Cancer Schmancer

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Fran

Drescher

9377 Cancer Schmancer 3/20/02 11:17 AM Page iv In this book, the identities of doctors, nurses, and others have been obscured or their names have been changed, including Vincenzo, Enid, Harriet, Tom, Sue, John, Marsha Rifkin, Richie, Lucy, Wanda, Marty, Yolanda, and Larry.

Copyright © 2002 by Fran Drescher All rights reserved.

Warner Books, Inc., 1271 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

Visit our Web site at www.twbookmark.com.

First eBook Edition: May 2002

ISBN: 0-7595-6688-7

Text design: Stanley S. Drate/Folio Graphics Co. Inc.

9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page v I dedicate this book to women with cancer, those who lost the battle,

those who won,

and those who continue to fight.

9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page vi 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page vii Good health and good sense are two of life’s greatest blessings.

—Publius Syrus (42 B.C.)

9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page viii 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page ix Acknowledgments

I thank the angels who guide me.

I bless the loved ones who support me.

All my gratitude and appreciation to: My mother and father, who stood strong so that I could be weak.

My sister, who’s not only an extremely smart nurse, but my lifelong friend.

Elaine, my great friend, second mother, and brilliant manager.

Peter, who lovingly opened his heart, which meant the world to me.

Rachel, who defines the words courage, intelligence, and friendship.

My therapist, for setting me free.

Kathryn, the most loving, caring right arm a girl could ever hope for.

Howie, who’s not only a devoted friend, but who also tirelessly edited and researched this book.

My surgeon, who saved my life and fights the good fight on behalf of women everywhere.

All the doctors and nurses who helped me and are committed to helping others each and every day.

Everyone at Warner Books who believed my story should be told.

And

John, the man I love, who valiantly and selflessly went to battle by my side and is now and forever my hero. His compassion and strength made all the difference.

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there I was in pre-op, awaiting my surgery. The makeup and hair team had done their usual best, natural and contempo-rary. The 60 Minutes camera crew had created a surprisingly flattering light. Lesley Stahl was witty and sympathetic as we chatted about The Nanny, my career, and the projects I’d be working on next. After I recovered from surgery, of course.

As they began to put away their equipment, my dear friend Nicole Kidman stopped by to offer encouragement. Kissing me on the forehead, she slyly tucked a film treatment under my pillow. It was titled Best Friends, and she had her heart set on my costarring.

What a doll! The project probably wouldn’t ever happen, but just the fact that she’d thought of me meant so much.

While the orderly began to wheel me to the O.R. I thought, He’s not coming. But then the hallway’s double doors burst open and I heard the words, “Stop! Wait!”

“Brad, you came. You’re so sweet,” I said, noticing the stir Brad Pitt’s presence was creating among the nurses. “I can’t believe you came.”

“Of course I came. You’re having surgery, for God’s sake,” he responded, then kissed me softly on the lips. Wow, that was a first.

And not bad, either.

“But what about Jennifer?” I asked, feeling like the other woman, more than a little embarrassed that this conversation was happening in public.

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“That was a mistake, Fran,” he replied. Then, leaning over, he whispered in my ear, “I love you.”

“Oh, Brad, are you sure? Do you realize I have cancer?” I asked.

Fearlessly and eloquently, he responded, “Cancer schmancer!”

Boy, if only life were like the movies. . . .

The reality of the situation was quite different. Worried Jews (my family) were everywhere, crying, commiserating, and gorging themselves on Belgian chocolates. The nurse stuck stupid-looking blue hospital booties on my feet, which made me look like an oversize Smurf.

The orderly kept knocking my gurney around corners and through doorways like a drunk trying to drive through an obstacle course. There were no celebrities, no Lesley Stahl, and no cameras. In fact, in a vain attempt to keep my condition secret from the press, a towel had been placed over my face so I wouldn’t be recognized. I was half comatose from the heavy sedation and wore a dopey grin on my face as drool dripped from my mouth. Definitely not the movies, but my life and welcome to it!

I thought of Donna, my dear old friend whom I’d met years ago on the film Dr. Detroit. She once took two days to tell her mom about a death in the family. I told her I couldn’t believe how long she’d sat on the news. “Why?” she asked. “How would you have done it?”

Was she kiddin’ me, or what? “With my family, if I walked into the room and said, ‘Ma, I have something to tell you,’ she would have screamed, ‘Who died?’ and in ten minutes half of Queens would have known.” For me, life is loud, hearty, and full to the brim. Whatever I do, I do with gusto.

I was a chubby kid from Queens raised in a humble home by working-class parents. Somewhere along the line I moved to California, married my high-school sweetheart, got raped, became a 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page xiii Prologue

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famous TV star, divorced my high-school sweetheart, confronted my fears, lost the TV show, fell in love again, and got cancer.

Whew! Whose life is that, anyway? I still can’t believe it’s mine. I didn’t know I was going to write a book about the last couple of years, but this bout with cancer changed everything so profoundly I felt compelled to share my experience. I mean, if my last book—Enter Whining—was Star Wars, this, my friend, is The Empire Strikes Back.

Simply put, don’t let what happened to me happen to you!

I’m not a doctor (and no, I’ve never played one on TV, either), nor do I claim to have all the answers, but I do think you can learn from my experience.

Over a two-year period I saw seven different doctors in search of a diagnosis for my symptoms. I fell through the cracks every step of the way. It didn’t matter that I was the Nanny and everyone loved the show. I didn’t know what to ask for, and I wasn’t offered all available tests that could have diagnosed me. So for two years I walked around with a progressively worsening cancer and none of these doctors, not one, offered me the simple test that ultimately detected it. Maybe they thought I was too young. Too young for uterine cancer, but just ripe for a perimenopausal hormone imbalance. Please, I could not accept I was beginning my menopause at the very moment I was single and entering my sexual peak! No way. And thank God I didn’t, because nothing could have been further from the truth.

We need to educate ourselves about our bodies. Women need to understand gynecological cancers and the tests that can help detect them. We should know what’s out there. We should hear our options. We should be in control. Once you wake up and smell the coffee, it’s hard to go back to sleep! Let me sound the alarm. Since it’s not my intention to point fingers at individual doctors, I don’t name the names of those physicians I went to 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page xiv xiv

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along the way. They’re no different, no better, no worse, than the doctors you may encounter in your neck of the woods. It’s not about them, it’s about you. Us. We’re the ones who must change, if we ever expect there to be change. We have to take control of the situation, become educated consumers, network among ourselves, and gain information and insight into getting diagnosed and getting treatment. Someone gimme a podium!

I’ve tried to be as honest as I can. Even my editor said, “Fran, I don’t think we need to go into such detail about the change in your stool.” Nu? I share my struggles, my pain, the knowledge I’ve gained, and the relationship I have with my boyfriend, who stood by me through it all.

If what follows impresses just one thing on you, I hope it’s to never be passive when it comes to your health. Open a mouth! Assume that doctors, being human, are fallible, and remember that nobody knows your body as well as you do. Don’t be an ostrich, either. A problem doesn’t go away simply because you choose to ignore it. I promise you, the day will come when you can ignore it no more. And that’s when the shit hits the fan. Trust me, early detection is crucial.

Although getting cancer was probably the worst thing that’s ever happened to me (did I say “probably”?), there have been so many wonderful silver linings, too. Often, the truly great and valuable lessons we learn in life are learned through pain. That’s why they call it “growing pains.” It’s all about yin and yang. And that’s not something you order off column A at your local Chinese restaurant. They’re the positives and negatives of life. One doesn’t exist without the other. How you experience your pain, what you learn from it, and how you live through it—that’s what makes all the difference.

This book is a celebration of life as much as anything. The joy 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page xv Prologue

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and laughter I experienced with my family and friends, even during the worst of times, are the feelings I hope to leave you with. I definitely know more about women’s medicine than I did before the cancer, but most important, I know my loved ones better, and I know how to live life more completely. That’s my real triumph.

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A Diagnosis

J u n e 1 2 , 2 0 0 0

it seemed like any other day, but it wasn’t. I was getting dressed to work out. Leesa, my exercise instructor, was already upstairs waiting for me. My housekeepers, Ramon and Angelica, a dear couple from Guadalajara who have worked in my home for years, were cleaning in the kitchen. My dog, Chester, was asleep on the bed. Then the phone rang. It was my gynecologist calling.

“Oh, hi,” I said cheerfully.

“I got the results back from your tests. . . .”

“Yes?”

“I thought we should talk in my office, but then I figured calling would be easier than having you drive in and then having to drive home again,” she rambled. I honestly didn’t realize what she was getting at.

“It’s okay,” I told her, thinking I didn’t want to drive in just to talk, either.

Then she said it. “You have adenocarcinoma. I’m very surprised myself.”

“What’s that?” I asked, still not really understanding.

“Uterine cancer.”