Donnita B., VA

My name is Donnita. I’m a veteran, a retired IT professional, a mother, Grams to two wonderful grandchildren, and an outdoor enthusiast who finds peace hiking, camping, and paddling. I’m also a lung cancer survivor and an advocate for those who might not know their voice matters.

But my story doesn’t start with a diagnosis. It started long before, shaped by the time I was born, the culture I grew up in, and exposures I never fully understood until later.

I grew up in rural Maine, where smoking was everywhere, at home, in the car, in restaurants, and even in schools. My mother didn’t smoke while she was pregnant with me, but like most women back then, she was constantly surrounded by secondhand smoke. It was just the world we lived in.

There’s even a baby photo of me, not quite a year old, holding a pack of cigarettes during a professional photo shoot. I was being fussy, and handing me the cigarettes was just a way to calm me down and give me something to hold. That picture says more about that time than words ever could.

Looking back, it wasn’t just the culture of the time. It was the tobacco industry’s deliberate glamorization of smoking. Movies, magazines, and ads made it seem sophisticated, even healthy. By the time the truth came out, the damage was already done for so many of us.

Years later, the historic lawsuit against Big Tobacco exposed how much they knew and how hard they worked to keep people hooked.

I started smoking young and stayed hooked for 40 years. But smoking wasn’t my only risk. Early in my career, I worked in a hangar where B-52 brakes were rebuilt, brakes packed with asbestos. You could see it hanging in the air.

Later, I worked 15 years in a WWII-era building full of asbestos, especially during mitigation efforts, which only stirred it up more. Add to that a lifetime of living in high-radon areas, and it’s clear my lungs took a hit from every direction.

I stopped smoking in 2010 after countless attempts. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but stopping didn’t undo the past. In addition to smoking, I also had other significant risk factors, such as asbestos exposure and living in high-radon areas, all of which increased my likelihood of developing lung cancer. Studies show that 16.2% of current smokers and 10.1% of former smokers who quit within the last 15 years will develop lung cancer.

Life kept moving. Two beautiful grandbabies came along, the pandemic hit, and I struggled with growing anxiety about going back to the doctor. The relationship with my previous provider had become strained, and honestly, I didn’t feel heard or supported. Five years went by.

In 2023, I switched doctors and found the courage to ask again. That decision saved my life.

The scan showed a suspicious nodule. Everything happened fast: pulmonologist, PET scan, thoracic surgeon. They saw enough to skip the biopsy and scheduled surgery. On October 9, 2023, I had robotic-assisted surgery to remove the tumor. Stage 1A2 adenocarcinoma. We caught it early.

I thought that was the end of it, but it wasn’t. I asked about biomarker testing and was told it

wasn’t necessary, that insurance wouldn’t cover it. I was also told that knowing whether I had a genetic mutation wouldn’t change my treatment because of my stage.

What I’ve learned since is that’s not always true. There are trials like ADAURA2, a global randomized double-blind placebo-controlled Phase III study looking at adjuvant osimertinib in patients with Stage IA2-IA3 non-small cell lung cancer after surgery, but only if they have the EGFR mutation. If I had the EGFR mutation, I would have been eligible for that trial. It could have changed my treatment, but without biomarker testing, the trial wasn't a possibility.

Eventually, I was connected with Johns Hopkins, where they sent my tissue for testing. The results came back: KRAS G12C mutation. Medicare covered the cost. Having that knowledge gave me peace of mind and opened the door to future options, while also connecting me to a whole new part of the lung cancer community.

That experience changed me. I learned what it means to advocate for yourself, to ask the hard questions, to push when you’re told no, and to take control of your care. I’ve met incredible people along the way, survivors, advocates, and caregivers who remind me why this matters. I also found strength in knowing I’m not alone in this fight and in the support from those who have walked this path before me. It’s made all the difference.

I share my story because too many people don’t know how hard they might have to fight for the right care. I keep going for my grandchildren and my family. They are my reason. I’m committed to being open about my journey and raising awareness that anyone with lungs can get lung cancer, because too many carry the stigma of this disease and stay silent. If sharing this helps even one person speak up or get screened, that’s part of my reason too.

This is my hope. And this is my reason.