From Lingering Cough to Stage 4 Lung Cancer
Posted: Tue Feb 24, 2026 9:09 am
My name is Laura. I live in Camden, South Carolina. I’m in my 30s, I own a small jewelry business, and for fun I absolutely love horseback riding. I’m headed to New York City for New York Fashion Week.
In May of 2023, I was diagnosed with stage four non-small cell ALK-positive lung cancer. When your life changes forever like that, you either decide to learn from it, rebuild from it, or let it take you down.
The first sign that something was off was a cough that just wouldn’t go away. I had been coughing for almost a full year. It wasn’t constant — mostly in the mornings. Sometimes it produced something, sometimes it didn’t. Some days it was better, some days worse. But it was persistent. Over the years leading up to my diagnosis, I was also getting more and more fatigued. It slowly crept up on me. I was approaching my late 30s and kept thinking, “Am I just getting old? Why am I tired all the time?” I also had joint pain, especially in my wrists. It wasn’t debilitating, but it was noticeable. I even mentioned it to my doctor, and she prescribed arthritis cream. I remember thinking, “I’m only in my 30s. Is this normal?” She told me it can happen.
The cough was actually the main symptom. Looking back, I was lucky to have it because of where the tumor was located — close to a bronchial opening, almost like an obstruction. My body was trying to cough it out. But obviously, you can’t cough out a tumor.
I hoped the symptoms would eventually go away, but they didn’t. At my annual checkup, I finally brought up the cough. My doctor was concerned and sent me for a chest X-ray at the VA’s new facility. The X-ray showed a tiny nodule a few millimeters across. They said that was common and scheduled a CT scan just to monitor it. I was told I’d get yearly scans to make sure it didn’t grow. I wasn’t worried.
But after the CT scan, instead of a six-millimeter nodule, they found a six-centimeter mass. A very large tumor.
Through the VA, I was referred to a pulmonologist at MUSC in Charleston. She was incredible and made me feel comfortable right away. She showed me the CT scan and explained the next steps — biopsy, diagnosis, everything. Things moved quickly. I was also assigned an oncologist, and I began researching ALK-positive specialists on my own.
I first found out I had stage four lung cancer over the phone. I remember asking, “Why do I need to see an oncologist? Could this giant tumor be anything else?” And she said, “No, unfortunately, it’s cancer.” I was completely blindsided. Even though I had Googled the possibilities, I kept telling myself it wasn’t cancer. There was no way. I’m a nonsmoker. It took me a long time to fully believe it.
Being diagnosed and treated for cancer in your late 30s as a woman is intense. You’re already going through emotional and hormonal changes. You’re thinking about aging, about children, about watching your friends raise families. Then suddenly you’re told you have cancer. You can’t do this. You can’t do that. You have to take this medication. Now you have side effects. It’s overwhelming — too much for anyone to handle alone.
Genetic testing brought a bit of hope. There was a targeted therapy available for my specific mutation. I started my first TKI two years ago. It worked for about a year, but the side effects wore me down physically and mentally. I looked back at that year and felt like my quality of life was worse than before I was diagnosed. I even wondered if it was worth it.
I took a break, but the cancer began growing again. My doctor in Boston told me about a clinical trial — a cutting-edge drug. I wanted it. I wanted the best option available. I was fortunate to get on the trial, but my liver couldn’t tolerate the medication, which can happen with TKIs. So I had to stop that one too.
I started my third TKI a month ago, and I’m doing pretty well so far. Hopefully this one will stick. These medications aren’t cures. You stay on them until they stop working. The only way to know is through constant monitoring with CT scans every three months. If the tumor stays the same size, that’s good news. It never fully disappears. There are always residual cells.
The first year after diagnosis was the hardest. The second year was difficult too, especially trying to find a new normal. It’s grieving. It’s scrambling. It’s figuring out how to survive and rebuild. It’s overwhelming. But you either do it or you don’t. I have to do it.
My identity has completely changed. I will always be carrying this. I will always have cancer. There’s no cure. It’s something I think about every single day. I don’t know who else thinks about death daily, but I do. It’s like a built-in ticking time bomb. I know it’s there. But I also know I have a choice in how I live the life I have left.
Cancer has changed my relationships too. I have many friends, and my sister is my only close family member. We didn’t have the best relationship before my diagnosis, and the diagnosis itself didn’t magically fix things. But it pushed us to work harder at it. I’m grateful to say our relationship has gotten much better. That’s one good thing that came out of this.
I believe quality of life is more important than length of life. Everyone feels differently about that, and it should shape the care they receive. If you have cancer and don’t like your treatment options or side effects, you can talk to your oncologist. Say, “I don’t like how this feels. Is there something else we can try?” Often, there is.
When your life changes forever, you either let it take you down, or you decide to learn from it and rebuild. I choose to rebuild.
In May of 2023, I was diagnosed with stage four non-small cell ALK-positive lung cancer. When your life changes forever like that, you either decide to learn from it, rebuild from it, or let it take you down.
The first sign that something was off was a cough that just wouldn’t go away. I had been coughing for almost a full year. It wasn’t constant — mostly in the mornings. Sometimes it produced something, sometimes it didn’t. Some days it was better, some days worse. But it was persistent. Over the years leading up to my diagnosis, I was also getting more and more fatigued. It slowly crept up on me. I was approaching my late 30s and kept thinking, “Am I just getting old? Why am I tired all the time?” I also had joint pain, especially in my wrists. It wasn’t debilitating, but it was noticeable. I even mentioned it to my doctor, and she prescribed arthritis cream. I remember thinking, “I’m only in my 30s. Is this normal?” She told me it can happen.
The cough was actually the main symptom. Looking back, I was lucky to have it because of where the tumor was located — close to a bronchial opening, almost like an obstruction. My body was trying to cough it out. But obviously, you can’t cough out a tumor.
I hoped the symptoms would eventually go away, but they didn’t. At my annual checkup, I finally brought up the cough. My doctor was concerned and sent me for a chest X-ray at the VA’s new facility. The X-ray showed a tiny nodule a few millimeters across. They said that was common and scheduled a CT scan just to monitor it. I was told I’d get yearly scans to make sure it didn’t grow. I wasn’t worried.
But after the CT scan, instead of a six-millimeter nodule, they found a six-centimeter mass. A very large tumor.
Through the VA, I was referred to a pulmonologist at MUSC in Charleston. She was incredible and made me feel comfortable right away. She showed me the CT scan and explained the next steps — biopsy, diagnosis, everything. Things moved quickly. I was also assigned an oncologist, and I began researching ALK-positive specialists on my own.
I first found out I had stage four lung cancer over the phone. I remember asking, “Why do I need to see an oncologist? Could this giant tumor be anything else?” And she said, “No, unfortunately, it’s cancer.” I was completely blindsided. Even though I had Googled the possibilities, I kept telling myself it wasn’t cancer. There was no way. I’m a nonsmoker. It took me a long time to fully believe it.
Being diagnosed and treated for cancer in your late 30s as a woman is intense. You’re already going through emotional and hormonal changes. You’re thinking about aging, about children, about watching your friends raise families. Then suddenly you’re told you have cancer. You can’t do this. You can’t do that. You have to take this medication. Now you have side effects. It’s overwhelming — too much for anyone to handle alone.
Genetic testing brought a bit of hope. There was a targeted therapy available for my specific mutation. I started my first TKI two years ago. It worked for about a year, but the side effects wore me down physically and mentally. I looked back at that year and felt like my quality of life was worse than before I was diagnosed. I even wondered if it was worth it.
I took a break, but the cancer began growing again. My doctor in Boston told me about a clinical trial — a cutting-edge drug. I wanted it. I wanted the best option available. I was fortunate to get on the trial, but my liver couldn’t tolerate the medication, which can happen with TKIs. So I had to stop that one too.
I started my third TKI a month ago, and I’m doing pretty well so far. Hopefully this one will stick. These medications aren’t cures. You stay on them until they stop working. The only way to know is through constant monitoring with CT scans every three months. If the tumor stays the same size, that’s good news. It never fully disappears. There are always residual cells.
The first year after diagnosis was the hardest. The second year was difficult too, especially trying to find a new normal. It’s grieving. It’s scrambling. It’s figuring out how to survive and rebuild. It’s overwhelming. But you either do it or you don’t. I have to do it.
My identity has completely changed. I will always be carrying this. I will always have cancer. There’s no cure. It’s something I think about every single day. I don’t know who else thinks about death daily, but I do. It’s like a built-in ticking time bomb. I know it’s there. But I also know I have a choice in how I live the life I have left.
Cancer has changed my relationships too. I have many friends, and my sister is my only close family member. We didn’t have the best relationship before my diagnosis, and the diagnosis itself didn’t magically fix things. But it pushed us to work harder at it. I’m grateful to say our relationship has gotten much better. That’s one good thing that came out of this.
I believe quality of life is more important than length of life. Everyone feels differently about that, and it should shape the care they receive. If you have cancer and don’t like your treatment options or side effects, you can talk to your oncologist. Say, “I don’t like how this feels. Is there something else we can try?” Often, there is.
When your life changes forever, you either let it take you down, or you decide to learn from it and rebuild. I choose to rebuild.