Curt

LexieCat joined us on June 29, 2017 after taking advantage of low-dose CT screening for folks at risk for lung cancer. That test revealed a small highly suspicious single nodule that was surgically removed. She had a successful lobectomy; we all hoped she was one and done.
Lexie, a screen name for Teri Garvey, was a district attorney in Camden, NJ. In my younger years, Camden, across the Delaware River from Philly, where I lived, was an industrious town bustling with shipbuilding, soup making (the Campbells Soup Company), distilling, and iron working. The deindustrialization of America hit Camden hard and when the jobs left, crime moved in. Camden, now a hard-edged town, made enforcing the law a dangerous occupation. But Teri was a tough lady, fearless, courageous, and dedicated to justice.
We met in person during the 2018 LUNGevity Summit. She a lawyer, master of words and ideals, and I the engineer, entrenched in physics and things, discovered a fond friendship. Summits are our “shining city upon a hill”. Surviving lung cancer is a mighty forcing function. Our bond of survival transcends differences.
Teri became a bastion of support for our forum. A witty quip-master, her parody of new drug names was quintessential Garvey—“…it makes me think of Buzz Lightyear: “To Imfinzi and beyond.” On starting combination chemo with immunotherapy, she offered: “My motto, walk softly and carry a big drug.” After a clean scan report a member, knowing of her broken collar bone, suggested she not do a happy dance. Teri responded: “Sadly, you know me all too well. [My] Childhood nickname—‘Princess Grace.’”
Nearly 3 years after surgery, a scan showed tumors in her lung and sacrum. Her second-line treatment in September 2020 was combination chemo (carboplatin, Altima and Keytruda). Scans in April 2021 showed progression. She decided to join the arduous and risky Ivoance Tumor Infiltrating Lymphocytes (TIL) trial which ended early for her after 5 of 6 scheduled infusions. A good news scan was joyfully celebrated in July but by October, cancer cells were found while draining a pericardial effusion. Her defenses down from the TIL trial, Teri struggled to return to good health. She experienced a series of exhausting hospitalizations from October though the New Year that sapped her energy but not her fortitude. Cancer was beating her body not her spirit. In a private message, she sent me this photo with the quip: “I finally love my hair!” Teri chose hospice care on February 19, 2022. She passed surrounded by loved ones on February 25th.
Teri was one of those very special people I’ve met on my life’s journey. Like so many, her diagnosis was a surprise. Her attitude after diagnosis is one to emulate. Teri told me lung cancer would not change her. She lived every minute of every day caring for people, seeking justice for victims, and helping the unfortunate. She told me she chose the risky TIL trial because it might help someone down the road. It might indeed.
Stay the course.

Hello Everyone!
I'm not new. In fact, my Adenocarcinoma (Pancoast) lung cancer journey began in October 2004. I was diagnoised at State IV. Mets to chest wall and liver. I was given 2-6 months with treatment and 1 to 2 years with treatment. I've had reocurrences. One time, I was told to get my affairs in order. Yes, I'm still here. Thank God. It started off crazy (as I would imagine, everyone else did too). But, what I am searching for are connections.  People like myself. Someone to relate to. Anyone who has the same issues (or close) as mine. I have had my share of issues over the past (soon to be 17 years). The feelings, the thoughts they keep coming back to a word I discovered a few years ago. Guilt. Then there is the treatment. I'm still on Tarceva. I've been on Tarceva since 2005. Sometimes I feel stuck in time. The world moves on. My issues might be unique. I don't know. Sooo....
I have lost so many friends and family members during this 17 year survivorship. I can no longer count them on my fingers. I meet people at my checkups and I want to encourage them. But, I know in my heart they are asking WHY NOT ME??? You see, there is no reason. There is no medicine. No answer. Nothing I've done or didn't do. It was all out of my control. I've got nothing to say. No support. No advice. No secret. Nothing. That leaves me feeling like a failure. Like I'm not doing what was intended for me to do. But, what exactly is it I'm supposed to do? 
Doctors see me at my checkups. They read the scans. They check out new areas of interest. They say I am a miracle. I go back and forth between 3 month checkups to 6 month checkups and now again I have graduated to a yearly checkup. Please do not misunderstand, I am grateful. I am scared too. I am always scared. 
When I was diagnosed, my son was 6 years old. I grieved all the things I would miss. I have a 9 month old granddaughter now. Imagine that. I have everything to be grateful for. Yet, this old feeling seeps in. I think it's called Survivor Guilt. And I know it's a lonely place to be because there aren't many. I want more! I want you to know that I cry for you. All of you. I am so sorry that many of you are going through the worst fight of your life. Make everyday count. That's all I can do. That's all I did. I talk to God alot! I no longer take things for granted.  I am not a miracle. I am so much less. And Everything and Everyone I see is so very beautiful and so precious. Life has it's share of hard times. This body, this Cancer did not define me! I continue to turn it into a Blessing. Not an End. My body may end one day, but I won't. 
Since I am always searching for the Why (because I am human) I ran across this and I thought it would be worth sharing...
Isaiah 57:1-2 King James Version
"The righteous perisheth, and no man layeth it to heart: and merciful men are taken away, none considering that the righteous is taken away from the evil to come.
He shall enter into peace: they shall rest in their beds, each one walking in his uprightness."

Today marks 5 years since my diagnosis. It seems like just yesterday but also a lifetime ago - at the same time. It brought me to the club I never wanted to join but introduced me to so many wonderful people. I am thankful for my medical team and all of the research and advancements that got me to this point. 
Looking forward to marking next year's cancerversary with all of you.

Today marks 4 years of survival! By most standards, my path hasn't been as difficult as others. There have definitely been highs - when my hair grew back, my lashes grew in longer  - and lows - two recurrences and a secondary cancer diagnosis. But as I say often - I'M STILL HERE! I tell my story to anyone who will listen. People need to know that lung cancer doesn't have to be an automatic death sentence. Does it suck? Yes. Will it change your life? Definitely. But you move forward, one step at a time. Forward is forward ,no matter the speed.
I am looking forward to the Breathe Deep Denton event in April. I enjoy visiting with the other survivors and bringing attention to this cause. I've also been asked to speak at a function in March so I'll be sharing my story again. The more the public understands lung cancer and all of its causes, the better our funding will be for research. 
Most importantly, though, is this: I stumbled across this site one night when I was looking for answers. I have met wonderful friends - in person and online - here. Those friends have made this journey easier. Thank you, all. 

Off we go - or not, into the wild blue yonder. It seems that my most recent CT scan's results, described as "a little worse" by my oncologist, are indeed cause for some reflection and change. (I'm not quite able to say "cause for concern" yet.) As such, to make the most effective change, per my oncologist's orders, I am scheduled for a needle biopsy on the Wednesday this column publishes. This procedure will determine, if there is a match, to the specific type of cancer tumor that I have. (Without boring you with too many details, the short version is that all cancer tumors are not alike. Biomarkers/genetic mutations such as ALK, BRAF, EGFR, NTRK, PD-L! and ROS1 are the most common, and certain medicines work better against certain tumor types. Variations in the tumor types, such as the ones I've described, is a relatively recent discovery in lung cancer research.)
What this research has led to is another new kind of cancer treatment known as "targeted therapy." This means rather than "flying blind"--to use one of my brother, Richard's, favorite expressions--and employing a one-size-fits-all kind of approach to treatment, oncologists now have specific medicines to infuse when the tumor's genetic mutation is confirmed. Wednesday, hopefully, will confirm something. However, researchers have not discovered all the tumor types so it's possible that this biopsy will reveal nothing useful for me and in effect, I'll be back to square one-ish.
As for what 'square-one-ish' means? It means that I'll likely be infusing medicines that previously worked for a time but whose infusions were stopped after they all ran their successful course years ago. As I've been told whenever this change became necessary, cancer cells eventually figure out what's happening to them and then the tumors begin growing. Once this growth is indicated on the CT scan, a new medicine is usually started, and on and on it goes until, apparently now, for me anyhow. "Targeted therapy" offers lots of new medicines. I just need a match. Unfortunately, there's no guarantee the biopsy will provide just such a match. There's only one way to find out. On Wednesday, we will begin to find out. To say I have a lot riding on this determination is the understatement of the year; at least for Team Lourie, it is. If I'm forced to repeat infusions from medicines that stopped working years ago, it'll be "Katie, bar the door," as we say in Boston which means, "Look out!"
I'm trying not to 'look out' though. I'm trying not to look anywhere, except straight ahead. Just because my life may be at stake, is no time to deviate from the norm that has been my modus operandi over the past 11 years. I'm not quite ready to consider that my stage IV lung cancer survival is coming to an end. Maybe it's just staggering and within a week or so, I'll get my bearings again. New medical information getting me new medical treatment is sure to put a bounce back in my step. For the first time in 11 years, to quote George Costanza from Seinfeld: "I'm back, baby." This could be the jolt my body needs to get me through to the next research level. The Team Lourie strategy has always been for me to try and live long enough to reach the next medical breakthrough. So far, I've benefited from a few: tarceva, avastin and alimta; all miracle drugs according to my oncologist, and here I am, living proof that it has all worked.
Until I hear, post procedure, from my oncologist, in the interim, I am re-experiencing many what-happens-if-and-when emotions that I've not wrestled with for years. Unfortunately, this hospital visit is taking me back to the visit/biopsy I had in Feb. 2009 which confirmed the malignancy in my lungs in the first place. And here I am, hopefully not in the last place, waiting for the results of a biopsy yet again. It didn't work out so good in 2009. I just hope I have better luck in 2019.

Meet Charlett Emilyrose Wilson, my first grandchild.  Her parents, daughter Melissa and son-in-law Bill, are overjoyed.  I am ecstatic!  Proud would be a vast understatement!
Charlett was born 12-years, 8-months, and 13-days after my diagnosis with NSCLC.  I celebrate this joyful milestone in my life for but one reason.  If I can live, so can you.
Stay the course.

A lady with lung cancer passed early this morning. I knew her well. She survived two surgeries claiming a lung, radiation, and many many infusions of chemotherapy. Indeed, her disease was being treated like diabetes or heart disease — a chronic but controlled condition.
Lung cancer did not claim her and death is not a celebratory event, but living a full and meaningful life despite lung cancer is indeed praiseworthy. In characterizing the lady’s life, full and meaningful are an enormous understatement.
In recalling our years together, I am struck by how few times we talked about lung cancer.  We shared a disease but talked about stock shows, cars, fashion, movies, politics, family, travel, ranching, tomatoes, and friends. That she would not achieve NED didn’t bother her a bit. “I’ve got things to do and doing nothing ain’t gonna happen!” 
I will morn her passing.  I will also strive to emulate her lifestyle.
Stay the course.

Facing a lung cancer diagnosis changes a person’s perspective about what matters in life and what doesn’t. Being diagnosed with cancer makes you put absolutely everything else to the side, or totally out of mind.  You have the chance to let back in only the things that really matter back into your conscious mind. If you can do that, and spend more time focusing on things that really matter in the present moment, you will have completely changed and improved your mind and your life. I still get caught up in feeling anxious or scared about what might happen in the future and the negative impact it could have on my family, especially my wife and daughters. What’s helped me has been to realize that they are thoughts – they don’t have a physical presence anywhere and if you observe them but don’t chase after them, they go away.
If I could give advice to someone newly diagnosed, I’d probably want to say a few things.
1.       Slow down. Information is going to be coming at you really fast and it can be overwhelming, especially with the internet making everything move at hyper speed.  Take your time to digest what’s out there in terms of treatment options, support systems, heavy medical information, etc.
2.       Get yourself into a respected cancer center as soon as possible. Find an oncologist that you trust and have a good relationship with, and then TRUST that doctor.
3.       Take everything, except what your oncologist tells you to your face, with a grain of salt.  There is a ton of real, semi-bogus and totally bogus information out there about magical cures and treatments.  Ask your doctor about all of them but, in the end, do what he or she advises.
4.       Take a step back, look at the road ahead as objectively as you can and try to be practical.  It is the “C” word but, after all, it’s an illness not a curse or a death sentence.  Come up with a treatment plan together with your doctor, follow that plan and do what you need to do in order to stay healthy
5.       Don’t give cancer more power than it already has by thinking you can’t face it and just giving up.  You can face it.  Maybe not today, or all the time, but eventually and most of the time you can.
Lung cancer is just the same as any other kind of cancer. It will take the people you love just as heartlessly as any other form of the disease.    It’s really good at taking people away; men and women, smokers and non-smokers, old and young, any race and origin.  In fact, it’s better at that than most other cancers.  We could all get cancer, and none of us would deserve it.  We should fight it with research funding, trials, promoting new and existing treatments, by helping people pay for treatment, and everything else at our disposal. Not giving lung cancer the fight it deserves leaves us all that much more powerless to stop it from taking away someone we love.

Today I celebrate three years of survival! I am so happy to have found this community of people.  You all make this journey so much better.

I'm the guy who paints a toenail for every year I live beyond my February 4, 2004 diagnosis day.  This year our toes are LUNGevity Blue to honor the foundation that is dedicated to changing outcomes for people with lung cancer through research, education and support.
There are many people who've been instrumental in my survival and making a life after; none are more important than my loving wife -- Martha Galli. If I can live, so can you!
Stay the course.
Tom Galli