One of the biggest problems we faced: Colon cancer screening was critically important, and yet people were just so viscerally turned off by the idea of it. All they had to hear was that it involved sending a tiny video camera on a six-foot-long tube up their bums, and many were inclined to say, “I’ll take my chances.”
Then a light bulb went off: I’d get one myself and put it on television.
A YEAR AFTER JAY died, we’d done a series on TODAY called “Confronting Colon Cancer.” Now, I told Jeff Zucker, I wanted to go even deeper （literally）。 I wanted to help demystify and destigmatize a potentially lifesaving procedure.
“Fantastic,” said Jeff, who, in a bizarre coincidence, had also battled colon cancer at a young age. “Let’s do it.” We tapped Ken Forde, a well-respected doctor at Columbia-Presbyterian, to do the honors.
A few days later, a camera crew set up in my kitchen to capture the prep. My task was to consume a gallon of something vile, misleadingly named GoLytely—a cherry-flavored concoction that would get everything moving, so to speak. I’d been advised to suck on a wedge of lime before and after each glass, tequila-shot-style （which this decidedly was not）。 I held my nose throughout most of it.
Gulping an entire jug of the stuff was no small feat. The final glass taunted me; I approached it like I was about to attempt the seventh summit. In one swift motion I downed it—and threw up all over my kitchen floor. Then I begged Arron, the cameraman, to destroy the footage. “I’m trying to get people to do this,” I said. “If they find out how tough the prep is, they never will.” （Thankfully, the vomit tape never surfaced. And the prep has become so much easier.）
The next morning, we filmed in the endoscopy suite at Columbia-Presbyterian—me in a fetching hospital gown with a big opening in back. “Please, guys,” I said to the crew, “if it rears its head, do not shoot my ass.” I asked Dr. Forde to give me enough anesthesia to dull the pain but not enough to put me out—I wanted to be able to give the play-by-play for the cameras.
One of the nurses inserted an IV in my forearm through which Demerol would flow and make me woozy. “I’m a little nervous,” I said. “Is that normal?” They assured me it was.
Soon, we saw a pulsating image on a screen of a glistening tunnel with many bumps and bends. “I have a pretty little colon,” I said in my semi-dopey state, which got a chuckle from the team. “But you didn’t put the scope in yet, did you?”
Dr. Forde laughed. “Yeah, we’re doing it! We’re almost done!” I thought that exchange, more than anything, might really convince people to get their colons checked out—when this much-feared procedure was underway, I didn’t even know it. Dr. Forde pronounced my colon “clean as a whistle.”
My up-close-and-personal colonoscopy was a hit, bringing reporter involvement to a whole new level. Not only did it receive a tremendous amount of press, but it brought colon cancer out of the closet. Stacks of cards and letters （and even a few X-rays of people’s colons） were delivered to my office. I was overwhelmed by the intensely personal stories.
I wrote back to as many people as I could. Decades later, I still think about them. Did they have a recurrence? Are they still alive?
Meanwhile, Allison Davis, our head writer, who is Black, thanked me for choosing a Black doctor to perform the procedure. When we decided to go with Dr. Forde, it hadn’t occurred to me that we’d be sending a powerful message. I understood the impact as soon as she mentioned it and was so glad we’d made that choice.
Of everything I’ve done in my career, here is the thing of which I’m most proud: Studying the impact a public figure can have on health issues, the University of Michigan reported a 20 percent jump in colonoscopy screenings as a result of my airing the procedure. They called it the Couric Effect. But even more gratifying was unsolicited feedback from Ellie when she was just nine. One night, while setting the table, she caught me by surprise. “Mom, I’m so proud of the work you’re doing with colon cancer.”
Our big-ticket fundraisers for the NCCRA, I say immodestly, set a new bar for benefits, including a Titanic-scale overnight aboard the brand-new Queen Mary 2, docked in New York Harbor. Passengers dined on truffled tenderloin as John Lithgow emceed and Jon Bon Jovi and Harry Connick Jr. performed. Beyoncé delivered a goose-bumps-inducing rendition of “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” Nathan Lane sang “My Favorite Things” with lyrics tailored for New Yorkers by the insanely clever Marc Shaiman: