Had I Known Read online

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to my amazing family, my friends, and all those who reached out to me day after day on social media, sending me their prayers and well wishes. You have all provided me with healing strength.

  While I’m not always forthcoming with expressing how I feel with my emotions, it’s necessary to say a thank-you. My love runs deep, and my heart is full from how you rallied around me in my time of great need. I will admit to you only now that yes, I needed you. You have always been there for me when I’ve needed you, even if I never said it. And yet never more unconditionally than how you gathered around me during these past nine months. Your strength, support, and unwavering love did not go unnoticed and certainly didn’t go unappreciated. Your strength and encouragement are what helped me remain so strong—I could not have made it through the fire without all of you.

  This is the story and my personal journey of how I faced my breast cancer diagnosis and subsequent treatment head-on. Yup, it’s the good, the bad, and the bald, ugly truth.

  Breast cancer is not a one size fits all disease. It requires great personalization for treatment and therefore no two battles are the same. If you think you might have breast cancer or are currently in treatment, it’s critically important that you seek your own medical advice for proper diagnosis and treatment. The information I offer throughout the pages of this book merely details the path I chose to follow for my personal treatment. There are many roads to walk, and this is the one I took. I am not a medical professional and therefore the advice and information I share throughout this book are in no way intended to be offered as medical advice.

  For whatever reason, it has never been easy for me to accept help from anyone, family or friends, so when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I wasn’t sure how or even if I would allow myself to accept the unconditional love and kindness you all showed. It didn’t take a dance with death to know that I had an incredible partner in my husband, Jeff. I have had Jeff by my side throughout this journey, and in my head: Each time I felt down or stressed out, he would remind me of my personal fortitude and the enormous amount of love and support I had. Jeff has truly been my anchor through it all—he’s shown such amazing love, loyalty, and patience. I especially appreciate that last one, his patience.

  Of course, none of this has surprised me. Jeff is one of the most loyal, caring, and conscientious people I’ve ever known. When you meet Jeff, it’s hard not to be bowled over by his presence. He’s incredibly charismatic, and what can I say, he’s a tall, handsome, athletic guy. And you would think that would be enough, wouldn’t you? Yet those characteristics that one would look for in a mate take a backseat to his character, his loyalty, his compassion, his convictions, and his tenderness. I remember the first day I ever saw Jeff, at a deli in Rye Brook, New York. Ironically, I was having lunch with my friend Laura (and the coauthor on this book) and my daughter Sarah, who was ten at the time. I looked up and saw him standing in the doorway, looking around the restaurant, and suddenly, our eyes met. He flashed me that thousand-watt smile of his.

  I turned to Sarah and said, “How can I meet a nice guy like that?”

  To which Sarah said, “How do you know he’s nice?” And being ten, she added, “Go say hi and meet him.”

  I told her it didn’t work that way.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  I explained that girls don’t just walk up to boys and say, “I’d like to get to know you.”

  She shot back, “Why not? That’s stupid!”

  Okay, so maybe she had me there.

  Jeff kept looking at me throughout lunch, and I’ll admit, I kept sneaking looks at him, too. The funniest part was we kept catching each other looking. I’d smile but turn away, embarrassed, like a schoolgirl who’d gotten caught staring at her crush.

  “What do you like about him, Mom?” Sarah asked.

  I told her I thought he looked confident but not arrogant; that he looked very kind; and that he had a smile that could light up the Empire State Building.

  It was right about then that Jeff boldly walked to our table and introduced himself and ultimately asked for my number so he could take me out to dinner sometime. I was single, but clumsy single. I was also not so quick to give out my phone number, even though I desperately wanted to. Laura, being a great friend, figured out right away that I was too shy and scared to give him my number, so she grabbed a pen from her bag and wrote my office number on a piece of paper and handed it to him.

  That was a Saturday.

  On Monday morning, he had already called the office by the time I was off the air from Good Morning America. From our first date, I believe we both knew that not only did we feel immense chemistry, but we greatly admired each other and what we stood for in life. So I’ve always known he was special, though only this journey has shown me just how special.

  And the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  My mother-in-law, Janey, often jokingly reminds me, “I’ve trained him well!”

  Yes, you did, Janey!

  Of course, her husband, Donny, helped, too.

  Going through chemo produces something known as “chemo brain”—it’s a kind of fog that gets in the way of concentrating and hearing things the first time people tell you something. One day Jeff laughingly equated living with my chemo brain with a woman putting up with a man’s selective hearing. I love that analogy. Don’t tell anyone, but I may have to milk this one for a while.

  I have always had wonderful relationships with my daughters Jamie, Lindsay, and Sarah. I’m so proud of the lovely women they’ve become. However, a disease like cancer can connect and bond a family in such miraculous ways that relationships deepen, bringing out the very best in everyone. It can also send them running for the hills out of sheer panic or, worse, break them apart.

  My older daughters have been there for me in ways I could have only hoped and prayed for but never fully imagined. They were by my side for every doctor’s visit and treatment, regardless of what they had on their schedules and despite my assurance that I didn’t need them to be. They checked in with me daily, just to be sure I was keeping my glass half full (both philosophically and literally!).

  When Lindsay gave birth to my first grandchild, her beautiful little girl, Parker Leigh, in late August 2014, she gave me the most precious reason to maintain the “warrior mode” I had gone into from pretty much the moment I was diagnosed. Looking into the eyes of my daughter’s beautiful baby girl, I knew I had to fight harder than ever to beat my disease. There were so many days ahead for all of us to celebrate the joys of life—not the tragedy of possible death.

  When Lindsay gave birth, she took three months’ maternity leave from her role as vice president at my production company. I was wonderfully blessed to have Lindsay’s younger sister, Sarah, fill her shoes. At the time, Sarah was living and working in television production in Los Angeles but was more than willing to come back east to help out. It was no small request! She was just hitting her stride in L.A. when I called to ask if she would consider putting her life on hold—assuring her that it would be only for a short time, until Lindsay was able to come back to work. I knew it was a bold move for Sarah to leave California and her job on such short notice. But I didn’t know who else to turn to.

  Jamie was immersed in her career in New York City as a successful publicist. She was also newly married, and while she and her husband, George, often come to our house in Connecticut to visit, I knew that with her demanding schedule, her ability to be with me through the ordeal would be limited, and I didn’t want to make her feel guilty about that—there was nothing she could do about it, and I completely understood.

  I hadn’t planned to replace Lindsay when she went on maternity leave, but when you added cancer
to the picture, I definitely needed help. I’d barely eked out my words before I heard my stoic and supportive daughter say, “Absolutely, Mom, I will be there for you, whatever you need me to do.” Thankfully, Sarah didn’t hesitate. Not even a little bit. She must have sensed my worry and need even if I didn’t display them. In no time, she was home, at my side, and at the helm of my company. I don’t know how I can ever thank her for what she did for me; I know it played a major part in my battle and recovery.

  It is one thing when family comes to your rescue in the middle of a crisis, but then there are those special friends, the ones you know, without a doubt, will be there for you no matter how ugly things get. Marlene Dietrich once said it’s the friends you can call at four A.M. who matter the most. Well, I found out who those friends are—fast. Like Elise Silvestri, who was my first personal assistant at Good Morning America in 1980, when I first stepped into the cohost role, and has worked with me on countless projects ever since; and Jill Seigerman, who also worked as my personal assistant at GMA and in the years after. These are deep friendships that are exemplified in such giving and dedicated ways, and they have continued to serve as a stronghold in my life. These women were the very first to be called—they know me so well that they understand how I’m feeling now. I knew they would be there to help me make the tough and bold decision of going public, and they would also be there to hold me up when the time came to help me pick out wigs and to tell me I still looked like me . . . which would definitely be needed.

  Quite honestly, as soon as I heard the words “You have cancer” I was certain I would want to document my story and ultimately share this journey, and I knew there was only one person I would do that with: Laura Morton. She is a longtime friend and was already coauthor of several of my other books, and we had a history of writing together—a complete trust—and I knew this would be a vulnerable mission for me, a time in my life when authenticity would rule. I called her in the very early hours of this crisis and asked her, maybe begged her, to be on board with this memoir, for there is no one else with whom I would have entrusted the telling of this journey.

  Then there are my longtime trusted advisers: my attorney of over thirty years, Marc Chamlin; my longtime accountant, Richard Koenigsberg; of course, my dear friend and colleague Charlie Gibson; and the handful of other lifelong friends with whom I always eagerly look forward to sharing joys and who are the few with whom I am willing to share my sorrows: Chickie Silver, Michele Dillingham, and Deb Bierman. I had to let these very important people in my life know what was happening. Each one a longtime friend or colleague, and each like calling a brother or sister—my family of choice I had grown over the years. I realized, perhaps for the first time, the true value of those friendships.

  My life is busy and often complicated, involving travel all over the country to make appearances, and I couldn’t do it without the support of Emir Pehilj, who has been doing my hair and makeup for many years and has become a very dear friend and traveling companion. Emir stood ready to help me feel like myself from the very start, which went far beyond drawing eyebrows on me, or gluing eyelashes on after I lost them, or styling my wigs day in and day out. His emotional support was incredible. He actually shaved his head in solidarity after I shaved mine (he looked incredibly handsome). While I was going through my journey, Emir’s sister was diagnosed with breast cancer; he knew all too well what was in store for her.

  And then there’s my incredible staff at our Joan Lunden Production offices in Armonk, New York. While my daughter Lindsay stands at the helm of my company, interfacing with all of the different corporations and networks that I work with, I rely each and every day on Elaine Capillo, my personal assistant, to be in constant contact with all the agents who book me for these events, to keep my schedule straight, and to handle the plethora of travel and event details that go into each appearance.

  Then there is the “incoming,” as I refer to it in the office, all of the daily messages that come in to me via the joanlunden.com website, Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn. Ali Barrella makes it possible for me to stay in touch with everyone. She works closely with Lindsay and Elaine and, more recently, Sarah, to keep our website up to date with blogs and postings from those on my staff and all of our wonderful contributors. It’s a massive job, and it boggles my mind that my small but mighty staff can actually do it all. I applaud them, and I am so thankful for everything they do, especially during this past year, for they have all been on the breast cancer front lines right along with me.

  There is no doubt that I have had the great luxury of the very best medical team at my fingertips. From the first day I started as cohost of Good Morning America, the best of the best have sat across from me, updating all of us with the latest and greatest information and research available in whatever was happening in their field. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit a girl can get spoiled with that kind of exposure over the years. There wasn’t any specialist I couldn’t get to with just a few phone calls. When it comes to my personal health, I’ve always had an advantage in knowing I was somewhat protected and surrounded by what I considered to be my medical A team.

  As a result, when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I was able to get to the top doctors, seek out the best advice, and use my contacts in order to make the most informed decisions. Believe me, I recognize that many women don’t have that option, and that is when and why I knew I had to write this book. I must thank my longtime physician Dr. Albert Knapp for helping me put together my top-notch oncology team. I greatly admire each one of the oncologists with whom I worked: Dr. Ruth Oratz, Dr. Tracey Weisberg, and Dr. Dickerman Hollister. I will be forever grateful to my wonderful breast cancer surgeon, Dr. Barbara Ward; my radiation oncologist, Dr. Ashwastha Narayana; and Dr. Gail Calamari, who first found my tumor. And finally, thanks to Beth Bielat, my physical and spiritual trainer, and my nutritionist, Dr. Robert Zembroski, without whom I might not have had the same journey, let alone outcome.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Introduction: A Daunting Diagnosis

  CHAPTER 1 A Normal Doctor Visit That Wasn’t So Normal

  CHAPTER 2 The Big C

  CHAPTER 3 I Thought It Could Never Happen to Me

  CHAPTER 4 Choosing the Path of Least Regret

  CHAPTER 5 Finding My “Why”

  CHAPTER 6 Finding the Courage to Share

  CHAPTER 7 The Day I Started Chemo

  CHAPTER 8 Good Morning America, I Have Cancer

  CHAPTER 9 #TEAMJOAN: An Unexpected Outpouring of Support

  CHAPTER 10 Going Rogue—Make Me G.I. Joan

  CHAPTER 11 Creating My Battle Plan

  CHAPTER 12 Cancer Ain’t for Sissies

  CHAPTER 13 Eat, Pray, Poop

  CHAPTER 14 Port of Entry

  CHAPTER 15 You’re Never Too Sick to Throw a Party!

  CHAPTER 16 Calling All Campers

  CHAPTER 17 A Surprise Visit from Charlie Gibson

  CHAPTER 18 Getting Back to Real Life

  CHAPTER 19 A New Baby Brings New Joy

  CHAPTER 20 A Bold, Bald Move

  CHAPTER 21 No Turning Back Now

  CHAPTER 22 The Unexpected Curveballs of Cancer

  CHAPTER 23 One Lump or Two?

  CHAPTER 24 The Best Birthday Present Ever!

  CHAPTER 25 The Big Bald Reveal

  CHAPTER 26 Wrestling with Cancer

  CHAPTER 27 My New Normal

  CHAPTER 28 The Connection That Changed Me

  CHAPTER 29 Unbroken

  CHAPTER 30 Had I Known

  Photo Section

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Introduction:

  A Daunting Diagnosis

  The truth will set you free . . . but first it will piss you off.

  GLORIA STEINEM

  Feminist, journalist, social and political activist, diagnosed with breast cancer in 1986
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  What if . . . it’s positive?

  What if . . . it’s really bad news?

  What if . . . it’s worse than I think?

  Every horrible possibility was running through my mind as I quietly sat next to my husband in the radiologist’s office that humid June afternoon. We were anxiously awaiting the results of my breast biopsy.

  Wait, maybe it’s nothing.

  It can’t be anything to worry about.

  It’s probably no big deal.

  But what if . . .

  Jeff and I held hands, our fingers tightly wrapped around each other’s. I could feel sticky sweat between our palms.

  Odd, I thought. Jeff’s hands are rarely sweaty.

  Still we didn’t speak.

  Not a word.

  It was strange because, inside my head, it was as if someone were shouting: “You’ll be fine. EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE!”

  What will people say?

  What if . . .

  I’m sick . . . really sick?

  What if the doctor walks through that door and says . . .

  Just then, Dr. Gail Calamari opened the door to her office and entered the room. I could tell by her demeanor that it was not good news. It made me think of what they say about juries returning to the courtroom after deliberating and reaching a verdict: If you are guilty, they won’t look at you.

  Dr. Calamari did not make eye contact. She took her seat across the desk from us and slowly yet calmly began to explain that I had a 2.3-centimeter virulent, fast-growing breast cancer tumor that was very close to my chest wall. She said that I would need to see a breast surgeon as soon as possible. She recommended Dr. Barbara Ward, a terrific breast cancer surgeon who had a practice right in my area.

  I did my best to stay stoic and numb. In my mind, that meant I couldn’t cry. I absolutely wouldn’t make eye contact with Jeff, because I knew that would break me. I’ve always had a need to feel like I’m in control and strong in situations like this. Don’t get me wrong. I had that lump in my throat. I fought hard to swallow it back. I didn’t want Dr. Calamari or Jeff to know it was there.