Had I Known

by Joan Lunden

  In retrospect, I was far more emotionally bruised and battered than physically hurt. I had put myself in a terrible position, especially with two hundred women due to arrive in a couple of days. I didn’t want anyone to know just how bad I felt, but the truth is, I felt awful.

  I decided to walk back to the house before losing it in front of the kids. I could feel the lump in my throat, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to push it back. About five minutes into my walk, I let it go. This was the first real emotional breakdown I’d had since hearing the words “You have cancer.”

  Oh yeah, I’d cried after reading that email about the woman dying from breast cancer and leaving her young children behind, but I hadn’t broken down like this.

  It was a good one.

  I just wanted to be normal.

  I wanted to believe everything was okay, and it wasn’t.

  I sobbed uncontrollably, something I rarely do.

  But I did it alone, in the absence of others, so no one would know how broken I felt.

  Why?

  Because this was the first day I felt cancer kicking me in the butt.

  And I didn’t like how that felt.

  At all.

  When I got back to the house, I called Jeff to let him know what had happened.

  When he walked in the door, he found me still crying. He took one look at me, smiled, and said, “I thought you promised to take it easy.”

  Jeff then took me by the hand, led me to our bathroom, ran a hot bubble bath, and said to take as much time as I needed. “You have to acknowledge your cancer and your fatigue. If you are going to function at the level you want to be at for Reveille, you need to protect yourself and not do anything else stupid—not that playing tennis with the kids was stupid, but you have to conserve your energy for the next few days, or you’re not going to make it.”

  He was so understanding and right.

  With all of my angst about Reveille and my lack of energy, I was relieved that Jeff was taking me for my next chemo. It was the first time he’d accompanied me since I began seeing Dr. Weisberg. They hadn’t met yet, and I was eager to have him hear her thoughts on whether I should take a pass on my next treatment or if she had some other plan. I was certain she would agree that with everything I had on my plate, taking the week off would be the right course of action.

  Once again, they took my blood and we waited. Dr. Weisberg looked at my numbers and said, “If any other ordinary person was sitting here, I would probably rush to give them a blood transfusion. You are not any other ordinary person. I’m going to give you your full dose.”

  While my white and red counts were still very low, they were not low enough to panic or put off my treatment. She advised me to eat right to make up for my low counts. The good news was that my platelets were up—in fact, they’d doubled, going from 99 to 188, which meant I was doing all of the right things with my eating and supplement plan. With that good news, I got my treatment.

  In the early afternoon, the women began arriving. I lay low until my first appearance at six P.M., during the “Meet and Greet” cocktail party. I made my way through the crowd, chatting with as many new people as I could while trying not to appear distant, since I was avoiding handshakes and hugs. Jeff stayed right by my side and made sure I wasn’t compromised in any way. I’m usually so stoic, strong, and self-confident, but I will admit to feeling a bit vulnerable. Just feeling his strong presence next to me was so comforting. It was unusual for him to be with me at one of my Reveille events; after all, this was a ladies’ weekend. I’d always felt that since I’d asked all of them to leave their husbands behind to come to camp, then it wouldn’t be right to show up with mine—even if he did own the place.

  Everyone could feel the excitement in the dining hall during the opening dinner as the women waited to hear what was in store for them over the next few days. After dinner, the group walked through the camp, along a tiki-torch-lit path, through a wooded area, into a huge open-air arena called the Indian Council Ring. As the women entered the arena and took their seats around the roaring campfire, they were greeted by tribal drums and chanting from a local musical group called Inanna. The mesmerizing troupe is made up of five Maine women who have performed at Camp Reveille for the past eight years. It is a favorite camp tradition for them to beat their drums and chant as the guests file in and take their seats around the campfire.

  I had written my usual welcome speech; however, when I stood and tried to speak, I suddenly decided to go from the heart. I looked around the circle of women before me and shared with them how this incredibly beautiful setting had played such an integral part in my breast cancer journey so far and how it had inspired me to awaken each day and walk the grounds and stay fit—which had become quite important in my recovery. I also shared how this unexpected challenge had forced me to step back, exhale, and reevaluate my life, my career, and the amazing newfound relationships I had forged with so many Americans going through the same thing.

  I told them how I was receiving hundreds of emails, tweets, and Facebook messages every day wishing me well, sending love and prayers, sharing tips and advice and their own journeys, and how it was all so meaningful and impactful and healing for me. I was aware that many of these women had been following my progress, and I felt I should let them in on how I was feeling, what was fueling me, and what had been inspiring me along the way. After all, the weekend was about being inspired and staying motivated. Not only was I bonding with them to enhance their experience at Reveille, but I also felt I had an opportunity to serve as a real role model on that unique evening.

  Although it isn’t a breast cancer event, we always had many breast cancer survivors among the group, and I knew that we had several women going through the journey that year. One woman in particular was having a very tough time with her chemo and had contemplated not coming. However, the six women coming with her were encouraging and supporting her. Even so, she was worried that she might be up sick in the middle of the night and would wake the others in the bunk. I told her not to worry, that I would put her in private housing with a bathroom so she’d have privacy, and then she could meet her bunkmates at breakfast and spend the rest of the day with them. I put an extra bed in her bunk so if she and a friend wanted to actually rest at rest hour, they could.

  Her bunkmates who invited her to camp came to me as they were getting ready to leave. Through her tears, she told me how much it had meant for them to have this time together. The two of us hugged and had a good cry. This bond I was feeling, this sisterhood, this moment when two women were holding on to hope that we would have good outcomes, this was what it was all about. This was what the People magazine cover would be about.

  After a lot of back-and-forth over the course of the summer, I had decided to allow People to send reporter Emily Strohm and photographer Greta Rybus to follow me around camp for the September cover story. I had been somewhat reluctant: First, I didn’t want their presence or the photo shoot to interfere with the camp experience. And second, I was worried whether I would have the stamina to be a part of the activities without pushing myself so hard that I created a bigger problem for my health.

  My initial idea was to have the People crew shoot me on the climbing wall, but after joining a thirty-minute cardio class and a camp walk, I felt fatigue setting in. There would not be any shots on the climbing wall. But I paced myself carefully, and the photographer caught nice shots of me walking amid the great pines on the grounds of Camp Takajo with groups of campers, doing the early-morning workout down at the beach, and running around like a crazy kid during our “whacked-up relay.” This is such a unique opportunity for the ladies to act like they’re twelve again, challenging each other at an egg-and-spoon race, or a three-legged race around the bases of a ball field, or any other idiotic fun challenge we can come up with for them. This is the highlight of camp for many of the ladies, because for an hour or two, they are able to forget that they are grown-ups with tremendous pressure, stress, an
d lots of responsibilities on their shoulders. They simply get to be playful kids again, and oh, what a relief that is!

  Camp Reveille turned out to be a huge success. When all was said and done, I heard from so many of the women that the long weekend would have a lasting impact on them. One woman said to me with tears in her eyes, “You don’t realize it, but you saved my life with this weekend.”

  Another wrote and said she had reflected many times on our weekend together; she had been a part of the group who came to support their friend going through a personal journey like mine. She wrote about the reading we all participated in around the campfire, and how she was allowed to share her thoughts on faith with the group. She now strives to make the women a part of her daily life, and they remind their friend to rest her body, remain positive, and continue to focus on her goals through courage and strength: inspiring words they’d heard from the ideals I shared with the group on the night I spoke from my heart. She called the ideals I’d shared that night at camp the “Foundation of My Life.”

  Wow.

  They should be the foundation of all of our lives.

  It was sometimes difficult for me not to tear up, because I could feel their collective compassion and hope for me. At some point over the weekend, nearly every woman said to me, “You will make it, you are strong, and I will be praying for you.”

  I hoped I was as strong as everyone kept saying I was.

  CHAPTER 17

  A Surprise Visit from Charlie Gibson

  Don’t miss your life . . .

  VALERIE HARPER

  Actress, diagnosed with lung cancer in 2009 and brain cancer in 2012

  The end of August brings a peaceful presence that I look forward to every season. Instead of the sound of campers squealing with delight or cheering each other on, all I hear is the sound of the lake lapping on the shore. However, there was a lot to do before closing things up for the season and heading back to Greenwich. I needed to schedule my remaining chemo sessions in New York for this first round of treatment. I was a little nervous about going back; I had gotten so comfortable with all of the wonderful and caring nurses in Maine.

  Most people go to one facility to do their treatments, and that’s it. Of course, by now you know my life is anything but simple. The time had come to say goodbye to Maine and get back to the city and my other team of professionals, where, despite my angst, I knew I would be in very good hands.

  One thing I was certain of: I would genuinely miss the team of professionals at the New England Cancer Specialists. They made me feel so relaxed that I never once dreaded going to chemo.

  That says a lot.

  Change is hard, especially in the middle of something like chemotherapy. But as they say, the only thing that stays the same in life is change.

  You can count on it.

  After the ladies of Camp Reveille had left, Jeff and I decided to stay for a couple of quiet days. This was the first time the younger kids had been around me for any extended period of time since I’d gotten sick. I guess it’s fair to say that it was also the first time I’d been around them.

  I noticed the way they looked at me every time I came out of my bedroom wearing a different bandana or wig. Their little eyes would go to my head, and I’d know it represented the cancer that I was dealing with—and that they were dealing with.

  I didn’t want them to be scared or to feel awkward in their own home or about their mom being sick.

  It felt so uncomfortable whenever Max looked at me with his worried, inquisitive little eyes. It made me very self-conscious. I knew cancer had changed the way I looked, and for their sake and their comfort, I needed to show up with some alternative hair or hat so I didn’t worry them. I tried to make light of it, sometimes twirling in a circle, asking, “How do you like this new hairdo? Isn’t it a hot, happening style?”

  I was using humor to cover up the uncertainty I felt once the kids came home from camp.

  Much to my delight, a week before the start of Camp Reveille, I received an unexpected email from my former cohost on GMA, Charlie Gibson, saying that he and his wife, Arlene, would be coming to this area to visit friends who lived about a mile down Long Lake from us. I’d been telling him about Camp Takajo and how special this place was ever since I met Jeff in 1996 and Charlie and I were both still working on Good Morning America. God, it seems like yesterday. It’s hard to believe it’s been eighteen years since I left GMA.

  I remember when Charlie first began. David Hartman had been the longtime host, but the network was looking to make a change and was trying out several potential male hosts. Charlie had been a correspondent with ABC News for many years and frequently appeared on Good Morning America, primarily reporting on congressional news. He sat in as a substitute host for David Hartman on a couple of occasions, and I thought he would make a perfect new partner. Charlie was a cute guy, with a boyishness that made you instantly like him. He wasn’t a pretty-boy handsome that would make it hard to take him seriously, telling you the news at seven A.M. He was just right. Charlie was also really smart, so I knew he would easily handle the challenges of two hours of live television every morning, when you never know what you could be talking about next. As a bonus, Charlie and I hit it off—there was wonderful chemistry between us. We genuinely liked each other, and that was so important. I believe it also showed.

  When Charlie was officially named the new cohost of GMA, he came in my office and closed the door behind him. He wanted me to know that he was aware I had supported his being brought on the program and how much he appreciated it.

  Humble, straightforward, and real. That’s the kind of man he is.

  He said, “Let’s always be fifty-fifty partners. Let’s not fight over stories. Let’s show America how a male/female team can compatibly work together.”

  That would be a big change from how all of the morning shows were set up, where the male host always got top billing over the female cohost. I got along great with David, and he was always very nice to me. David had come to Good Morning America from Hollywood, where he had starred in several successful prime-time shows. It was a very different time when Good Morning America went on the air in 1975. David was cast as the star of the program, and since the show was originally run by the ABC Entertainment division, it was not so unusual to contractually make him the only star. There were many people in the news department at ABC and other networks that took issue with casting an actor in a news role. But to David’s credit, not only did he stick it out, he persevered, and the show took over the number one spot in the ratings. I first began working with him in 1977, and while I was told to stay in his shadow, I will say that I learned a lot from David.

  What Charlie was proposing was something very different. He was suggesting equal footing between the two of us, which created a very exciting, fun, and promising future together.

  The week when Charlie started on the show, we were airing live from Fisher Island in South Florida. Charlie’s dad came along to enjoy his son’s first day on the network morning show and share in his newfound success. Charlie was very close to his dad, a relationship I came to admire very much over the years.

  That first morning Charlie and I cohosted Good Morning America, we opened the program on a beautiful South Florida beach. Even at seven in the morning, the hot tropical sun was already beating down on us. I had chosen an outfit appropriate for the beach shot, but conservative Charlie was wearing a navy blue suit and tie.

  He looked hot—as in sweltering in the sun.

  At one point I turned to him and said, “Let me loosen your tie, Charlie.”

  Which I did, much to his surprise. I don’t think anyone at ABC News would have done that.

  “You’re not on Capitol Hill anymore,” I said with a big smile.

  For a moment he may have questioned his decision to leave his role as an ABC Washington correspondent to host this wake-up program, but once we got going, I don’t believe he ever looked back.

  After that first
day, Charlie and I took his father out to dinner to celebrate. I took the opportunity to ask his dad what Charlie was like as a kid. His father spoke glowingly about Charlie, how he’d always loved history and learning about our government and how he was reading the Congressional Record when he was only eight years old.

  Why didn’t this surprise me?

  That dinner certainly showed me that the network had picked the right guy to host our show.

  I’ve always respected Charlie, and that night was the beginning of a wonderful relationship that blossomed and bonded over the course of our many years working together. We had the best working relationship anyone could ever ask for, on- and off-air. Charlie and I were like brother and sister. One thing is for sure, we always had each other’s back. We protected each other, and like siblings, we also teased each other.

  Oh yes, there was some good-hearted and spirited bantering over the years. If I noticed that Charlie had accidentally put on one brown and one navy sock getting dressed in the dark at four A.M. (it happens more often than you can imagine!), you can bet I brought it up on the show and had the cameraman get a good close-up look at his mismatched socks.

  Charlie, our weather reporter, Spencer Christian, and I all joked, teased, and pranked one another whenever we got the chance. It was all heartfelt fun. Charlie used to joke to people that he and I were kind of like an old married couple because “we could finish each other’s sentences, we just didn’t have sex.” Come to think of it, Charlie—both made us an old married couple!

  There was such a bond between all of us—a trust that was unspoken. Our viewers must have known that while we treated our positions and responsibilities on the program with great respect, we were also having a really good time every morning. That was why we stayed number one for seventeen years.