Liz Talbert wears two bracelets every day—one that reads “grateful” and another that says “core four,” a tribute to her family.
Together, they remind her of the people and perspective that have carried her through some of life’s hardest moments.
In 2021, Talbert went to the doctor for what she believed would be a routine colonoscopy, a screening she had delayed for years. At 55, she expected reassurance, not a life-changing diagnosis.
“As I was coming out of the anesthesia, the doctor said, ‘You have an ulcerated tumor. You need to go see an oncologist,’” she recalled.
There was shock, confusion—and she was alone. Still under COVID protocols, her husband, Matt, had to wait in the car.
She remembered how, when he was finally brought up to the recovery floor, the doctor repeated the news.
He was “just floored,” she said.
Talbert was advised to call Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center in West Harrison, a place she later said she was “so grateful” for because of its convenient commuting distance from Yorktown, where she has been part of the community for more than two decades. Talbert is also a strong advocate for the town’s youth, serving as executive director of the Alliance for Safe Kids and as an adult advisor to the Yorktown Youth Council.
“I had great support from friends that just jumped right in,” she said. “I couldn’t even make that phone call to Sloan because I was having a hard time saying ‘I have cancer’ and a wonderful friend of mine called and made the appointment, set everything up.”
What followed was a blur of scans, appointments—and waiting.
A CT scan was scheduled quickly and she had it on a Thursday, but the results didn’t come until Monday, a wait Talbert said felt endless.
“I didn’t know if the cancer was isolated, if other organs were impacted,” she said. “It was such a surreal time—the not knowing.”
She was diagnosed with stage 3 anal cancer, a condition she said she had rarely heard discussed and one that immediately carried emotional weight.
Once treatment began, Talbert entered a five-week regimen that included daily radiation, chemotherapy pills, and chemotherapy infusions at both the beginning and end of the cycle. She later joined a clinical trial involving immunotherapy infusions designed to reduce the risk of recurrence.
She said the structure of treatment became something to hold onto.
“I’m so grateful for this place, these doctors. I remember receiving the radiation being like, I don’t know who invented this machine, but I’m grateful for them,” she said. “I was just always so appreciative.”
Outside of treatment, Talbert leaned heavily on family and friends. Her two adult sons, Patrick and Brendan were a constant source of support throughout her diagnosis and recovery.
She also found strength in online patient communities, where she connected with others facing similar diagnoses. Those conversations helped reduce the isolation that often accompanies a rare or stigmatized cancer.
“I am someone who [takes] charge. I’m going to get it done. Now all of a sudden, I’m in this situation where I have no control. I have absolutely no control,” she said. “I had to put my faith in the hands of these wonderful caregivers. I had to accept support and help, and that’s not me. I’m the helper.”
She said she had to remind herself that it was OK to lean on others and accept support from her friends—many of whom dropped everything for her.
Talbert described the journey as a “roller coaster” filled with many emotions.
“There were many dark moments—crying into the pillows,” she said. “The weekend I was waiting for the scan results, I was all alone in the house. And I just, I let out a sound I didn’t know I could actually make. I was so scared.”
She remembered thinking, “I just want to be with my family, my family still needs me—my mom, my kids. I would have made a deal with anyone above or below to have a good result.”
Over time, she also found something unexpected in sharing her story. Others began opening up to her about their own experiences, and that transparency made her want to do the same. Despite the discomfort she said often surrounds discussions of anal cancer, speaking about it became part of how she processed everything—and how she could help others feel less alone.
This year, Talbert will serve as Yorktown’s 2026 Relay For Life survivor honoree, a role she initially declined when first approached a few years back.
At the time, she said it felt too soon. But when co-event lead Kellie Slater reached out again, Talbert said she would think about it.
“I called her right back. I was like, I don’t know what I need to think about, of course,” she said.
Talbert said it became an immediate yes.
Behind that moment is a community that sees Talbert’s cancer journey as part of something larger than one individual’s experience.
Each year, the Relay For Life committee gathers to reflect on the people who represent the heart of Yorktown. According to Slater, survivor honorees are chosen not only for their personal journeys, but for the way they embody connection, leadership, and resilience.
“Every year, our committee comes together to brainstorm—to think about our community and those who make Yorktown, well, Yorktown,” Slater said. “Our survivor honorees are so much more than survivors—they are community leaders, cherished friends, heroic champions.”
When Talbert’s name came up, Slater said the response was immediate.
“Liz was our choice,” she said. “Then I had the honor of asking her. And we all held our breath and crossed our fingers she would say yes.”
Slater said Talbert reflects the heart of the event’s purpose.
“Liz embodies our mission for every cancer and every life,” she said.
Relay For Life, organized through the American Cancer Society, is more than a fundraiser—it is a community movement that brings together neighbors, families, schools, businesses and local leaders. It honors survivors, remembers those lost and supports those still fighting.
For Talbert, that sense of community has become one of the most lasting outcomes of her experience. What began as a deeply personal diagnosis has grown into something she now carries with others—through conversations, shared stories, and presence.
As she reflects on the years since her diagnosis, she returns to a phrase that continues to resonate:
“Cancer is a gift wrapped in barbed wire.”
“I don’t think before June of 2021, I would have understood what that meant,” she said. “But it is so crystal clear to me now… everything shifts.”
Those two bracelets on her wrist now serve as a daily reminder of her “why”—and what truly matters.
Comments
No comments on this item Please log in to comment by clicking here