Remission Isn’t Recovery: The 6 Injustices of Cancer—and What We Must Do About Them

Aug 5

By Cindy Finch, LCSW

There’s nothing quite like planning a funeral while picking up your kid from preschool.

I went through a helluva time right after my baby was born while my young family watched (my youngest son an infant, my eldest son age 4 and my daughter age 6). What’s more is that two guys with M.D. after their names completely missed my problems for months, although I had explicit complaints of chest pain, dry coughs, night sweats, and exhaustion. Turns out, I had a fast-growing, eight-inch tumor in my chest.

Unexpectedly, at year five of remission, I also became a heart, liver, and lung patient because of the earlier cancer treatments. Open-heart and then open-lung surgeries saved my failing body. That’s when I realized—remission isn’t recovery.

Cancer doesn’t just challenge the body—it breaks systems, silences survivors, and exposes the cracks in our so-called "care" infrastructure. These injustices are not just medical—they are moral.

Here are six of the most common injustices cancer patients and survivors endure, and what we must do about them.

1) When It's Over, It Ain’t Over

Remission means the tumor is gone. It doesn’t mean you’re okay.

The medical community tends to pronounce patients "done" once their final treatments of chemo, radiation, or surgery are over. But for most people with cancer, that’s exactly when the real challenges begin. Social, emotional, psychological, and spiritual fallout can flood in.

The Institute of Medicine declared this so urgent they published an entire report called Care for the Whole Patient, stating: “If we are not treating the psychosocial distress of patients, then we are not treating cancer.”

Most patients are never told this might happen. They’re handed a prescription for a sleep aid or antidepressant and waved out the door. Whole-person care is rarely funded, under-trained, and treated as optional—even though trauma-informed survivorship is essential.

➡ Let’s demand standards: Every cancer center should embed psycho-oncology staff and screen for post-treatment trauma as part of survivorship.

2) Today’s Treatment Could Cause Tomorrow’s Cancer

While we want to believe survivors are forever cancer-free, recurrence is real. So are secondary cancers, often caused by the very treatments meant to save us.

One friend had a bone marrow transplant for lymphoma—and developed leukemia the next year. I was required to sign a form acknowledging that my radiation treatment, while life-saving, might cause breast cancer later. Chemo, after all, is a spray-and-pray technique: blast the cells and pray the collateral damage isn’t worse than the original diagnosis.

➡ Let’s educate patients fully—with honesty and transparency about risks, and true informed consent.

3) You Might Be Ignored or Dismissed

If you know someone with cancer, chances are you’ve heard: “The doctors didn’t catch it at first.”

That was me. Two different doctors during my pregnancy dismissed my complaints—until it was too obvious to ignore. An eight-inch tumor had been growing aggressively in my chest the whole time.

This isn’t just medical error. It’s medical betrayal. When we beg for help and are told it’s nothing? That breaks trust—and it can cost lives.

➡ If your body is screaming and no one is listening, go somewhere else. You are the expert on you.

4) Cancer Strips Away Your Dignity

If a lot of people haven’t seen your body parts by now, you might not have cancer.

Tests, scans, biopsies, ports, drains, pelvic exams, rectal exams, breast exams, and scopes—cancer means giving up your privacy. Once, a hospital doctor brought in a group of students and, without asking, opened my gown, exposed my chest, and drew on me with a Sharpie while they took notes.

I still can’t look at hospital socks without breaking into a cold sweat.

➡ Your body, your rules. Say no to extra observers. Ask to be covered as much as possible. Even in a teaching hospital, you are not a prop.

5) Not All Cancers—and Survivors—Are Treated Equally

Not all cancers are created equal. Not all survivors are believed.

Some people barely get a scar. Others are gutted physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Some go to work the whole time. Others are hospitalized for months. And still, we try to compare scars like it’s a competition.

Here’s what’s real: Millions get cancer. And all of them deserve care. But if you’ve had lung, brain, pancreatic, head and neck, rectal, liver, anal, or reproductive cancers—your path likely came with more pain and less dignity.

➡ Let’s honor every survivor without pretending we all had the same war.

6) Most People Won’t Understand—And That’s Okay

Stop expecting your friends or family to “get it.” They probably won’t.

Trying to explain ports, drains, side effects, surgical trauma, PTSD, survivor guilt, or existential despair? Most people’s eyes glaze over. They want to help. They don’t want to hear about your bowel surgery. And you know what? That’s okay.

➡ Find your people. The ones who get it. Share a little with each of them. Let your circle be wide enough that no one person carries it all.

What We Can—and Must—Do

Some survivors run races, raise money, and build foundations to make it count. Others want nothing more than to disappear back into normalcy and forget it ever happened.

Both approaches are valid. But here's the thing: if you don’t process the trauma, it processes you. Left untreated, the grief and violation of cancer don’t go away. They go underground. And that’s where they fester.

Trauma untreated turns into depression. Relationships fall apart. Faith is lost. Substance use creeps in. Shame takes root. Even joy feels suspicious.

➡ Spread it out. Share your story a little at a time, with people who can hold it. Journal. Pray. Join a group. Talk to a therapist who gets it. Talk to me if you want.

Remission isn’t recovery. And recovery doesn’t happen alone.

If we treat tumors but not the trauma, we haven’t really healed anyone.

It’s time to demand care that goes beyond the body and into the soul.

Ask your hospital how they’re treating the trauma—not just the tumor.

And if all else fails, start with a casserole.

Because maybe—just maybe—hot dish and human kindness are the best medicine we’ve got.

Further Reading & Resources:

Radical Remission by Kelly A. Turner, PhD
The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk, MD
Stupid Cancer – Advocacy and support for young adult cancer survivors
Elephants and Tea – A nonprofit journal for AYA cancer stories
Cancer Support Community – National organization offering free support
Imerman Angels – Peer-to-peer cancer mentorship
Vincible Documentary – Stories of young adult cancer survivors (including mine)

About the Author: Cindy Finch, LCSW is a clinical therapist, writer and professor who trained at Mayo Clinic. She works closely with those in the margins and is a survivor of an undiagnosed disease that turned out to be cancer while she was pregnant. Treatments for her cancer led to heart, liver and lung failure which she survived. She now lives in San Diego County, CA and enjoys life with her husband Darin and their three children. Along with other young survivors, her story is part of the new Amazon documentary film Vincible.

This content is not intended as a substitute for professional medical or mental health advice. If you’re in crisis, please contact your doctor, therapist, or call 911.

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