Olivia's Cancer Diagnosis - Cine TeleRevue

EXCLUSIVE Fear, anger, and love allow me to believe in miracles by Olivia NEWTON-JOHN

I've always loved my bedroom balcony overlooking the garden. From there, between the palm trees, I can see the Pacific Ocean stretching as far as the eye can see. Our beachfront house in Malibu is our favorite for the tranquility it brings us. Matt and I have experienced so many happy moments there. Chloe has thrived there.

Before, I used to get out of bed in the morning and sit in one of the armchairs on the terrace. Facing the sea, I would let the sun wake me up little by little. Now, the terrace has become my refuge. It's where I write, where I confide in a notebook the terrible moments I've experienced lately. I also paint.

The ocean is an inexhaustible source of inspiration. I've found a balance, an inner peace that I'd never felt before. Before. I have the feeling that nothing will ever be the same again. Cancer. That's what's changed. That terrible word struck me right in the chest one day. You die from it, you suffer from it, but you also recover from it.

Last June, I confidently went to my doctor for a routine checkup. After a certain age, women are supposed to see their gynaecologist regularly.

A few days after this visit, my husband told me the doctor wanted to see me again. I had my doubts. I felt something wasn't right. I had to have a biopsy, which came back negative. That was a good sign. But I had a deep-seated feeling that my body was sick. The doctor had this feeling too, and he ordered more tests. When he got the results, I anticipated his answer: I have cancer, don't I? He could only nod.

I don't feel anything. I think of Kate Jackson, who won her battle. And Jill Ireland, who lost hers.

Matt and I remained silent during the drive back to Malibu. I didn't know what to say. The words danced in my head. Cancer. Surgery. Treatment... I didn't know exactly how I felt. I think when the gynaecologist uttered the terrible word, I thought of my father, who had died two weeks earlier from a brain tumor. I saw myself at the funeral, at his bedside in the hospital. Back then, I thought: why him? It seemed so unfair.

Now, here I am in the car, I have cancer, and familiar landscapes are passing before my eyes. An hour ago, I didn't know I was sick. Now I do. And what does that change? Nothing. I don't feel anything. I don't experience anything. I don't realize it. I think of the many women who suffer from the same illness. I think of Jaclyn Smith and Kate Jackson, who survived. I'm also thinking of Jill Ireland who lost her battle.

The rest of the day passed as if nothing had happened. I was silent, indifferent, in shock. Matt said nothing, but he was surely worried about my attitude. I took care of Chloe as usual. Matt and I spent the evening together.

It wasn't until the middle of the night that the horrible truth woke me like a very bad nightmare. I got up and went downstairs. Halfway down the stairs, I felt my legs give way beneath me. I thought the cancer had already spread to all my other organs. Then I cried. Alone. Clinging to the banister in the darkness of the night. I could hear the familiar sound of ocean waves. Perhaps that calmed me. But I will never forget that night. The most horrible of all.

I'm 43 years old and I'm young. I have a 6-year-old daughter who needs her mom.

The next day, we went back to Cedars-Sinai Hospital. I had to undergo more tests to determine if the cancer had spread to other parts of my body. It takes a lot of courage. Luckily, Matt has always been there for me, helping me through the doubts and anxieties. I'm 43, I'm young. I have a 6-year-old daughter who needs her mom.

And then, I have so many plans. When the disease struck, I was planning my comeback. I had already booked the dates for an upcoming tour and was working on a brand new album. Surgery was unavoidable, but the chances of recovery were high. After fearing the worst, I was happy for two days. I laughed at the drop of a hat. While waiting for the surgery, which was scheduled for July 14th, I had plenty of time to reflect on what was happening to me.

Once the initial shock had passed, the inevitable question arose: why me? At first, I thought I was being punished. Punished by fate because I had known too much joy before. My meteoric rise in Hollywood, where I became a huge star with just one film, Grease.

My cloudless, starry-eyed happiness with Matt. All of that, no doubt, was too much. But it couldn't be. I'd already had my share of misfortunes too: the failure of my film career, the flop of my last album, the bankruptcy of my Koala Blue clothing line. I lost a good part of my fortune, but that wasn't what grieved me the most. I thought about the employees of the 69 stores who were going to be unemployed. I felt responsible for a long time. So, why me?

I had two miscarriages. Why did fate have this cruel twist of fate?

Chloe brought me back down to earth. She knew I needed surgery, but we didn't tell her I had a very serious illness. Children, though, have incredible instincts. And I think she figured it out all by herself.

Chloe's birth will forever remain the most beautiful day of my life. Matt and I wanted more children. I had two miscarriages. I still think about it with sadness. But Chloe's laughter playing in the garden pulls me out of the torpor this damn cancer has plunged me into.

I'm angry. Furious. No, I'm not going to let it get me down. I've overcome many trials; this one isn't any worse than the others, just a little tougher. I want to see my daughter grow up, I want to see her become a mother herself. I have so much to teach her, so many secrets to share with her. And even if I have to die, I want her to remember me as a mother who fought and believed in life until the very end.

When you're afflicted with such an illness and you don't know how much time you have left, you go through a period of nostalgia. You delve into the past in search of happy moments. I remembered the filming of Grease, a blessed period in my life, and the success of my album Xanadu. I found fame along with happiness. Matt, then 21, was a dancer and extra in the film. That's where I met him.

At first, our relationship was shocking because he was eleven years younger than me. The business didn't spare us. But I always had faith in him, faith in our love. And if I had to do it all over again, I would do it exactly the same way.

The day before the operation, by mutual agreement with Matt, I decided to tell the press about the illness that was consuming me. In Hollywood, journalists don't care much about the private lives of public figures. Rather than let them spread the most odious rumors about me, I preferred to reveal the truth to them. That ordeal may have been harder than the operation itself.

The procedure (removal of part of my right breast) went smoothly. I agreed to breast reconstruction surgery. This operation was an attack on my dignity as a woman. I kept repeating to myself: Why did they have to do this to me?

Matt was always by my side, giving me confidence and helping me. I remember the little note I whispered to him: Honey, I don't want to die. He hugged me. That day, I understood that it takes two to win the toughest battles.

"I never thought John Travolta would come to see me. When he threw himself into my arms, I burst into tears.

When I woke up, there was a pile of letters on my bedside table. I could start a stamp collection; I have enough for the whole world! Cliff Richard wrote me a very beautiful letter, and he came to see me too. Just like John Travolta, who was one of the first to come to my room. I never would have imagined he'd come to the hospital.

This world is so superficial. But there are also exceptional people. When John came through the door with his large bouquet of flowers, when he threw himself into my arms, I burst into tears.

My past was flooding back to me once again. I also received a very long letter from George Bush. Can you imagine, the President himself taking the time to write to me! Anonymous fans sent me little notes to give me courage. I won't forget any of these tokens of affection and I hope to have time to reply to everyone.

Since I've been back in Malibu, life has returned to normal. I'm making plans again, and I really hope to one day finish this album I started before the illness. I can't say we had the best vacation, but at least we were together. After what I've been through, it's a privilege we've fully enjoyed.

I have chemotherapy sessions every three weeks. The treatment ends this month. Phew! At first, I was very scared: chemo doesn't have a very good reputation. I haven't lost my hair. Thankfully. But from the very first session, I felt nauseous. Sick. This therapy was hurting me more than the cancer itself.

The day before my scheduled treatment, my stomach was in knots just thinking about what I was going to go through. I had a terrible night. The nurses congratulated me on my courage. I didn't understand why. Inside, I was terrified. I wondered how this damn treatment that made me so sick could also make me feel so good!

To cope with it, I imposed a very strict lifestyle on myself: a healthy diet based on natural products, no more alcohol or cigarettes, and daily exercise. If I hadn't done that, I don't know if I would have made it.

For two years, the doctors will monitor me very closely. If no cancer cells appear, I can then be considered cured. In the meantime, I'm taking life as it comes. It's so unpredictable. But life goes on.

Every day, I learn a little more about love and compassion. I've discovered a courage within myself that I didn't know I possessed. I've learned so much during these months of anguish and pain. I now know the price of happiness.

In a few days, Chloe will celebrate her 7th birthday. I've invited her friends from class. I'm preparing everything myself. We're having a party at home and I don't want any help. Matt tells me to be careful, not to tire myself out. But for my daughter, I want to go the extra mile. I'm running around the shops to buy her the gift she's been dreaming of and find her a beautiful dress. I'm going to the supermarkets to stock up on the treats that children love so much.

In the space of a few months, this smiling woman has experienced the worst hardships. Fear and anger have transformed me. I'll bake the cake myself. I want this seventh birthday to be the best one yet. It feels so good to be alive.

Interview by Simon Mercer

Editor’s note: I’m not sure how much of this came from an interview versus being taken from recent articles. In my opinion, the cover photo (from the mid-80s) isn’t the best choice.