, wear a mask and not cough near anyone in case this was an infection. He referred me to a pulmonologist for the next test, a bronchoscopy, scope biopsy, to determine if the neoplasm was benign or malignant.

I had never heard the word, neoplasm. So I went to the internet to look up the definition. 

It was the the first time the word cancer had come up. I decided to stay away from the internet research until we knew exactly what we were dealing with. I didn't want to waste time and energy researching anything that didn't pertain to me and my condition.

I decided the show must go on. I didn't cancel the party. I didn't wear a mask. I had been around so many people at home and work. There was no way I had a contagious infection. Someone would have caught it by that point. We had fun, drinks and laughs that night. And we collected a bunch of toys for the Bob Telmosse Christmas Giveaway.

It was a good time and a much needed distraction that weekend.

Countdown to August 1, 2016

I will be released for all physical activities as of August 1. It just so happens to also be World Lung Cancer Day.

I am currently able to participate in low impact activities. After August 1 I'll be allowed to run again. I plan on running at least 1 mile symbolic run on August 1.

This was Week One of my Livestrong at the Y sessions. I'm so excited to get back to working out again. With the program my boyfriend/caregiver and I get free YMCA memberships to use anytime during the 12 week program.

Lisa Moran ready for Livestrong at the Y, June 11, 2016

I went to my first spinning class in a year. It was actually my first fitness class in a year. I have to admit, I got very emotional during the class. I was there, working out, just like before I got sick. I was there, working out! It was just like old times. I even had one of my dearest gym friends by my side. My friend, John, works out at the Y. We used to work out together in group fitness classes at Bally's and have known each other for over 10 years. 

During my spin class I got emotional thinking about being able to do the things I love again. I also thought of an online lung cancer connection, Don Stranathan. He is a seven year stage iv lung cancer survivor.  For several months I've followed his posts about going to his spin classes. His posts have been so inspirational and motivational. Thank you, Don.

One Year Ago Today...July 9, 2015

This is the first in a series of, "One Year Ago Today" posts.

One year ago today, on July 9, 2015, I met the man that ultimately saved my life.  One year ago today was my first appointment with my (then first and new) primary care physician, Dr. C. David Bird.

I explained to him I was having some shortness of breath and a persistent cough. I told him of my intermittent breathing problems and my brief, two appointment, history of going to two different urgent care type facilities and being told told, both times, (Dec 2014, June 2015) that my lungs sounded clear, when obviously to me they didn't feel clear.

At my Dr. Bird appointment I had an xray. That xray showed something in my upper lobe of my right lung. Dr. Bird said, although it may be the cause of my breathing problems, an xray wasn't enough to go on. He ordered a follow up CT Scan. The rest is history.

Why is it important to have a primary care physician? For me more frequent check ups, with one doctor, may have meant an earlier detection, possibly before a stage iv, inoperable, lung cancer diagnosis.

December 2014, I went to an urgent care type facility with what I thought was bronchitis. I was told my lungs sounded clear and my cough was from post nasal drip. Now, at the time I did have a terrible head cold. But at the appointment I made it a point to tell them that I coughed constantly, even without the head cold. I remember saying, "Jeremy says I cough all the time." No xray, no additional questions about my cough, no follow up suggested. I was given sinus meds to clear my head and sent on my way, like every other person with a head cold and post nasal drip that winter.

Fast forward to June 2015. Again, I thought I had bronchitis. I went to a different urgent care type facility. I told this Dr. that I felt like I had bronchitis and I coughed blood one time. I was told my lungs sounded clear and I had the tail end of a virus that was going around. No xray, no additional questions about my coughing blood, no follow up suggested. It really was one time, one cough, but I COUGHED BLOOD! I was given cough medicine and sent on my way, like every other person with that virus last summer.

It's so frustrating to think about stage iv lung cancer having the same symptoms of other, easy to fix, ailments.  It's also frustrating to think about the in and out exam offices and the lack of attention to individual patients. Or is it the lack of lung cancer education in the medical community altogether?

I owe my life to Dr. Bird.  Dr. Bird, a physician that listened to me and followed through until we knew exactly what we were dealing with.

One year ago today my life changed completely. It was just a few weeks later I would find out exactly how much it was going to change.