“I knew I wasn’t going anywhere. I wasn’t letting cancer take me.”—Betty Cohen 

There are people whose presence makes you stand a little taller, breathe a little slower, and remember that resilience is not loud, it’s steady. This Thanksgiving, I can think of no better person to highlight than Betty Cohen, a woman who embodies gratitude, courage, and the quiet power of choosing life every single day. 

Betty’s story begins in Brooklyn, where she was born into a family marked by extraordinary strength. Both her mother and father were Holocaust survivors. Though she never met her grandparents on either side, she has always felt protected by them. When Betty met her husband and moved to Smithtown, she brought her strong family bonds with her, eventually convincing her mother and brother to join her there. Family, in all its forms, has always been her anchor. 

Professionally, Betty spent her life helping others find their voice—quite literally. As a speech-language pathologist working in geriatric nursing homes, she comforted, supported, and advocated for patients who relied on her compassion and expertise. When the pandemic hit, her retirement came sooner than planned. Saying goodbye to her patients was wrenching, but her children begged her not to return. They wanted her safe. They needed her safe. 

Retirement didn’t slow her down. Betty shifted into a new rhythm: reading countless books, joining online clubs, Zoom meetups, friendship circles—building connection in a world that suddenly felt far apart. 

But then came September 2021. 

A lump. A doctor who thought it was Covid related. A cardiologist who ordered a calcium scoring test simply to check for plaque. Zero plaque… but something else. A shadow. A question mark. A pause. 

The call that came afterward turned her world inside out. 

Estrogen-receptive positive breast cancer. 

Betty’s response? 

“I will get through this.” 

 Some believed the cancer may have been triggered by the estrogen treatments she received during her in vitro journey to conceive her twin boys. Her answer to that was immediate and unwavering: “Even if it was from that, I would not have changed a thing. Never, ever.” 

She and her husband were supposed to leave for Vegas the same week. Most people would have canceled. Betty didn’t. Her bravery didn’t waiver—her trust in God didn’t either. There were no appointments available that week anyway, so she looked at her husband and said, “Let’s get packed.” 

On that trip, she made a promise to herself: 

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m not letting cancer take me.” 

When treatment began—chemo, surgery to remove her left breast, 27 lymph nodes (with 9 cancerous and used for medical study), radiation, and more—Betty did something remarkable: she dressed up. 

Every appointment. 

Every treatment. 

Makeup. Nails. Outfits that said: I am still me. 

She fought for dignity. For her womanhood. For her kids, who were high school seniors, and whom she did not want to look back on their pivotal year and remember only fear. 

The hardest part for her wasn’t the needles, the surgeries, the exhaustion. 

It was the hair. 

“To lose your hair is to lose a part of who you are as a woman,” she said. 

Even then, she kept giving. 

One day, she noticed another patient crying quietly. Betty sat beside her, gently sharing what she had learned: treatment could save her life. Weeks later, a young woman approached Betty to say, “My mom gets treatment just to see you.” Those words stayed with her. 

When strong medications began stealing her quality of life, she didn’t just accept it. She told her doctor, “I want quality, not quantity. Change it.” She advocated for herself the way she now urges every woman to do. 

Four years later, Betty is cancer-free, living vibrantly and gratefully. She organizes meet-up lunches, plans outings, celebrates holidays, stays connected with friends old and new. She is full of life—because she chose life. 

I’m honored to call her my friend. 

When I asked Betty what she wants women going through their own diagnosis to know, she didn’t hesitate: 

“Advocate for yourself. Ask questions. Fight for your life. You CAN get to the other side of this. I live with zest—and so can you. In fact, I rang the bell!” 

As we approach Thanksgiving, Betty’s story reminds us of what gratitude truly looks like. 

Not perfection. 

Not easy roads. 

But the choice to meet each new day with courage, gratitude, and a fierce love for life.