The Life-Changing CT Scan That Found My Lung Cancer - Heidi | Lung Cancer
Posted: Wed Apr 08, 2026 5:50 am
I heard “stage 4 cancer,” and my first thought was, “Okay, it’s September. I’ll get chemotherapy, I’ll lose all my hair, and I’ll be dead by Christmas.” That was genuinely what I believed at the time. I’m someone who likes to help people, but I also like to be in control of things, so cancer completely threw me for a loop. It was not part of my plan at all.
In May of 2021, I turned 60. I actually remember waking up that morning feeling like it was going to be the best year of my life. About a month and a half later, while I was working, I had an ocular migraine. It wasn’t painful, but it felt like I was looking through a kaleidoscope for 30 seconds to a minute. I was referred to an ophthalmologist, who ran several tests, including a CBC.
A couple of weeks later, I developed pain in my leg after standing up. I thought it was a muscle cramp, but it turned out to be a partial blood clot. Around the same time, my optometrist suggested I get a full physical because of all these unusual symptoms. I scheduled an appointment with my primary care physician, who ordered a CT scan.
When I checked the results in my health portal, I saw words like “metastasis” and other frightening cancer-related terms. I immediately thought, “What is going on?” My doctor told me there was only about a 1% chance it wasn’t cancer. A subsequent biopsy confirmed non-small cell lung cancer, adenocarcinoma.
A brain MRI later showed metastases in my brain, which explained some balance issues I had been experiencing. I had never had any lung symptoms, so it was a complete shock to be diagnosed with lung cancer at all.
My oncologist made a decision that ultimately spared me from chemotherapy. A blood biopsy revealed that I had an EGFR mutation, which meant I could be treated with a targeted therapy pill instead of traditional chemotherapy. At the time, I was in such a fog that I don’t even fully remember all the explanations about biomarkers or what they meant.
It was especially overwhelming because I had just been told I had lung cancer, and then I was also being told I might not need chemo. It felt like everything was happening at once. Eventually, my oncologist recommended a second opinion with a specialist at UCSF who had more experience with my mutation. That doctor helped explain things more clearly and guided me toward resources and support groups focused on EGFR lung cancer.
That was when I really began my journey of learning about lung cancer. I’m not an expert, but I know far more now than I did years ago. I learned that biomarker testing is critical for getting the right treatment. About 10–15% of non-small cell lung cancers have an EGFR mutation, and that mutation can be treated with a targeted daily pill designed to shut down the cancer’s specific signals.
It’s not a one-size-fits-all disease. It’s not just chemotherapy for everyone. You have to know your biomarkers through genomic testing, next-generation sequencing, DNA, and RNA testing. These tests identify specific mutations so that treatment can be precisely matched to the cancer. It’s not like throwing paint at a wall—it’s more like using a targeted missile that goes after a specific mutation.
To me, biomarker testing represents personalized medicine. It’s about finding the right treatment for the right patient at the right time. Whenever I’ve had progression, I’ve either requested a blood biopsy or asked for a tissue biopsy if enough time had passed. Tissue biopsies are the gold standard, while blood biopsies depend on what is circulating in the bloodstream at the time.
I’ve learned that patients and oncologists need to work together, and patients need to advocate for themselves. If biomarker testing isn’t being done, you have to ask for it. That knowledge can open up life-saving treatment options.
I started my first targeted therapy pill in October, and by December scans showed no evidence of disease anywhere—no cancer in my brain or lungs. After about nine months, however, scans showed new growth in my upper right lung.
My doctors used stereotactic body radiation therapy (SBRT), a highly focused, non-invasive radiation technique designed to target tumors in just a few sessions. Despite that, by spring 2023, my scans showed further progression.
At that point, I developed a resistance mutation called MET amplification. Fortunately, I was at a center running a phase 2 clinical trial for patients exactly like me—people with EGFR mutations who had progressed due to MET amplification. I joined the trial.
That treatment worked for about nine months before scans again showed progression, and I was removed from the trial. I then had more SBRT radiation and more progression followed in summer 2024. After that, I moved on to chemotherapy.
By January 2025, scans again showed progression. I had developed both EGFR mutation activity and MET amplification, meaning both needed to be treated together for better control. That became my fourth line of treatment, and I’ve now started my fifth.
Throughout this process, additional testing became even more important. My oncologist performed IHC testing in addition to FISH testing. This revealed MET overexpression along with amplification. That opened up another treatment option—targeting both the EGFR mutation and MET overexpression simultaneously.
I’ve become used to seeing progression on scans. I no longer panic the way I once did. Now I see scans as information—data that helps guide the next step in treatment. I remain hopeful that there will always be another option.
After my fourth year, I chose to switch my care to a thoracic oncologist who specializes in lung cancer. At this point, I prefer being treated by someone deeply focused on my disease type. My oncologist and I make decisions together. I appreciate that collaboration deeply—it’s my life, and while we don’t always agree, everything is explained clearly.
My diagnosis also reignited my desire to help others. Not long after being diagnosed, I joined a peer mentoring organization for newly diagnosed lung cancer patients. I help others navigate the fear and confusion that comes with hearing the words “you have cancer.”
Through this, I’ve met many people in similar situations. We share experiences, not medical advice, but practical support—things that helped us manage symptoms or side effects. It helps people feel less alone.
Cancer has changed my life, but not only in negative ways. In some ways, my life feels more meaningful now than before my diagnosis. I have a deeper sense of gratitude because I understand what it means to not know what the future holds.
To me, hope is everything. Hope and research are connected—without research, there is no hope. I’ve already benefited from drugs that didn’t exist when I was first diagnosed, and treatments continue to evolve.
Hope means believing in a future, even when the present is uncertain. It’s important to acknowledge difficult emotions, but also to remember they are not permanent.
As I’ve learned through meditation, the blue sky is always there, even when clouds cover it. The clouds pass, and the sky returns. In the same way, even when hope feels distant, it always comes back.
In May of 2021, I turned 60. I actually remember waking up that morning feeling like it was going to be the best year of my life. About a month and a half later, while I was working, I had an ocular migraine. It wasn’t painful, but it felt like I was looking through a kaleidoscope for 30 seconds to a minute. I was referred to an ophthalmologist, who ran several tests, including a CBC.
A couple of weeks later, I developed pain in my leg after standing up. I thought it was a muscle cramp, but it turned out to be a partial blood clot. Around the same time, my optometrist suggested I get a full physical because of all these unusual symptoms. I scheduled an appointment with my primary care physician, who ordered a CT scan.
When I checked the results in my health portal, I saw words like “metastasis” and other frightening cancer-related terms. I immediately thought, “What is going on?” My doctor told me there was only about a 1% chance it wasn’t cancer. A subsequent biopsy confirmed non-small cell lung cancer, adenocarcinoma.
A brain MRI later showed metastases in my brain, which explained some balance issues I had been experiencing. I had never had any lung symptoms, so it was a complete shock to be diagnosed with lung cancer at all.
My oncologist made a decision that ultimately spared me from chemotherapy. A blood biopsy revealed that I had an EGFR mutation, which meant I could be treated with a targeted therapy pill instead of traditional chemotherapy. At the time, I was in such a fog that I don’t even fully remember all the explanations about biomarkers or what they meant.
It was especially overwhelming because I had just been told I had lung cancer, and then I was also being told I might not need chemo. It felt like everything was happening at once. Eventually, my oncologist recommended a second opinion with a specialist at UCSF who had more experience with my mutation. That doctor helped explain things more clearly and guided me toward resources and support groups focused on EGFR lung cancer.
That was when I really began my journey of learning about lung cancer. I’m not an expert, but I know far more now than I did years ago. I learned that biomarker testing is critical for getting the right treatment. About 10–15% of non-small cell lung cancers have an EGFR mutation, and that mutation can be treated with a targeted daily pill designed to shut down the cancer’s specific signals.
It’s not a one-size-fits-all disease. It’s not just chemotherapy for everyone. You have to know your biomarkers through genomic testing, next-generation sequencing, DNA, and RNA testing. These tests identify specific mutations so that treatment can be precisely matched to the cancer. It’s not like throwing paint at a wall—it’s more like using a targeted missile that goes after a specific mutation.
To me, biomarker testing represents personalized medicine. It’s about finding the right treatment for the right patient at the right time. Whenever I’ve had progression, I’ve either requested a blood biopsy or asked for a tissue biopsy if enough time had passed. Tissue biopsies are the gold standard, while blood biopsies depend on what is circulating in the bloodstream at the time.
I’ve learned that patients and oncologists need to work together, and patients need to advocate for themselves. If biomarker testing isn’t being done, you have to ask for it. That knowledge can open up life-saving treatment options.
I started my first targeted therapy pill in October, and by December scans showed no evidence of disease anywhere—no cancer in my brain or lungs. After about nine months, however, scans showed new growth in my upper right lung.
My doctors used stereotactic body radiation therapy (SBRT), a highly focused, non-invasive radiation technique designed to target tumors in just a few sessions. Despite that, by spring 2023, my scans showed further progression.
At that point, I developed a resistance mutation called MET amplification. Fortunately, I was at a center running a phase 2 clinical trial for patients exactly like me—people with EGFR mutations who had progressed due to MET amplification. I joined the trial.
That treatment worked for about nine months before scans again showed progression, and I was removed from the trial. I then had more SBRT radiation and more progression followed in summer 2024. After that, I moved on to chemotherapy.
By January 2025, scans again showed progression. I had developed both EGFR mutation activity and MET amplification, meaning both needed to be treated together for better control. That became my fourth line of treatment, and I’ve now started my fifth.
Throughout this process, additional testing became even more important. My oncologist performed IHC testing in addition to FISH testing. This revealed MET overexpression along with amplification. That opened up another treatment option—targeting both the EGFR mutation and MET overexpression simultaneously.
I’ve become used to seeing progression on scans. I no longer panic the way I once did. Now I see scans as information—data that helps guide the next step in treatment. I remain hopeful that there will always be another option.
After my fourth year, I chose to switch my care to a thoracic oncologist who specializes in lung cancer. At this point, I prefer being treated by someone deeply focused on my disease type. My oncologist and I make decisions together. I appreciate that collaboration deeply—it’s my life, and while we don’t always agree, everything is explained clearly.
My diagnosis also reignited my desire to help others. Not long after being diagnosed, I joined a peer mentoring organization for newly diagnosed lung cancer patients. I help others navigate the fear and confusion that comes with hearing the words “you have cancer.”
Through this, I’ve met many people in similar situations. We share experiences, not medical advice, but practical support—things that helped us manage symptoms or side effects. It helps people feel less alone.
Cancer has changed my life, but not only in negative ways. In some ways, my life feels more meaningful now than before my diagnosis. I have a deeper sense of gratitude because I understand what it means to not know what the future holds.
To me, hope is everything. Hope and research are connected—without research, there is no hope. I’ve already benefited from drugs that didn’t exist when I was first diagnosed, and treatments continue to evolve.
Hope means believing in a future, even when the present is uncertain. It’s important to acknowledge difficult emotions, but also to remember they are not permanent.
As I’ve learned through meditation, the blue sky is always there, even when clouds cover it. The clouds pass, and the sky returns. In the same way, even when hope feels distant, it always comes back.