Had I Known

by Joan Lunden

  Therefore, when I heard this news, I felt somewhat conflicted. Was it the greatest news I’d ever heard, or did it leave us wondering about the future? That’s the thing about cancer. You want to believe it’s gone, but it’s a tricky foe.

  The following evening, Dr. Oratz called to talk about my ultrasound results and our next steps. She was really impressed that the tumor seemed to have shrunk about 80 to 90 percent. She explained there was a possibility that I wouldn’t need any more chemo treatments.

  NO MORE CHEMO?

  Wait!

  Did she just say NO MORE CHEMO?

  Yes, she did.

  She said I might be able to go straight to surgery for a lumpectomy, which would be incredibly minimal, with a short recovery, since there was essentially very little tumor left.

  “We did this together,” she said.

  And we did.

  My response to the treatment spoke volumes for using carboplatin in addition to Taxol, but the way I had been staying fit and on my clean-eating plan had also greatly contributed to my success.

  I hung up the phone and told Jeff this amazing news: NO MORE CHEMO!!!

  We immediately called my daughters, and he called his parents, and we shared the good news.

  This changed so much!

  Unfortunately, my elation would be short-lived. While Dr. Oratz was optimistic about my tumor, she was still concerned that my hemoglobin was so low and had been for several weeks. She said I might need to consider getting a blood transfusion so I could get back on track to being “my old self.”

  Back to my old self . . . boy, I liked the way that sounded. I’d forgotten what that even felt like!

  My life felt like it was in such flux. I’d never been the kind of person who did well with instability. I was used to having every detail of my life in place, sometimes for as far out as the entire upcoming year.

  Perhaps it’s the Virgo in me, and my need to have order in my life, but I like things to be super-organized. Every entry on my calendar is color-coded: business appointments, travel, hair/makeup, press interviews, kids, doctor appointments, etc. I’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember—long before things were electronic.

  But lately, my life had become so hard to predict, and that kind of uncertainty was a challenge for me. I had no way of knowing when or even if all of this would be over. I had no idea whether my cancer was gone—and if it were, would it come back someday? I was itching for my business and travel life to get back to normal.

  To be completely candid, I really wanted all of my life to get back to normal.

  Just when I thought that everyone had essentially written me off as “a cancer patient” who couldn’t be booked for any work while fighting my disease, I got a rather unexpected email from Debbie Kosofsky, a senior producer with the Today show, asking if I would be interested in being a special contributor for an upcoming segment on breast cancer awareness.

  What an unanticipated but super-delightful request.

  They put two of their veteran producers, Yael Federbush and Brittany Schreiber, on the breast cancer series, which they were calling #PinkPower. I knew I would be in great hands.

  But wait.

  Would people question my doing this? It was the Today show.

  My usual nature is not to upset the apple cart. Would I be doing that by accepting an invitation from the Today show? There was a rivalry between GMA and Today that had existed for as long as the two shows had been on the air.

  Did accepting this role pose any dilemma for me after being associated with GMA for so many years?

  I didn’t want GMA to be upset with me; however, this was business. Was I never to work again on morning television because at one time I worked on GMA? I had an important message to deliver: I wanted to motivate women to be screened and possibly save lives, and here was the opportunity. Truth be told, I missed all those people with whom I spent every morning with for two decades. Maybe I couldn’t see them, but I had breakfast with them every day, I had conversations with them, I shared all the joys in my life with them—they were like family to me. My connection to them had been cut off, and while I knew that many years had passed, it still felt almost like yesterday that I’d smiled and said “Good morning” to all of them. I imagine deep down, I wanted the chance to reconnect.

  It had been a lot of years since I’d hosted GMA, yet I had faith that the American audience would be fine with me moving on. In fact, they might just cheer it! They might even say, “It’s about time.”

  No, I didn’t see any issues with making this appearance.

  I had to go for it.

  Now I really needed to get myself strong again. However, I had come to the same conclusion that Dr. Oratz was right. I was so fatigued that we did need to intervene. I couldn’t even walk up a flight of stairs without stopping halfway to catch my breath. This was unlike anything I had ever felt. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I was feeling the effects of both my age and my disease. This was not normal—at least not my normal—and I didn’t like the way it made me feel.

  I will confess to being a bit skittish about the idea of having a blood transfusion and someone else’s blood running through my veins.

  Who was the person?

  What was he or she like?

  Was the procedure safe?

  Even with my hesitations, if a transfusion would help get me back on the right path and help me find my energy again, I’d suck it up and do it. After everything I’d been through so far, what was the worst thing that could happen?

  I called Dr. Ward’s office and asked her to arrange for the transfusion to take place at my local hospital. She hadn’t even heard the good news about my ultrasound. Naturally, she was elated, and her office gladly set up the blood transfusion for the next morning. First I would need to go to the blood lab in her medical building that day to find out my blood type. When the results from the blood test came back, we were surprised to discover that my hemoglobin had inched up a little, causing Dr. Ward to question whether we should go ahead with the transfusion or hold off.

  However, Dr. Oratz knew what a rigorous schedule I had in the coming weeks, and she knew me well enough to understand that I really had to be dragging my ass to admit that I needed help, so she ordered the transfusion to go through.

  I’d never had a blood transfusion, so admittedly, I was a little scared. When Sarah walked into my room at the hospital and saw the blood in the bag hanging above me, she looked at me and said, “Have you given any thought as to where that blood came from?” I must have shot her a “Thanks, I didn’t need that” look, because she added, “Just close your eyes and hope it was from some tall, gorgeous, über-thin supermodel!”

  I quickly countered with “Let’s just hope she was a healthy supermodel!”

  Just then an IV specialist came into my room, and prepared to go in through my chest port. She didn’t have that awesome little spray bottle of local anesthetic that freezes the skin right before the needle jab, like my chemo nurses had. The IV specialist wanted the particulars on the make and model of my port so she knew what size needle to use.

  I’m sorry, but that’s just too much information to ask when you are speaking to a needle weenie and you’re about to shove a needle into her chest!

  She said she would just use the bigger one-inch needle. “Sorry, take a deep breath,” and then she pushed it in.

  OUCH!

  Yes, it hurt—a lot.

  But I used the good ol’ Lamaze breathing method. I thought I had shelved that breathing technique many years ago. Yeah, turned out it’s just like riding a bike, because it came right back to me when I needed it!

  Sarah and I figured I would be at the hospital for an hour or two. Once they had me hooked up, the nurse told us it would take up to four hours per unit to receive the two units of blood I’d be getting. So that meant we would likely be there all day long and into the evening, for that matter.

  Who knew?

  Whenever I’d
seen this type of thing on TV, it always looked like it happened so much faster!

  Several different nurses came in and out throughout my transfusion and all told me that after receiving a couple units of blood, people usually feel much better. They said I might not be ready to dance out of there, but I ought to notice the difference right away.

  I sure hoped they were right.

  CHAPTER 23

  One Lump or Two?

  Time is shortening. But every day that I challenge this cancer and survive is a victory for me.

  INGRID BERGMAN

  Actress, diagnosed with breast cancer in 1973

  With the curious findings of my ultrasound, Dr. Z was questioning why I was waiting to have my lumpectomy. Dr. Oratz and Dr. Ward agreed that it was a good idea to get me on the schedule for the week of September 23. Before surgery, I needed to have a complete blood count (CBC) and an EKG to make sure I was in good enough health to handle surgery.

  “No problem, I’ll have those done as soon as I get back from Washington!” I gleefully said.

  You see, I had agreed to emcee the Honoring the Promise Gala for the Susan G. Komen Foundation for the Cure at the Kennedy Center on September 18. Nancy G. Brinker, the founder, had been incredibly supportive throughout my journey. It was my great honor to be a part of the annual black-tie gala, which brings together the heroes of the breast cancer movement for a celebratory evening of inspiration and world-class entertainment.

  It had been a while since I’d gotten all dolled up. I was looking forward to it, since I spent most of my summer in workout clothes and sneakers. Thankfully, I had recently purchased a beautiful, elegant long black gown that fit me perfectly, except that it was a little long, so it needed to be hemmed. I wanted to find a hipper pair of heels to wear onstage, but much to my surprise, I had recently discovered that I had a problem wearing high heels; my feet just wouldn’t endure heels and hadn’t for a year or so.

  Was it due to too many years in high heels or just another unexpected side effect of chemo, the gift that keeps on giving?

  Either way, I needed to figure it out and fast, because there wasn’t a pair of Nikes that I could reasonably pull off with that gown!

  The other important event I was busy preparing for was my upcoming interview with Hoda Kotb for the Today show, scheduled to take place at my home. I had really come to admire Hoda and was very happy the show decided to send her to do the interview. It was fortuitous that she happened to be sitting in for Savannah Guthrie, who was out on maternity leave at the time.

  Hoda had survived breast cancer and had gone public with her battle, so I knew I would feel comfortable speaking with her. However, I quickly downloaded her book, Hoda: How I Survived War Zones, Bad Hair, Cancer, and Kathie Lee, so that I would know the full story. I always research the person who will interview me; it has paid off time and again. I find Hoda really easy to talk to. She is genuine, sincere, down-to-earth, and so natural. These are all traits that make her a tremendous interviewer and someone who creates instant trust. However, there would be more than that at play during this interview. Not only did Hoda and I share the horror of a cancer diagnosis, we also shared the pain of divorce, and we had both lived our lives in the public eye. I was so at ease knowing that she would be the one coming to do the interview. I would be talking about human fear and the fight to survive, and having someone like Hoda there helped me feel safe in knowing I could reach deep down inside for that interview, which I did.

  The following morning I was scheduled to fly to Washington, D.C., for the big gala. When we landed, a car swept me off to a hotel, where I had to quickly get changed for the big event.

  Later that afternoon, I made my way through our nation’s capital, winding past the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument toward the famous Kennedy Center for rehearsals, and then for my walk up the Pink Carpet.

  Driving through Washington brought back many memories from my Good Morning America days, from elegant dinner parties at the White House to live coverage of the presidential inaugurations. Inaugurations, in January, were always freezing cold. You just knew that as the morning wore on, your lips were going to be so cold that you could barely form words. I remember setting up our cameras during the wee hours in January 1985 for Ronald Reagan’s inauguration, when the windchill was minus twenty degrees. Just before airtime, a decision was made to move the ceremony indoors. Good thing, since our cameras were having difficulty operating in the bone-chilling temps. I was stationed in the Capitol Dome, and that was where I met Charlie Gibson for the first time in person, when he was the capitol correspondent for ABC News. The inaugural atmosphere was chilly inside the Capitol, as Jimmy Carter was handing over the presidency to Ronald Reagan, and rumors were floating that Reagan had made a deal with Iran that would delay the release of the American hostages being held in Tehran until after the inauguration. In 1993, when Bill Clinton was taking over from George Bush, there was a two-day inaugural festival, with tents stretching from the Capitol to the Washington Monument and one million people attending the event. This was the lure of working on a program like Good Morning America, always being where history was being made.

  Tonight’s gala was taking place at another grand historical site, the Kennedy Center.Ordinarily, I would be there as just another celebrity attending as a “supporter” of the cause. But that night, I was one of the thousands of women for whom the event was working so hard to raise awareness and money to eradicate the disease we shared. Each step I took along the pink carpet that night represented my walk along the communal path. I was now proudly united in this fight against breast cancer.

  Singer Julia Murney took center stage in the darkness to open the evening’s festivities. As soon as the spotlight hit her, she belted out a rousing version of “Defying Gravity” from the hit Broadway show Wicked. Jeff and I had just taken our daughter Kate and a friend of hers to see that show in New York the weekend before, and I felt a surge of emotion build inside of me that mirrored the crescendo of the music. There were moments every day that I appreciated a little more because I realized just how precious, if not fragile, life had become. Perhaps life had always been that way and I was just figuring it out. I don’t know, but I was really proud to be there that night—to willingly and boldly step out onto the stage and declare, “I have breast cancer, too,” especially if it meant raising more money, more awareness, and giving more women hope. When I returned to Connecticut, I went in for my pre-op blood work and EKG the very next day, as promised. Dr. Ward said she was satisfied with my blood count, although she’d expected it to be higher after the transfusion. Unfortunately, she saw something of concern on my EKG. An EKG, or electrocardiogram, is a test that checks the electrical activity of your heart. I told her I had an EKG every year at Dr. Albert Knapp’s office, and there had never been an issue in the past. Still concerned, she spoke with Dr. Knapp, who didn’t seem to share the worry. However, Dr. Ward insisted on a second opinion before agreeing to let me have my lumpectomy.

  Of course she did.

  Why would anything along this journey be cut-and-dried?

  She called another cardiologist, who agreed with her and felt I should have a stress echocardiogram before the surgery. I would need to do that test in the morning, before my lymphoscintigraphy test, which I was scheduled for later that afternoon. The lymphoscintigraphy test is when a radioactive substance is injected into the breast; it flows through the lymph ducts and can be taken up by lymph nodes. A scanner or probe is used to follow the movement of the radioactive substance on a computer screen.

  Thankfully, I passed both tests with flying colors and was cleared for surgery the following week.

  CHAPTER 24

  The Best Birthday Present Ever!

  Every year on my birthday I go out into the wilderness alone, to celebrate being alive.

  LINDA ELLERBEE

  Television journalist, diagnosed with breast cancer in 1991

  September 19 is my birthday.

&
nbsp; Has been my whole life.

  But allow me to let you in on a little secret: I’ve never really loved birthdays.

  For real.

  Remind me why we celebrate them again?

  I mean, after a certain age—say, ten—they suck!

  Don’t they just represent being another year older?

  All right, all right, so my opinion about birthdays might have been slightly influenced by the battle I was waging against breast cancer (and perhaps that stupid Beatles song about turning sixty-four), but I wasn’t much in the mood for celebrating this particular occasion.

  Not this year, anyway.

  Sure, I supposed I should appreciate and rejoice in the opportunity to be one year older.

  And yes, I got a couple of really cool and thoughtful and funny gifts!

  I got a T-shirt that said, “Cancer Touched My Boob So I’m Kicking Its Ass” across the front. I loved it!

  I got a beautiful silk scarf that had words of strength and hope all over it. I’d definitely use that.

  I got a tiny, easy-to-use head shaver called a Peanut, by Wahl. Oh, yeah. I’d use that, too, because I didn’t want to use Jeff’s razor on my head.

  I got a couple of cute knit hats: my favorite gifts because it was getting cold out and we were headed into a brutal winter.

  To be certain, the best birthday gift I got had come three weeks earlier, with the birth of my granddaughter, Parker Leigh. I was happy that mommy Lindsay and beautiful little baby Parker were doing great.

  Okay, if I’m going to be reflective here, I would be remiss if I didn’t appreciate that after a summer of aggressive chemo, I got a pretty awesome birthday present when my follow-up ultrasound showed nearly no tumor!

  Happy birthday to me!

  Happy birthday to me!