‘I was ready for my C0FFIN’ – Audience stunned by Fox News Anchor Gerri Willis’s sharing when she faced her c@ncer diagnosis – But she created a miracle to change her fate!

When I received my diagnosis of breast c@ncer 18 months ago, I knew that my life was in for some big changes. What I did not know was that it was the beginning of an emotional journey that would fundamentally change the person I am.

This is not a story of what I lost; it’s a story of what I have gained.

It all began in my primary care doctor’s office. After a simple exam, my doctor sent me to a local hospital for a biopsy. Despite this and the fact my nipple was already inverted, I was still stunned when my primary care physician told me by phone the following week that my biopsy was “positive.” (Even she wouldn’t say the C-word.)

More From Good Housekeeping 

I was in a state of denial.

The truth is, I couldn’t face the diagnosis. I was in a state of denial. When can I get back to work, I thought? How long will it take me to get back to normal? I reached out to one of my colleagues at Fox, Jennifer Griffin, who beat triple negative breast c@ncer, to get her expert advice. “Prepare yourself for the long haul,” she said. She emphasized patience. What she said next floored me. “It could take a year to get back to normal,” she said. A year? What will happen to my job? How can I take a year off from my life for c@ncer treatment?

Just before going on sick leave, I wrote a column for Fox’s opinion page to share my experience with viewers and encourage women to get tested. What I said at the end of the column reflected my “hurry up and get it done” attitude toward treatment:

“I am ready to get started (on treatment),” I wrote in the final words of the column. “Because getting started is the first step towards getting better, which is something I fully intend to do.” Confident words, for sure. But I still hadn’t embraced the fact that I wasn’t in charge of my treatment. I still was trying to fit c@ncer into a schedule. In the months to come, I would learn better.

Courtesy of Gerri Willis
The author with members of her c@ncer team.

That learning began as nurses prepared me for the mastectomy of my right breast weeks later. My family and I were amazed at the Memorial Sloan Kettering’s new surgery center in Manhattan, called the Josie Robertson. It was beautiful! Like a high-end hotel, staffed with incredibly caring people. I breezed in, confident that I could handle the emotional stress of having my breast removed.

As it turned out, I was a weenie. As the nurses attempted to administer a nerve block by injecting my spine with pain meds, I started shaking uncontrollably. I didn’t realize until that moment just how worried I really was. The nurses, gracious and understanding, placed their hands on me to help me calm down.

You would have thought that was the wakeup call I needed, but during chemo, once again, I found myself face-to-face with my fear. It was my last infusion of Adriamycin, also called the Red Devil, because of its color, the middle of my chemotherapy program. The veins of my left arm (the only one we could use) were pretty battered and the nurse struggled to find a vein that could stand up to a needle. She tried once, twice, three times poking different spots on my arm and hand. When that didn’t work, she brought in another nurse to try. And, another. I was horrified, shaking like a leaf, my shoulders at my ears. Then suddenly, I realized, I had a choice. I could either make this day the worst of my treatment and jeopardize my progress, or I could relax, breathe and accept it. I chose the latter. The sixth needle found its home and I vowed from that point on that I would no longer stand apart from my treatment. Instead, I would be present and participate and help the staff help me. It was a breakthrough. I had faced my fears and I was winning.

Courtesy of Gerri Willis
The author during treatment.

With that win under my belt, I decided that to get through the remaining four months of treatment, I would have to rethink my approach. I broke down every step I would have to complete. Each visit to the doctor would be a win. Every treatment a celebration. I mounted a white board in my office, so I could track every move forward.

With a sense of accomplishment behind me, I began to reach out to others. Never good at asking for help, I started small, talking to other women in the waiting room, instead of regarding them as the “sick people.” Now, I knew, I was sick too! Surely, if women in their seventies could handle these treatments, I could as well. I was beginning to feel confident.

My mom had stayed with me during the first surgery and now I encouraged my brother to come for a visit. But our time together would transform my happiness from a rollercoaster high into something deeper and more permanent. I was learning the power of family and personal relationships in a way I never had.

It was the first time my brother, Steve, and I had spent time together, just the two of us, since we were kids. I got to know my brother as the successful grown-up he is and he helped me with many of the emotional hurdles I was facing, explaining how as a pastor he dealt with anxiety and disappointment. This is an experience that I carried beyond my c@ncer year and into my new life.

But no lesson was more important than this: I learned to take life day by day and hour by hour. If c@ncer teaches you anything at all, it’s that life is not guaranteed. You have to enjoy it where you are. As I counted down the treatments, I started spending more and more time at our second home in the Berkshires, where I took long walks in the woods. Just sitting outside during the late summer and early fall was a tonic for me. It relaxed me and forced me to think of things other than my next treatment. I began to notice how beautiful the trees were and how lovely the stream was near our house. I started a meditation program.

I wasn’t crying because I was sad. Instead, I felt lucky.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget sitting in a lawn chair at the Boston Symphony Orchestra’s summer home, Tanglewood, on a sparkling summer morning as the orchestra played Mozart. My husband and I had been planning the visit for a long time, but were forced to delay our visit on several occasions because of bad weather — and of course, the c@ncer. So here we were, finally, listening to the BSO rehearse its weekend program. Their music was stunning, made even more beautiful by the backdrop of mountains, the blue sky and my husband, David, sitting next to me. I tried to hide the tears flowing down my cheeks. Thankfully, I am wearing a broad-brim hat. I had so looked forward to this day! And, now here it was and I was blessed enough to enjoy it. I wasn’t crying because I was sad. Instead, I felt lucky.

For me, fighting breast c@ncer tried and tested my most basic assumptions about living. Take the assumption that I had about getting sick. I believed that I would get treated, battle through recovery and work to regain my former self. In other words, my goal was getting back to normal. But here’s the thing: My new self is truly better than my old self. It sounds strange and foreign as a concept. How can you suffer through a battle with a life threatening disease and come out better than when you started? Well, you have to start by overcoming your fears. And, that means facing up to them. Stop yourself from feeling overwhelmed by breaking down the task of treatment and recovery into small, manageable steps. Celebrate even the small wins! And, finally, pull your friends and family closer to that you can enjoy each and every day and every hour!

Gerri Willis covers personal finance and consumer topics for the Fox Business Network, where she is an anchor and reporter.