In February, there was a time when I thought my career as a TV reporter was over. I was in the hospital, my liver showing signs of failure, my body struggling to recover from two major surgeries for two separate cancers.
The familiar world of TV reporting felt distant and out of reach. My identity as a journalist had dissolved — I was just someone hoping to survive, focused on finding the strength for a five-minute walk down the hospital hallway with a walker and an IV pole.
This month, I returned to work. And this week, you’ll see me back on the news.
It’s thrilling in a way I never expected. Stepping in front of the camera again, talking to people, and telling their stories felt like reclaiming a part of myself I thought I might never get back. Seeing my colleagues —who have been incredibly supportive throughout this journey — reminded me how much I missed the community that comes with this job.
For anyone living with advanced cancer, returning to work is a complicated decision. With two primary cancers — rectal and lung — the uncertainty of my future is undeniable.
Every three months, I have a CT scan to check if the cancers have returned. Follow-up appointments will be a constant in my life. But for now, the surgeries were successful, and I feel strong enough to be back in the field.
An American study found about a third of people with metastatic cancer continue to work. Some do it for financial stability, others for a sense of normalcy, identity, or purpose. For me, it’s all of the above.
I’ve also been inspired by Catherine, Princess of Wales’ message to those of us facing cancer: “Out of darkness can come light, so let that light shine bright.”
A year into this cancer adventure, I’ve found there are now moments when I forget I have cancer. Sometimes I go for hours without thinking about it — maybe because I’ve finally run out of webpages to doomscroll.
Cancer is unpredictable
The surgical scars are still there when I wake up in the morning, but they are slowly becoming a part of me, no longer something that defines me.
Of course, I know this calm period may not last. Cancer is unpredictable. But I remain hopeful that maybe I’ll get lucky.
As 2025 approaches, the world is full of challenges: economic uncertainty, political instability, wars abroad. But from where I sit, the world has never been better. I’m someone living with two cancers, yet I’ve been given hope for many more years to come. It truly is an amazing time to be alive.
When I think about what really counts, I keep coming back to a lyric from a Jewel song: “In the end, only kindness matters.” It may sound like a cliché, but I reached that conclusion while lying in a hospital bed.
Kindness from nurses, doctors, friends, and even strangers got me through some dark days. I’ve heard other cancer patients say the same thing — kindness matters in ways we can’t always articulate until we experience it firsthand.
Returning to work hasn’t been without its challenges. I’m still dogged by fatigue, and I wonder if I’ll be able to manage the stress of deadlines and long hours.
I worry about how it could impede my body’s ability to fight the cancers.
And even something as simple as sitting in traffic now feels like wasted, precious time.
But being back among colleagues has been overwhelmingly positive. So many have shared stories about their own health struggles or those of loved ones.
I’ve learned that being open about my cancer has helped others feel comfortable opening up to me. It’s led to honest, supportive conversations, free from awkwardness or pity.
If I have one piece of advice for others navigating a similar path, it’s this: Talk about it. Be open. It can ease the burden in unexpected ways.
We also need to talk more openly about death — but that’s a topic for another essay.
For now, I’m taking things one step at a time, working my way up to full-time hours and finding joy in doing what I love again. Telling stories about this wonderful world.