The Reality of Cancer Survivorship

The transition to life after cancer treatment can feel disorienting and isolating, a reality that inspired Edward Miskie to create the Remission Film Festival, a platform focused on telling the often-overlooked stories of survivorship.

Miskie, who was diagnosed with a rare, large B-cell subtype of non-Hodgkin lymphoma in 2011 and is now nearly 14 years cancer-free, said survivorship in the early months and years felt “insane.” While many expect life after treatment to be filled with constant gratitude and celebration, he explained that the reality is more complex. Once the initial relief fades, survivors may feel uncertain, displaced and disconnected from their own lives.

That experience directly shaped the vision behind the Remission Film Festival. Miskie said that when he first finished treatment, there were few resources or stories reflecting what survivorship actually feels like. In response, he set out to create a space where those experiences could be shared and recognized.

Through the festival, Miskie has seen a wide range of films exploring life after a cancer diagnosis, including stories about isolation, guilt, growth and identity. He noted that many films focus on diagnosis and treatment, often ending when a patient is declared cancer-free, leaving a gap in storytelling about what comes next.

By highlighting these narratives, the Remission Film Festival aims to help patients and survivors feel understood and less alone, while also offering caregivers and others a deeper understanding of the emotional realities of survivorship.

CURE: You have spoken about feeling unprepared for life after treatment. What did survivorship look like for you in those first months and years?

Miskie: It did then, and it still now kind of feels insane. I think the biggest surprise for me, and what I hear from a lot of other survivors too, is that once you’re told you are cancer-free and kind of ejected out of the hospital back into civilian life, it pales in comparison to what it’s built up to be. I think the assumption is that it’s going to be a big party every day, just sunshine and rainbows and gratitude upon gratitude. And that is there, and that is true to a degree. But once that newness wears off, there’s this moment where you’re like, “Oh, what is this?”

I think a lot of that is because when you’re a patient going through the cancer experience, coming out on the other side, it takes a little time to realize that life has moved on without you. You’ve missed some things, and you must redirect where you want to go and how you want to get there. For me, it felt very displaced. I felt like a stranger in my own life. I was going through the motions, floating along because that’s what I knew how to do, defaulting to what I was doing before. There was no real sense of, “This is who I am now.” It was more like, “I guess this is what I should be doing,” and it just felt off.

Because of that, it can be very isolating and lonely. The people around you are your friends and family, and you recognize them, but there’s still this feeling of, “This doesn’t feel right, and I don’t know why.” You can’t quite put your finger on it. It’s because life has moved on, and so have they. Even if they’re welcoming you back, it may be different from their perspective or yours. That first transition out of the hospital is very jarring.

How did your experience with non-Hodgkin lymphoma shape the vision behind the Remission Film Festival?

As I mentioned, coming out on the other side, you’re searching for answers, something to mentally or emotionally attach to where you can say, “I feel the same way.” Fourteen years ago, when I was first out of the hospital, there wasn’t much. It started with an encounter with someone newly cancer-free who expressed discomfort in their life. At that point, I was three years out, and it felt like a bell went off. I realized we were not the only two people who felt this way.

From there, I wrote a book, Cancer, Musical Theater, and Other Chronic Illnesses, which chronicles my journey through treatment and afterward. Since then, it’s been a slow amalgamation of what I’ve learned about myself and others on the other side of cancer. I wanted to see a clearer narrative of that experience.

Often, TV and film focus on diagnosis, treatment and then the moment when someone is told they’re cancer-free, and that’s the end. You don’t see much of what it’s like during or after. There’s very little media about what’s going on in someone’s head, especially in survivorship.

I started the Remission Film Festival to create space for those stories. When we first posted on FilmFreeway, the variety of films we received was incredible. One of the first films we watched, Great White Lies by Heather Adelsman, showed a teenage girl going to a party for the first time after treatment. It captured exactly what I had felt.

It reinforced that this is a real, shared experience. These films are important not just for filmmakers, but for patients and survivors who need something to connect with emotionally.

That’s wonderful. It really helps patients feel understood and also helps others understand what patients go through.

Yes, and we had filmmakers who were caregivers, people who knew someone with cancer, and documentaries about life after treatment. One example was Breathing Deeply by Arthur Erickson, about a woman with lung cancer who later formed a rowing team for women with cancer. That’s what happens after the “cancer-free” moment, and those stories matter.

Many survivors struggle with guilt, grief or isolation. How do the films reflect those more complex parts of survivorship?

You’re right, those feelings aren’t what people typically associate with survivorship. People assume life is great after a second chance, and while that’s partly true, it’s a small part of the experience. The films highlight those less-discussed emotions.

We had attendees tell us the films helped them process feelings of guilt or isolation. I think it would have helped me to hear early on that I might feel lonely after leaving the hospital. If formal support systems aren’t in place, something like this can help people feel seen.

For survivors who want to share their stories but feel hesitant, what would you say?

Honestly, just do it. I wish I had taken more photos, more videos and documented more of my experience. My mom kept a notebook, which helped, but I still wish I had more.

I see creators who document everything, and it’s powerful. Even now, I hesitate before posting, but I remind myself it’s worth it. In hindsight, I regret not doing more of it sooner.

What advice would you give to someone newly diagnosed?

It’s hard because everyone is different. There’s no single right way to cope, as long as you’re taking care of yourself. Follow medical guidance, but also advocate for yourself. If something doesn’t feel right, ask questions or seek another opinion.

Have a patient advocate with you, whether that’s a friend, family member or someone from the hospital. Being informed and supported matters.

What about advice for caregivers?

Caregiving is a huge responsibility. I think caregivers need permission to say, “This is hard.” It’s okay to acknowledge that it’s not easy.

While their role is important and admirable, their experiences are valid too. Everyone’s challenges are relative. Caregivers should allow themselves space to feel what they feel, then continue showing up.

There are also meaningful moments. I remember time with friends in the hospital, moments of connection. It’s important to create those memories, because they’re what stay with you. Some survivors say something positive came out of their experience.

I’ll say this: cancer is the best thing that ever happened to me. It wasn’t easy, but it shaped who I am. I don’t know who I’d be without it, and I wouldn’t trade it.

Transcript has been edited for clarity and conciseness.

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