In April 2021, I turned 43, but it was an uneventful milestone. My daughter, Mia, was unwell, and by May, she was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. It wasn’t the news we expected, but it was a relief to have an answer. With diabetes running in our family, a casual comment from a doctor about health checks got me thinking. A quick online search led me to a private health screening clinic in Melbourne. Before I could change my mind, I scheduled an appointment. That decision, made on a whim, would later prove to be life-saving.
Fast-forward to July 2023. I was 45 and found myself back at the GP with some persistent health issues. I had always brushed off minor aches and pains, chalking them up to age and busy days. But this time, it was different. Breathlessness and excessive sweating were some of the symptoms I couldn’t ignore—or rather, my husband, Hugh, couldn’t ignore. His concern pushed me to the doctor’s office. This time, he made sure I went by coming along himself.
It had been a challenging year. We’d completed a full renovation of our home and weathered a cold, wet 2023 vintage. But with the wines now safely tucked away and the major tasks behind us, I had run out of excuses to delay the checkup.
The GP ordered a chest X-ray and some blood tests. My symptoms were mixed, so we needed a starting point. The chest X-ray revealed a mass in the upper left lobe of my lung. I produced the results from the health screening I’d done two years earlier, thinking they might offer some insight. The doctor promptly ordered a CT scan and additional bloodwork to rule out tuberculosis.
The CT scan provided a clearer picture. The mass had grown, and the signs pointed to something more serious. A biopsy was the next step. In early October, the results came in - lung cancer. I was shocked. I had never smoked, and there was no family history of this disease. Yet here I was, facing the unimaginable.
From that moment on, everything moved at a surreal pace. I was referred to a surgeon and scheduled for a lobectomy—removal of part of my lung—on November 4th. A PET scan would happen in between to see if the cancer had spread.
The morning of the operation, I found myself on a hospital bed, surrounded by five other patients awaiting heart surgeries. They were all older men, glancing at me curiously as if I were out of place. Perhaps I was. I was the only one there for lung surgery and the only one under 60.
My surgeon and anesthetist arrived to explain the procedure. The surgery would take place in a cardiac operating room, so I shouldn’t be alarmed by the setup. The anesthetist detailed how my lung would be deflated during the procedure and that I’d be on life support for the duration of the 3-4 hour operation. My surgeon discussed possible complications but reassured me that, given my age and the early detection, my chances were better than most.
Despite his reassurances, I felt far from convinced. It all seemed too surreal to be happening to me.
As I was wheeled into the operating theatre, I noticed the massive overhead light, a large, alien-like daisy with each petal a separate light. It burned an image into my mind that lingered even as I drifted off into unconsciousness.
When I awoke in recovery hours later, I was told the surgery had gone well. Along with the cancerous tissue, several lymph nodes were removed and sent for comprehensive genetic panel testing to guide potential treatment decisions.
Two days later, the results were in. The good news was that the lymph nodes were clear, showing no further spread of the cancer. This meant that additional treatments, such as targeted therapy or immunotherapy, were not necessary at this time.
The more sobering news was that my lung cancer was linked to a rare compound mutation in a gene called EGFR. This placed me in a category where the effectiveness of therapy is currently uncertain. Had the cancer been further advanced when discovered, the outcome might have been different. As my doctor explained, “Another six months, and you may not have seen your 50th birthday.”
I realised then how much that impulsive decision to get a health screening had mattered. It provided a baseline, a reference point that helped my doctors act quickly when it counted most.
Now, six months post-surgery, my latest CT scan shows no signs of cancer, leaving me hopeful for a full remission. I feel blessed to be alive and, unexpectedly, grateful for this experience. It has reminded me of the preciousness of life and prompted a re-evaluation of my priorities. My appreciation for family, friends, and meaningful pastimes is greater than ever.
No one ever expects to develop cancer. However, early detection can give someone the best possible chance for a positive outcome. I hope that by sharing my story, I can encourage others to take a proactive role in their own health and well-being or offer insight into what it’s like to go through something similar.
Thank you for taking the time to read my journey. Cheers to optimal health.
Raquel x
