I remember the moment clearly. It was Australia Day, 2023. I had been dealing with pain in my right leg for a couple of months. That evening, I walked upstairs to bed and heard a snap. I thought I’d hurt my knee, but suddenly I couldn’t move. We called an ambulance, and I was taken to hospital.
When I first noticed the vague symptoms – headaches, back pain, leg pain, and shortness of breath, they didn’t seem unusual. Like many women in their 40s, I chalked it up to stress, ageing, and the busyness of everyday life. Having experienced post-viral fatigue after glandular fever in 2016, the exhaustion felt familiar.
I assumed my tiredness was just part of living a full, demanding life.
A shock diagnosis
The X-ray revealed a pathological fracture – they told me that cancer had eaten away at my femur. At first the emergency team suspected ovarian cancer due to a cyst they spotted on the X-ray. It wasn’t until two weeks later when PET, CT scans, and an MRI including the results of genomic testing confirmed it was actually stage four lung cancer which by now was widespread – to my brain, bones and spine.
Being diagnosed with lung cancer felt surreal – I’ve never smoked. As a former tobacco treatment specialist, I spent six years helping others quit and, like many, believed the myth that lung cancer only affects people who smoke.
But the reality is different. Around one in five people diagnosed with lung cancer have never smoked.
Initially, I was just trying to keep up with what was happening. I spent about a month in hospital following surgery whereby they inserted a metal rod in my femur, and I had to learn how to walk again. I was undergoing radiation treatment and busy with rehabilitation, I didn’t have much time to process the emotional shock. The unreality of it all was difficult to grasp.
Letting go of my dreams
At the time I’d been working full-time in the community services sector for a not-for-profit educational charity. I had dreams of postgraduate study, and my partner and I were even considering buying a bigger home. But I had to let those dreams go. My prognosis gives me about a one in four chance of surviving five years. Yet, life didn’t stop. It just redirected.
What’s surprised me most is how profoundly this diagnosis transformed my life, not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. Before cancer, I was living well, but always in a rush – chasing tasks, ticking boxes, moving through each day with something always ahead. Cancer didn’t stop me; it slowed me in a way that invited reflection. It made me pause and ask: What truly matters here?
Now, I move through life with a deeper sense of clarity and richness. Everything feels more vivid, and I’ve learned that presence isn’t a luxury, it’s a lifeline when the future feels uncertain. A glass of water becomes an act of gratitude, a walk with a friend a moment of true connection.
I notice the small things now: birdsong in the morning, the comfort of clean sheets, my step-kids’ laughter, quiet evenings on the couch with my partner, and the curious wonder of our new puppy, Archie. These everyday moments have become my anchor, not because they’re extraordinary, but because they’re real. Amid the fear, loss, and uncertainty, I’ve found something unexpectedly beautiful: a deeper connection to what truly matters.
Living with a life-limiting illness isn’t about constant sadness or chasing thrills. While people often expect grand adventures, what truly matters to me is presence and purpose, being with my family, supporting my community, and making a difference for others with lung cancer.
My bucket list is simple: quiet moments and meaningful impact.
I’ve discovered deep richness in everyday life, by being present, listening, and staying grounded. This awareness has opened my heart, made me more intentional, and helped me appreciate the gift of an ordinary day. I’ve also learned to set boundaries that honour my energy and protect my peace.
Healing is collective
Years before my diagnosis, I worked in therapeutic support for both adults and young people, which meant I had access to tools that ended up helping me enormously during my own cancer experience. Acceptance-based strategies, especially from Dialectical Behaviour Therapy, have been invaluable. I also draw heavily on positive psychology.
Peer support groups have also been a powerful source of strength. There’s a particular kind of wisdom that only comes from people who’ve lived it. I’ve learned so much from others and try to offer the same in return. That’s why I got involved with Lung Foundation Australia.
I’ve shared my lived experience through advocacy and on national committees, including contributing to the planning of Australia’s first National Lung Cancer Screening Program set to launch on 1 July.
I do it because I can, because I am still well enough to use my voice, and I know many others are not. I’m also deeply grateful for Australia’s subsidised treatment, without which my care would cost around $90,000 a year.
If I could share one message with other women, it’s this: don’t ignore vague symptoms, follow up, even if they seem minor. Lung cancer doesn’t discriminate; if you have lungs, you’re at risk. I never imagined it would be me, but modern cancer treatments and hope have made all the difference.
Now, I look forward to time with friends, quiet walks, shared meals, and heartfelt conversations. Mortality lingers in the background, not as fear, but as a quiet teacher. It gently grounds me in what truly matters, revealing that the simplest moments in life are often the most profound.
