Keep Those Lungs Laughing: A (Mostly) Serious Pep Talk for Cancer Warriors

If you’re reading this, chances are you or someone you love has just heard or had to process those two words that can flip a whole world upside down: lung cancer.

It’s not a club anyone signs up for. The meetings are emotional, the snacks are terrible, and the schedule? Completely unpredictable. But let me tell you this — the people who find themselves in this fight are some of the strongest, funniest, most determined humans out there.

This post isn’t a medical manual or a list of side effects. It’s a reminder — a gentle nudge to breathe, to laugh when you can, and to keep that spark of humor alive no matter how heavy the days feel.

Because sometimes, laughter really is the best lung exercise.

 Stage 1: “Wait… What Just Happened?”

The day of diagnosis hits harder than a toddler poking you in the eye— confusing, relentless, and emotional. Everything changes in a sentence.

I remember my brother saying that cancer was throwing a party in his lungs. At first, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry — but looking back now, I can truly appreciate the humor he brought to such a hard moment. He made jokes when no one else could, and somehow that laughter became a kind of strength. His ability to find humor in the middle of the storm showed me something powerful: cancer might mess with your body, but it doesn’t get to steal your spirit.

If you’re at this stage, take your time. Feel what you need to feel. Cry, shout, breathe. But also — when you can — try to find the moments that make you smile. Even a small laugh can remind you that you’re still you.

Stage 2: Treatment – Or, How to Rock the Hospital Gown Like a Runway Pro

Treatment is a strange world — a mix of beeping machines, endless waiting rooms, and nurses who somehow remember every detail about your favorite snack. The chemo chair becomes your throne, the IV pole your sidekick, and the calendar a collection of countdowns.

Those going through it are real-life superheroes — and those standing beside them? The trusty sidekicks who hold the cape steady.

For every moment that feels too heavy, there’s a smile waiting to sneak in. Name your IV pole. Crack jokes about hospital food. Laugh at the absurdity of it all — because it helps. Humor doesn’t erase the hard parts, but it softens the edges.

And if you’re a supporter like I was, remember: you don’t need the perfect words. You just need to show up — with love, with snacks, and sometimes, with a really bad joke.

Stage 3: Survivorship – “Wait… Now What?”

When treatment ends, the celebrations are huge — and rightfully so. But for many, it’s also a time of uncertainty. The appointments slow down, but the emotions don’t. Every cough or ache brings a little jolt of “what if,” and that’s okay.

Survivorship isn’t about “going back to normal.” It’s about moving forward into a new kind of strength. A strength that knows the value of deep breaths, dark humor, and good company. Finding your new normal  

Celebrate every scan, every step, every clear result. Throw confetti. Eat the cake. Laugh louder than you think you should — because life after cancer isn’t just surviving. It’s redefining thriving.

Stage 4: Keeping the Momentum (and the Humor)

To those in the fight: keep showing up. Keep breathing through the tough days. Keep laughing at the ridiculousness of it all — because even on the hardest days, humor is rebellion against fear.

To those standing behind their star — the caregivers, siblings, partners, and friends — your strength matters too. You’re the quiet heartbeat behind the hero, the one who keeps the light on when the night feels long.

Together, you make an unbeatable team.

So go ahead — take a deep, proud breath (or two). Laugh. Cry. Dance in your living room if you feel like it. Life’s still happening, and it’s still worth celebrating — one breath, one laugh, one day at a time.

To every fighter, survivor, and supporter — keep your lungs (and your heart) full

of laughter. You’re not just surviving this. You’re rewriting what strength looks like. 

Share Your Story

Your story matters — whether you’re the fighter, the cheerleader, or the comic relief in the waiting room. Share your journey below. Tell us how you’ve found hope, laughter, or even a reason to smile through it all. Your words might be exactly what someone else needs today.

Author’s Note:

Written by a sister who stood behind the star — the one who cracked jokes when the room got too quiet, who learned that laughter is oxygen for the soul, and who knows that even when cancer tries to steal the spotlight, love and humor always take center stage.