“You have 15 months to live.”

 

Those were the words the doctor told my husband and me as we sat in the cramped exam room. My husband’s blue eyes were rimmed with tears and I looked from him and back to the doctor. We had just been told I had pleural mesothelioma.  I told him no, and asked what my options were. 

The doctor took a deep breath and told me that there were a couple of things that potentially could extend my life. 

The first was to do chemo and radiation which hopefully would get me 5 years. I shook my head. “Not enough, what else is there?” He then told us about a surgical option that I could be a candidate for, but it was incredibly invasive and not done very often where we lived, in the Twin Cities of Minnesota. He told me about a surgeon in Boston at Brigham and Women’s hospital who was a mesothelioma specialist and did this surgery on a regular basis. My husband looked at me and then the doctor and said, “Get us to Boston.”

Two weeks later we were in Boston meeting with the world’s leading specialist in my disease, the late Dr David Sugarbaker. I went through days of tests to determine my eligibility for a surgical procedure called an Extrapleural Pneumonectomy. It involves the removal of the entire lung, the lining around the lung, half of the diaphragm and the lining of the heart, both of which are replaced with surgical gore-tex. They would also take out a rib in order to get the lung and other tissue out. 

In addition to the lung removal, they would also do a heated chemo wash in the chest cavity. Cisplatin is heated to 140 degrees F and pumped into the chest cavity.Then the patient is gently rocked back and forth for 60 minutes so the drug can come into contact with all of the thoracic tissue. They jokingly refer to this part as the shake and bake. A daunting procedure to say the least, but I was willing to do whatever I could if it meant staying alive to raise my child. 

While I was undergoing a surgical biopsy, my sister traveled to Boston for moral support. She and my husband were discussing the lung removal surgery and how it was like a second birthday and we should celebrate it. They talked about what a celebration of losing a lung should be like. My sister had done firewalking where she wrote her fears on a piece of wood, threw it in the fire and walked over it to conquer the fears. My husband said, “We do like the Greeks do and smash plates against a wall to celebrate.” They both paused and said, “Let’s write fears on a plate and smash it in a fire!” And that was the day “Lung Leavin’ Day” was born. My very creative sister came up with the name since it’s the day my lung left. 

On February 2nd, 2006, I underwent the surgery, and that was the official first Lungleavin Day. 

One year later after having gone through chemo and radiation all while healing from the surgery, my husband came home with two white stoneware plates and two sharpie markers. I had completely forgotten about the tradition he wanted to start and was surprised that he remembered. He went into our backyard and started a bonfire in our firepit. It was February 2nd, in Minnesota, starting a bonfire in sub zero temps was no easy task but he did it. 

We both sat down in our dining room and started writing our fears on our plates. As I began writing, the cracks started to open in the brave façade I’d been putting on during the last year. I had buried so many fears so deeply and now was letting them out. The words poured out of me almost faster than I could write them. Dying, losing my child, the cancer returning, leaving my family behind, losing my independence… so many things I was afraid of because of this damned cancer diagnosis. 

The tears started as the fears were written, but it felt so good to no longer shove them away. I filled that whole plate up with words and so did my husband. We bundled up, walked outside to the bonfire, each counted to three and we smashed our plates in the fire. It felt amazing!! We knew right there and then we had to share this with others. We decided the next year that we would invite others to share the experience with us. And that is exactly what we did. Every year, on the first Saturday in February, we host a Lung Leavin’ Day Party. It started out small, and has grown every year. 

In the 6th year of hosting, we decided to use the occasion to give back to the mesothelioma community. We did everything from silent auctions, to raffles and even selling t-shirts and hoodies. All in all we’ve raised over $30K for The Mesothelioma Applied Research Foundation. We’ve had our celebration featured in local news stories and papers and have had friends from across the country attend and smash their fears! I’ve also learned that Lung Leavin’ Day is featured on many official Days of the Month Calendars! 

What sticks out to me the most, however, is how much our celebration impacts people’s lives. I’ve had numerous people reach out to me after the party and tell me how the act of smashing fears helped them overcome  an eating disorder, find the courage to start her own business and get out of a dead-end job! Others tell me that it reminds them to have hope and that fear doesn’t have to hold you hostage from accomplishing what you want. That is what really touches me…those stories of how our party, that started out as a way to turn around a tragedy, has turned into something so good for so many. 

Due to the pandemic, we’ve had to take a hiatus from our big celebration, but plan to revive it on the 20th anniversary of Lung Leavin’ Day in 2026. We might even incorporate fireworks! However, my husband and I can still be found out in our backyard on the first Saturday in February, with our plates in hand. There are always fears to smash, and we’ll keep up the tradition as long as we’re able.