5 Questions: Andrea Lewis, Why I Shared My Breast Cancer Story

Denver’s Andrea Lewis is one of the most capable women in network news. As a senior editorial producer for CNN, she has worked alongside the biggest names in broadcasting, including Don Lemon, Piers Morgan and Larry King.  She has been involved in the biggest stories of the past 25 years, both domestically and abroad. Before CNN, she produced for ABC’s “Good Morning America” in the pressure cooker environment of morning television. 

Lewis is a type A go-getter in senior television leadership, always in control, thriving on deadlines and balancing a full-time work schedule and a busy family with two children still at home. But her career and everything else were put on hold when she found a lump in her breast. A lump, she soon learned, was the size of a grapefruit. Instead of collapsing into a private hell as she navigated breast cancer, Andrea did what she has always done: she decided to tell the story. 

Andrea is now recovering from surgery and is getting her swagger back. In the meantime, she has been sharing her feelings, fears and immense gratitude to all the people who have stepped up to help her during this journey in her blog, The Big Interviews. For someone who is used to being in charge, she has learned to accept help, prioritize herself and believe in hope. This week, she answered our 5 Questions about her journey.  

You recently learned you had breast cancer and decided to share your story. Why did you make the choice to hit send, and what was the response like?

When I was diagnosed, I learned that the tumor had grown to 10 centimeters—about the size of a grapefruit. I had no family history of breast cancer. I’d just gotten busy with life, work and everything else, and I let too much time pass between mammograms. I didn’t prioritize myself, and that delay had serious consequences.

It would’ve been easy to stay quiet. But I kept thinking—if I could help even one person avoid this, then I had to speak up. So I hit send. I shared my story, not because it was easy, but because I knew it might make someone stop, pick up the phone and schedule that mammogram they’ve been putting off.

Since then, one friend told me she found a very small tumor—early stage—and she only caught it because she saw my post and booked her screening. That’s exactly why I did it. If my story can be a wake-up call for others, then it’s worth every ounce of vulnerability it took to tell it.

You wrote about having to learn to accept help. How transformative has support been for you, and what is the best advice you’ve received?

I’ve always been fiercely independent. I’m the type-A organizer who manages meals, activities and logistics for our whole family—all while working more than 40 hours a week. So when this diagnosis turned everything upside down, it was incredibly hard to step back. I had to pause work, leave for doctor’s appointments and depend on friends and neighbors—especially when it came to meals.

What surprised me most was how meaningful those simple acts of kindness became. When someone dropped off a meal, it wasn’t just food—it was connection. I got to catch up, laugh and be reminded of how strong my support network really is. My daughter had a national dance competition during my surgery, and I had to rely on the other moms to get her there and cheer her on. And they did. Everyone showed up.

At first, accepting help made me uncomfortable. Then a friend told me, “Think of it like a piggy bank. You’ve spent years making deposits—helping others. Now it’s time to make a withdrawal.” That shifted everything. Letting others step in doesn’t mean you’re weak—it means you’ve built a strong enough community to lean on when it matters most.

You’re a wife, a mother of two young children and a senior producer for CNN. What has this experience taught you about priorities?

This experience has forced me to reevaluate everything. When I first felt a lump, I waited. And when I finally scheduled a mammogram, I did it on a day our show wasn’t airing—just so I wouldn’t miss work. Looking back, that was a wake-up call.

For more than two decades, I’ve prioritized my job—putting breaking news ahead of my own well-being. But this diagnosis reminded me: it’s just a job. The work will always be there. Someone else can step in. But my health? That’s irreplaceable.

Now, instead of chasing headlines, I’m navigating medical reports and treatment decisions. I’ve learned to put myself first—not out of selfishness, but out of necessity. And I hope that message sticks not just for me, but for anyone else who feels like they need permission to stop, breathe and prioritize themselves.

Processing this is difficult, and explaining it to adults is hard enough. How is it explaining this to your children?

Telling the kids was one of the hardest moments. There were still so many unknowns, and I didn’t want to scare them. But I’ve always believed in speaking to them with honesty and clarity—so when they asked questions, I answered them as directly and calmly as I could.

I told them the long-term outlook is very good and that I’m in great hands. I later found out that I have a genetic mutation—Chek2—which increases cancer risk, and that each of them has a 50% chance of inheriting it. They’ll be tested when they turn 18.

That’s a heavy conversation to have with young kids, but I kept reminding them: medicine keeps getting better. The science is advancing so fast. And most importantly, as long as things are caught early, this is treatable. I want them to feel informed, not afraid. Empowered, not overwhelmed.

You’re an active person—always hiking and skiing. How has your overall health contributed to your recovery, and what would you say to others on this unexpected journey?

When I learned I needed major surgery, I made a decision: I was going to go in as strong as possible. I remembered how tough recovery was after a past surgery, and I didn’t want to repeat that.

So I got to work. I exercised every morning, rallied a group to hike the Manitou Incline, and took every chance I could to move—skiing with the kids, walking daily, staying active. By the time surgery came, I felt stronger than I had in years.

That strength made a difference. The day after surgery, I was up and walking. I’ve been building on that every day—I’m already up to five miles. Recovery isn’t easy, but being in good shape gave me a huge head start.

If you’re facing something similar, I’d say this: do whatever you can to take care of your body ahead of time. Movement is medicine. It’s not about perfection—it’s about showing up for yourself, one step at a time.