Charlotte Fire Capt. Lee Bright stands in the bay at Firehouse 42, where more than two decades of service have shaped his leadership and perspective, both on the job and through his cancer journey.
By Kevin Campbell, Charlotte Fire
Lee Bright spent more than two decades preparing for emergencies that came with sirens, smoke, and urgency. As a Charlotte Fire captain, he learned to make quick decisions under pressure, to solve problems in real time, and to move toward danger when others moved away from it. Firefighters are trained to act.
Cancer does not work that way.
Bright did not collapse on a fireground or feel sick enough to slow down. There was no dramatic moment that warned him something was wrong. Instead, the threat was already growing quietly inside his chest, unnoticed, until a routine fire department physical revealed something that did not belong.
“It was actually during our annual fire department physical,” Bright said. “I had an abnormal chest X ray.”
For a firefighter accustomed to immediate answers, what followed felt unfamiliar and unsettling. Tests led to more tests. Waiting replaced action. A CT scan revealed a mass in the center of his chest, roughly the size of a fist. A PET scan suggested cancer. By January, surgeons were preparing for an invasive operation to remove a tumor wrapped around his phrenic nerve, the nerve that controls the diaphragm.
Capt. Lee Bright wears his turnout gear at Firehouse 42, a reminder that returning to the firehouse after treatment was never guaranteed and never taken for granted.
The diagnosis was thymic carcinoma, a rare and aggressive cancer that most people never hear about until it appears in their own lives.
For Bright, the uncertainty was overwhelming.
“The house was on fire,” he said, “and we were having to stand there and watch it.”
Bright’s path to the fire service had been shaped long before he ever wore a Charlotte Fire uniform. He grew up in Wake Forest, North Carolina, in a family where service was part of everyday life. His father was a firefighter. His grandfather volunteered with the town fire department. The family also operated a funeral home and helped run one of the area’s first rescue squads.
“The fire station was right down the street,” Bright said. “Every time the siren went off, I would run outside just to see the truck.”
With Firehouse 42 behind him, Capt. Lee Bright reflects on the career he nearly lost and the fire service family that helped carry him through diagnosis and treatment.
He joined Wake Forest’s junior firefighter program at 16 and transitioned into full operations at 18. Fire was not a passing interest. It was a direction. He studied fire science in college and tested for departments as soon as he was eligible. At the time, Raleigh required candidates to be 21. Charlotte did not.
“I wanted to be a big city firefighter,” Bright said.
He was hired by Charlotte Fire at age 20. More than 21 years later, Bright serves as captain of Engine 42 at Firehouse 42. At 41, he remains deeply connected to the work, the pace, and the people.
“I still love the job,” he said. “Running calls, being around the guys, doing what we do.”
Cancer was never something he expected to confront personally. Like many firefighters, Bright understood the risks of the job but did not dwell on them.
“You think about getting hurt at a fire or getting hit by a car on the highway,” he said. “Cancer is not something you come in thinking about every day.”
In late 2024, Bright was already on light duty after injuring his knee during training. During his annual physical, he was unable to complete the treadmill portion of the exam. He also failed a spirometry test, which measures lung capacity. A chest X ray followed and came back abnormal.
A close view of Capt. Lee Bright in his gear highlights the quiet resilience behind the helmet, forged through cancer treatment and a long road back to full duty.
Doctors initially believed the results could be explained by illness or individual anatomy. A pulmonologist ordered additional tests. When those results also raised concerns, further imaging was scheduled.
A CT scan revealed the mass. The tumor had grown in the center of Bright’s chest and wrapped around his phrenic nerve, partially paralyzing his diaphragm. That explained the abnormal imaging and the failed lung test.
“My left lung doesn’t fill up the way it’s supposed to,” Bright said. “Air still goes in and gas exchange still happens, but it doesn’t expand like it should.”
A PET scan confirmed the likelihood of cancer. Surgery was scheduled for Jan. 30.
Surgeons removed the tumor during an invasive operation that required several days in the hospital. Pathology later confirmed the diagnosis of thymic carcinoma. Chemotherapy and radiation followed, beginning in March and lasting seven weeks.
Standing outside Firehouse 42, Capt. Lee Bright represents the intersection of family, service, and survival that defines his story.
Unlike the urgency of an emergency scene, treatment moved slowly. One appointment at a time. One day at a time.
By early May, treatment was complete. Three months later, Bright returned for his first post treatment scan.
Everything was clear.
“That was a huge relief,” he said.
Bright now undergoes PET scans every three months. After two years, those scans will move to every six months. After five years, they will become annual. Surveillance is now part of his life.
Thymic carcinoma is exceptionally rare. In the United States, only about 400 cases of cancer of the thymus gland are diagnosed each year. Many patients are not diagnosed until the disease is advanced.
Bright’s helmet and turnout gear sit ready in the apparatus bay, symbolizing a career temporarily interrupted—but not defined—by cancer.
Looking back at his medical records, Bright discovered an abnormal chest X ray from several years earlier that had been dismissed as normal variation.
“That was probably the tumor,” he said. “It just hadn’t grown enough yet.”
The realization reinforced what Bright now tells other firefighters. Without the physical, without follow up, without asking questions, the outcome could have been very different.
“If I had gone to the doctor for just one symptom, we never would have found this,” he said. “The physical saved my life.”
Throughout diagnosis, treatment, and recovery, Bright’s thoughts consistently returned to his family. He and his wife, Kristen, were careful in how they handled the situation with their son, Trevor, who was around 10 or 11 at the time.
“We kept it G rated,” Bright said. “Daddy was sick. Daddy needed special medicine.”
They waited until scans came back clear before explaining the full scope of what had happened.
Kristen carried the weight of the household during treatment. She cared for Bright after surgery, kept Trevor involved in school and activities, and maintained stability during months of appointments and recovery.
“She was a trooper,” Bright said. “She kept everything running.”
There were moments when the emotional toll surfaced. Long stretches of waiting. Questions about whether he would return to full duty. Questions about whether his career would change permanently.
“There was a lot of thinking,” Bright said. “A lot of time wondering what was next.”
Capt. Lee Bright rests against Engine 42, a familiar setting that became a source of normalcy during an uncertain chapter of his life.
He thought about his future in the fire service. He thought about whether he would still be able to ride a truck. He thought about what life would look like if the answer was no.
More than anything, he thought about his family.
“I didn’t want my son to have to bury his dad early,” he said.
The experience reshaped how Bright views balance.
“I wear being a firefighter on my sleeve,” he said. “It’s who I am. But this made me slow down and really think about what matters.”
Firehouse 42 became an anchor during Bright’s recovery. He remained assigned to his home house while on light duty, allowing him to stay connected to the rhythm of the job.
“That was the best place for me,” he said. “Being around the guys, the normalcy, the conversations. It helped.”
Members of the firehouse organized fundraisers to help cover medical expenses. Phone calls, texts, and messages came from across the department. The support extended beyond Bright to his family.
A black-and-white portrait of Capt. Lee Bright emphasizes the seriousness of a diagnosis that changed his life and reinforced the importance of early detection.
“They took care of me and took care of my family,” he said. “I can’t say enough about that.”
The experience reinforced the importance of connection during illness. Bright believes no firefighter should feel isolated during a cancer diagnosis.
“I hope if anyone else ever goes through this, we step up the same way,” he said.
Bright’s story reflects a broader reality within the fire service. Occupational cancer is the leading cause of firefighter line of duty deaths. Firefighters face increased cancer risks due to repeated exposure to carcinogens released during fires, absorbed through the skin, inhaled, and carried on contaminated gear.
Fire Fighter Cancer Awareness Month, recognized each January through a partnership between the IAFF and the Firefighter Cancer Support Network, exists to bring awareness to those risks while promoting prevention, education, and early detection.
Charlotte Fire has invested heavily in reducing exposures and improving detection. Annual NFPA 1582 physicals provide comprehensive screenings. The department emphasizes decontamination at fire scenes, routine turnout gear washing and inspection, multiple sets of gear, dedicated rehabilitation units, and post incident hygiene practices.
Inside his firehouse, a place defined by readiness, teamwork, and a career shaped by both service and survival.
Cancer education initiatives continue year round. Firefighters are encouraged to participate in national research efforts, blood cancer precursor screenings, and the National Firefighter Cancer Registry. State cancer benefit programs are promoted for those diagnosed.
Bright admits he was not always perfect about decontamination earlier in his career.
“I can’t say I was the best at it before,” he said. “And I can’t say I’m perfect now. But I know it matters.”
He encourages firefighters of all ages to take physicals seriously and investigate anything that feels off.
"A lot of people don’t like the physicals,” he said. “I wasn’t a huge fan either. But without it, I don’t know how long this would have gone unnoticed.”
Thymic carcinoma often presents with vague symptoms that are easy to dismiss.
“By the time they find it in a lot of people, it’s too far gone,” Bright said. “That wasn’t the case for me.”
After months of recovery, rehabilitation, strength training, and cardio work, Bright returned to full duty. He is back riding a fire truck and leading his crew.
Capt. Lee Bright poses with Engine 42, the same company that stood behind him during treatment and welcomed him back after months of recovery.
“There was a time I didn’t know if I’d ever come back,” he said. “That was tough.”
Today, Bright lives with awareness rather than fear. The scans continue. The vigilance remains. But so does purpose.
Firefighters train for the calls they expect. They do not train for waiting, uncertainty, or vulnerability.
For Lee Bright, survival did not come from a single moment of heroism. It came from early detection, aggressive treatment, support from family and coworkers, and the willingness to face a fight he never expected.
He knows now that some of the most important battles firefighters face do not happen on the fireground.
And unlike the calls he trained for, this one required patience, trust, and the strength to stand still while the fight unfolded.