If you’ve recently been diagnosed with small-cell lung cancer (SCLC), you may wrestle with a wide array of emotions, including fear, anger, and loneliness. You may also struggle with how to put on a brave face with well-meaning family and friends.
The truth is, most people don’t know the right thing to say when they find out a loved one has SCLC. But it’s not your responsibility to protect them or make them feel better. You also don’t have to grin and bear it if they tell you things such as “you need to stay positive” or “you can beat this.”
Here, four people who live with SCLC share what kind of support helped them accept and honor their emotions and live life with cancer on their terms.
When I met with my oncologist right after my diagnosis, I felt like I was at sea. I had no idea what my doctor was talking about. Back then, my outlook seemed grim. There was no cure; most people diagnosed with it did not live very long, and it’s the deadliest form of lung cancer.
My husband John and I were supposed to go on a cruise to Bali and Australia. We had to cancel it so I could immediately start chemotherapy. I went through four rounds of chemotherapy and 28 days of radiation. I was uncomfortable, exhausted, skeletal, and, to top it off, bald. I did not feel positive at all.
I adore my husband, but John drove me crazy throughout my entire treatment journey. I know he meant well. He’d always nag me to eat, for example, because I had lost so much weight, and I even fell down a few times. But I just thought, ‘Don’t you know that if I could eat, I would?’ He kept talking about me being cured, but as far as I could tell, my chances of that were pretty much nonexistent. I was angry all the time.
I’ll be honest — the being who got me through most of this was my dog. I’d come home from treatment and lie on the couch and cry, and my dog would jump up and settle herself on top of me. She gave me more comfort than any human in my life.
Four years later, my cancer returned. I experienced terrible back pain, and it turned out I had four different tumors on four different vertebrae. I underwent precision-directed stereotactic radiation, which removed most of the tumors and eased all of my pain. Since then, I’ve had no evidence of disease.
I think my 9-year-old granddaughter, Sloane, was truly the one person who helped me come to terms with my diagnosis. I finally told her I have lung cancer about a year ago, when I thought she was old enough to know. She took the night to process it, and then she asked me the next day, ‘Were you afraid to die?’ I told her, ‘I couldn’t be afraid. You were just a baby, and I had to make sure I would be around for us to be good buddies.’
It’s true. She’s given me the drive to stay alive. There’s no guarantee I’ll be around in a couple of years when she graduates from elementary school, or when my other grandson graduates from college. I don’t like to dwell on that too much because it drags me down into toxicity. I try to focus on what I can control, like making sure I spend time with Sloane, and my lung cancer advocacy work with the Lung Cancer Foundation of America. Those are two reasons for me to keep fighting.
My SCLC diagnosis upended my life. I was only 28 years old, a vegetarian, and a neversmoker. It was hard for me to believe that I could be diagnosed with lung cancer.
My oncologist was very calm when he gave me the diagnosis. I didn’t walk out of his office with a lot of fear, but just some shock and concern over the unknown. Then I went home and looked SCLC up online and was alarmed by what Google told me about my prognosis.
I’m a self-proclaimed pessimist. My default personality is ‘Woe is me.’ So at first, when my family rallied around me, I was quick to dismiss them. I thought, ‘They don’t know what I know about the survival rates.’
But in hindsight, I’m glad that they stepped up and were so positive. Since my diagnosis, I’ve been shocked at how many other patients with SCLC have told me that their oncologists gave them a death sentence, and their families treated them like they had only days to live.
Thankfully, I wasn’t just told to “stay positive.” Family and friends were very clear that they were there to help. They organized meal trains, brought me food, and arranged carpools to drive me to and from treatment. They took turns calling me daily to see how I felt and to ask me what I needed.
But my whole treatment journey was also a steep learning curve for me. I had always been fiercely independent, but now I needed to swallow my pride and ask for help. I had chemotherapy and radiation at the same time, and they both left me so fatigued I couldn’t make it out of my apartment alone.
Once I’d completed six rounds of chemotherapy and radiation, my doctors told me my scans were clean. I had no evidence of disease. But I still struggled day to day. I felt like I was still in survival mode. Finally, a counselor at the school I teach at asked me when I was going to get out of survival mode and restart living my life. He challenged me to really think about what the word survivor meant.
His words stirred something in me. I had joined some cancer support groups after my diagnosis, and I took the time to see what other lung cancer survivors were doing. They were out there working, parenting, and taking time to do fun things like vacation and surf. They were living their best lives. I decided that would be me, too.
It hasn’t always been easy, though. Twenty years later, I still have no evidence of disease. But every time I have a follow-up scan, I’m nervous. Just this past week, I had to have a breast biopsy to make sure a calcification on a routine mammogram wasn’t cancerous. The radiation I had to my chest during my treatment puts me at a higher lifetime risk for breast cancer. There’s always an element of ‘Here we go again. When will this ever end?’
It can be hard to be told to stay positive when you have SCLC. If someone says that to you, and it bothers you, tell them to ‘Read the room.’ Let them know that you’d rather have them offer concrete help — with things such as grocery shopping, laundry, driving to appointments — rather than platitudes.
But it’s also important for patients with SCLC to have hope. There have been major advances in treatment since I was diagnosed two decades ago. I tell all patients with SCLC to research and consider clinical trials. They may be exposed to a groundbreaking new therapy that makes all the difference for them.
You’ll have lots of moments when you feel down and anxious. You’ll have days when you will cry and think that you won’t make it. Make sure to surround yourself with people who are just willing to listen to you. They don’t need to solve every problem. They just need to sit there and let you talk.
I’ll be honest: Staying positive is actually what’s helped me through my entire SCLC journey. I’m a pastor, so in many ways I view my diagnosis as a calling to encourage others to fight cancer.
I was diagnosed in the emergency room (ER). I went there after my throat became so tight I could barely talk. I was so short of breath that if I laid down on my back, I felt like I was drowning.
My wife, children, and grandchildren all dragged me to the ER. I went there grudgingly. I thought I had some sort of virus, and I’d be sent home.
When the doctors came in after they’d run some tests, I was surrounded by my family. They asked me if they could speak freely, and I told them to go ahead. They informed me that I had only months left and that I should start to check items off my bucket list. That’s hard news for anyone to swallow, even a man of faith like myself.
Then my wife, Renee, grabbed my hand and said softly to me over and over, “Marcus, trust the process. Trust the process.” Those words helped to calm me down.
I’m lucky because I’m on a relatively new medication that got FDA approval in May 2024 to treat extensive-stage SCLC. It’s a form of immunotherapy that helps your body’s T-cells attack and destroy cancer. I was the 13th person in Arkansas to get the treatment. After a couple of months, my cancer was gone. I’m technically in remission.
My faith has supported me through this entire process. I really put my trust in God. I asked him for his guidance, his protection, and for him to place people around me to help him do his will.
My family has the same positive attitude, too. I know everyone, from my 91-year-old momma to my youngest grandbaby, was worried they’d lose me. But they kept it from me. Together, we laughed and prayed and kept the faith that I was going to be all right. Whenever I falter, I listen to Renee, and her mantra: “Trust the process. Just trust the process.”
I have a big supporting cast of friends. People came from all over our community when they heard I had cancer to check in on me. I joke to them that if they aren’t positive, they don’t get to come over.
A few months ago, my college friends took me on a two-day fishing trip. I had my infusion on Wednesday, and that weekend, six of us stayed in a cabin and laughed and caught up like it was our college days. They made sure I ate right and got enough rest. My friends took care of me!
I also face reality. My body will never, ever be back to where it was before cancer. But this is the life I walk in and live now. God’s been good to me, so it’s my job to make the best of it.
Thankfully, I had a supportive medical team who set a positive tone. When I was first diagnosed, I told my oncologist that I was a unicorn and that I would beat my SCLC. He replied, ‘You don’t need to be a unicorn. We are treating you to cure.’
I’m also lucky that my daughter is a physician assistant in psychiatric oncology. She was supportive, but also a very steady, even-headed presence throughout my treatment journey. She knew what to ask my doctors, told me what to expect during treatment, and explained all the medical information that was coming at me.
I think it also helped that I have never asked my medical team for a prognosis. I know a lot of patients do. I’m not trying to be an ostrich and stick my head in the sand. But I don’t think being told you only have six or nine months left to live is useful information. It just becomes your focus. Also, my doctors don’t have a crystal ball. No one really knows how much time I have left except for the man upstairs.
What I have spent a lot of time on is finding new clinical trials. When my cancer returned in 2024, I told my doctors that I didn’t want the standard of care. I wanted the latest and greatest. The first clinical trial I went on used a specific targeted therapy to treat my SCLC. It reduced my tumor size by about 70%. I’m now in my second clinical trial, where I get immunotherapy every three weeks via an injection. I’m hopeful this will continue to shrink my tumor and prevent the disease from progressing, at least until they discover another new promising treatment.
I tell every patient newly diagnosed with SCLC that they have to find a way to find some peace. For me, that’s been recognizing what I can control, and what I can’t. I can look for and take part in new clinical trials to get us closer to a cure. I can join support groups and advocate through the Lung Cancer Foundation of America. But I can’t control the cancer or how much time I have left.
Most importantly, I allow myself to feel, to be sad and angry, while at the same time I have gratitude and hope. These emotions all exist in the same space.
Where to Find Support
Two of the best ways to help you process a diagnosis of SCLC and its prognosis are to learn as much as you can about the condition and to join a support group. These organizations can help you get started:
Lung Cancer Foundation of America. They feature stories of hope from lung cancer survivors, including patients with SCLC.
LUNGevity. They offer the largest online network of support and in-person survivorship programs for people affected by lung cancer. They also have specific SCLC support groups.
GO2forlungcancer. This lung cancer advocacy organization offers a phone helpline, peer support programs, and online support groups.
