Cancer Schmancer (20 page)

There were Web pages full of women’s personal accounts of having been through radiation therapy. A lot of them said they 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page 165

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wished their doctors had really explained to them just how long term the side effects were. One woman complained of having painful intercourse and bleeding five years after treatment. There was also a general sense of regret that receiving the radiation prolonged feelings of sickness for years after treatment. Women who couldn’t resume a normal, active sex life after surgery felt they’d made a bad situation worse.

The more I read, the less I thought the radiation was for me.

The side effects seemed severe, and the only part of my body where it might inhibit recurrence was the vaginal cuff, where the radiation would be focused. Even that wasn’t a guarantee, which was galling. Another major turnoff was that if cancer did show up somewhere else down the road, radiation was likely to be less effective the second time around.

I finally spoke with the doctor in Wisconsin whose comments had opened this whole can of worms, and was sure glad I did, because it cleared up a lot of confusion. What he explained was that follow-up appointments with your physician are key to early detection of recurrence. Many of his patients lived on farms, however—some as far as three hundred miles away—and almost none of the women continued with their follow-up examinations after their release from the hospital. Because of this, he radiated all his patients as a precautionary treatment—not so much for the nine out of ten who’d never experience recurrence, but for the one in ten who would.

In my case, he felt I was not a candidate as long as I was diligent about going for my checkups every three months. What a relief!

Two doctors at Sloan-Kettering in New York each read my pathology reports and said adamantly that they wouldn’t suggest radiation for a stage-one/grade-two patient, but each reiterated the importance of follow-up exams.

M. D. Anderson had a slightly different response. The doctor 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page 166

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down there thought radiation on the vaginal cuff would be prudent, since the tumor was so low in the uterus. “The odds are already stacked in your favor, so whatever you decide, it’s really a win–win situation. I don’t think there’s a right or wrong answer here,” he said, and then referred me to a gal in radiation who specialized in brachytherapy.

When that radiologist called back, she explained that at M. D.

Anderson they administer the radiation completely differently from Cedars. I found this strange. You would think there’d be a standard for this type of treatment, but there isn’t. Consequently, the type of radiation treatment a patient receives will vary not only from state to state, but hospital to hospital! Who knew?

The M. D. Anderson radiologist explained that at her hospital they use a more state-of-the-art machine that is specifically designed for the vaginal cuff. This renders the other instruments for the rectum and the bladder unnecessary. Also, they don’t drag it out over so many weeks. The radiologist said they’d do the treatment every other day over a period of ten days. Needless to say, if I decided to go forward with the radiation, I was going to Houston to do it. I said, “If I were your sister, what would you recommend?” Her answer was, “I’d probably say do it, but honestly, you never know what you’ll do until you’re actually in the situation.”

So basically, I was back to square one. It was just like the doctor from City of Hope said. If I gathered too many opinions, it would just confuse me. I don’t think there’s a radiologist you’ll ask who won’t recommend radiation. Duh. But the physician at M. D.

Anderson had expressed concern about how low in the uterus my tumor was. Otherwise his opinion might have leaned on the side of Sloan-Kettering.

I didn’t know what to do. This was such an important decision. Elaine said I had to make a choice and once I did I had to live with it. If I didn’t do the radiation, I’d have to make peace 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page 167

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with that choice and never look back with regrets, no matter what happened down the road. I wondered if I could do that. What if a year from now they found something? Would I beat myself up that I hadn’t received the radiation? On the other hand, if I got another cancer (God forbid), I could always seek radiation treatment then.

Perhaps I should take my chances now?

I don’t know exactly when it hit me, but I suddenly felt that 5 percent recurrence was something I could live with. Because there was 95 percent nonrecurrence on my side. What are we talking about here? Those are better odds than a motorist faces driving on the freeway, in L.A. at least! If the odds weren’t so stacked in my favor, I’m sure I would have thought differently. Of course, if the situation were different, the decision might not have been left up to me in the first place. But over and over again the doctors did all agree that I would not be making a mistake either way.

I remember saying, “My vaginal canal is all I have left. The last thing I want to do is shrink it.” Not with 95 percent in my favor.

They removed my ovaries, my tubes, my uterus, my cervix, my omentum, my appendix, and forty lymph glands, and everything but the tumor itself came back negative from both pathology reports. I mean, my own body didn’t seem to know it had cancer.

Not from the blood tests at least.

So based on days of research and networking I was able to make an informed decision not to move forward with the brachytherapy. I feel like my cancer is gone and won’t return. I did what was right for me. And whatever happens, I know there’s no turning back.

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The House of Blues

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iguess it was out of guilt that I decided to honor my commitment to walk the press line for the re-release of This Is Spinal Tap at the Egyptian Theater in Hollywood. I’d canceled a VH1 appearance a few months earlier when it turned out I was having the surgery that same week, and I felt bad about that.

It was hard to believe that Rob Reiner’s classic mockumen-tary was seventeen years old, or that I was old enough to have played an adult in a movie that had been made almost two decades before. Oy. But I thought it might be fun, so I invited several friends to go the premiere and then to the after-party at the House of Blues.

At the risk of sounding like a diva, I found trying to figure out what outfit to wear and how to do my hair simply too much. I was exhausted just trying to camouflage my fat! Oh, the trials of being an overweight celebrity. Wasn’t it enough I had cancer? Did I have to be publicly humiliated, too? Nothing fit, nothing looked good, and I just knew everyone was gonna say I looked better on The Nanny. Not to mention the movie from seventeen years before!

John and our friends were going to meet me at the theater, so I took the limo with Kathryn. Everyone was coming from work or 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page 170

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wherever, so it was just the two of us. As the car drove east through bumper-to-bumper traffic, I kept flipping down the vanity mirror to check myself. Was my lipstick smudged? Was my hair still nice? I was so insecure, so ill prepared for the barrage of press I was about to face.

When Kathryn’s cell phone rang, it was the public relations people advising us to kill some time before arriving, because things had gotten off to a late start and they wanted to space the celebrities’ arrivals. Well, I didn’t need any encouragement and told the driver to head to Elaine’s house, which was nearby in the Hollywood Hills. This will be good. She’ll say something positive about the way I look and bolster my self-esteem.

As she flung open her front door to greet us, I stood in the entryway, all smiles. “Fran, Kathryn, come on in,” she said with great fanfare.

“We were early for the premiere, so I thought we’d say hello,”

I said in the perkiest voice I could muster.

“How wonderful. Can I offer you girls a drink?” she asked.

A drink? What about the Fran, you look gorgeous part? The who did your hair? I love it! confidence booster? I was wearing a Lacroix skirt and leather jacket with motorcycle boots, and had nearly convinced myself I looked cute. What speaks the loudest with Elaine, though, is what she doesn’t say, and clearly she wasn’t thrilled by what she saw. Uh-oh. I wanna go home! What would be the worst thing that would happen if I was a no-show?

Lemme go back home, get all undressed, and back into bed where I’m happy.

But the P.R. person called Kathryn’s cell phone, alerting us to come now to the theater, and I begrudgingly waddled my fat ass back into the limo. As we pulled up to the theater, I was amazed by the turnout. For an old movie, the publicity machine had managed to create a lot of hype.

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The band members from Spinal Tap were halfway down the press line as I, too, began the red-carpet walk. As I passed the pa-parazzi, they all shouted at me.

“Fran, look over here.”

“How ya feelin’, Fran?”

“What’s coming up next for you, Fran?”

And there I was, smiling, posing, and pretending to want to be there. Am I holding my stomach in? Do I have lipstick on my teeth?

Can I go home now? And all the while I’m pumping, answering questions, and getting more and more exhausted with each interview. I really needed to sit down. Thank God, I hadn’t worn heels!

Inside, there were people everywhere. Is that free popcorn? We finally settled down in our seats and began watching the film.

Amazingly, it had held up well with the passing of time. I myself was surprised how cool and relevant it remained.

John and I split from the theater ahead of the crowds and dodged the reporters who were waiting for postscreening comments. We headed to the House of Blues, one of my favorite music venues in L.A. Spinal Tap was going to play. I really wished I felt better, though. Once in the limo I was really frazzled. My lipstick was off, my stomach was sore, my feet hurt. It was obvious I wasn’t ready to be out in public like this yet. It was all too much for me.

At the House of Blues I worried that my friends would have a problem getting in, worried that not everyone had gotten their tickets, and worried that there wouldn’t be enough table seating.

What can I say? It’s a thing with me, wanting everything to go smoothly for my guests. John can’t believe me sometimes. As it turned out, some guests had trouble getting in, some didn’t have their tickets, and there definitely wasn’t enough table seating.

I sat down and began ordering food for everyone. Chicken fingers were on the menu, and I’ve already established my weakness 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page 172

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for those. At the House of Blues they’re especially good! Guests began to crowd around the table, shmoozing, drinking, and gabbing as the food kept coming. I’d taken a pain pill to get me through it all, but my stomach felt empty and I needed to eat. I must have scarfed down a dozen fingers in just a couple of minutes and began to watch the concert.

I remember a P.R. person, Marty, came over to my table and asked if I’d go downstairs and do an interview for a magazine show.

Was he kidding? Did he realize my kishkas felt like they were about to drop out of me? Come on already, when is enough enough? So I said I was recovering from major surgery, and I really couldn’t go downstairs. The P.R. person simply couldn’t compute my response and seemed unable to hide his disappointment. He looked like he was going to cry as he disappeared into the crowd. Nu? Just what I needed, an emotional P.R. man to make me feel guilty.

I really was beginning to feel sick now: dizzy, sweaty, flushed, nauseous. Aren’t I a fun date? I leaned over to John, told him he should stay here with all our guests but that I must get into the limo and go home. He walked me to the car that was waiting outside and put me in, instructing me to get to bed as soon as possible. No problem there; I don’t know what I’d do without my bed.

I love my bed. My bed was calling me. Fran, darling, come nestle in me with the pillow and the blankie. . . .

As I settled into the back of the limo, the driver told me there were some fans waiting for me to autograph photos. He wondered if I wanted him to pass them into the car so I could sign them. No can do! I rarely reject people, but this time I told him I really didn’t feel well and needed to get home at once. With that, he snapped to it, cleared everyone away, and sped off. A man on a mission.

And it’s a good thing, too, because only moments later I found myself suddenly getting green around the gills. Thank 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page 173

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God there was a bag of popcorn left on the seat from the movie, because just as I grabbed it, like Mount Vesuvius, I erupted. I puked so bad I can’t even tell you how gross it was. Vomiting all by myself in the back of the limo. Oy. Sometimes there’s just no glamour in being a star.

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On Pins and Needles

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it was a woman sunning herself by my mother’s pool in Florida who said, “Tell your daughter, don’t expect to be back to normal for at least six months to a year.” And she was right.

Mom said she was a very pretty woman with a great body who was on vacation visiting her own mom. They started chatting, and this gal revealed that she’d had the same surgery as me. In ten minutes my mom can find out anyone’s life story. This woman told Mom,

“There will be good days and bad days for a very long time, but then one day she’ll wake up and the pain will be gone for good.

Tell her to be patient.”