Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Like your friend, sister, daughter, coworker or neighbor, Deborah A. Cohen was going about her life as a young and healthy woman until she was unexpectedly struck with a diagnosis of breast cancer. A graduate of Harvard Business School and Smith College, she is a marketing director for the professional services firm PricewaterhouseCoopers. In addition to her “day job,” she is active in several breast cancer advocacy efforts, including “Climb for the Cure,” a multi-million dollar mountain climbing fundraiser, and the Breast Cancer Coalition’s Leadership Education and Advocacy Development Program. Originally from Milwaukee, WI, she currently resides in Rowayton, CT and New York City.

Robert M. Gelfand, M.D., is an oncologist with a private practice in New York City. He is a Clinical Assistant Professor of Medicine at the Weill-Cornell Medical Center and at New York Presbyterian Hospital, where he also teaches. He received his undergraduate degree from the University of Pennsylvania and his medical degree from the State University of New York at Brooklyn. He completed his residency in internal medicine at Mount Sinai Hospital and a fellowship in hematology and oncology at The New York Hospital-Cornell University Medical Center. Dr. Gelfand is married and has three daughters.

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JUST GET ME THROUGH THIS!

KENSINGTON BOOKS

Contents

A Note from the Authors...........................................................ixAcknowledgments...................................................................xForeword by Dr. Robert M. Gelfand.................................................xiiForeword by Dr. Faith A. Menken and Dr. Eugene J. Nowak...........................xivIntroduction......................................................................xvChapter 1. Managing the News......................................................3Chapter 2. Swinging into Action...................................................31Rules of the Road for Family, Friends, and Other Participants.....................65Chapter 3. Deciding on Surgery....................................................71Chapter 4. Undergoing Surgery.....................................................87Chapter 5: Recovering from Surgery................................................93Rules of the Road for Family, Friends, and Other Participants.....................112Chapter 6: Deciphering Treatment Alternatives.....................................117Chapter 7: Managing Treatments: Chemotherapy and Radiation........................131Rules of the Road for Family, Friends, and Other Participants.....................187Chapter 8: Ending Treatment.......................................................193Chapter 9: Maintaining a Healthy Lifestyle:.......................................215Rules of the Road for Family, Friends, and Other Participants.....................237Some Parting Thoughts.............................................................241Index.............................................................................247

Chapter One

There is no good way to receive the news that's the single fear beyond your worst dreams—that you have cancer. No, not somebody else, but you. This chapter will cover a few ways to handle this nightmare over the first few days, in terms of:

? Comprehending the news yourself, and communicating it to those few people who need to know as soon as possible, both for your sake, if only to be able to vocalize it, and theirs.

? Reacting to the news, and a few ideas for giving yourself a helpful perspective on the situation.

? Spreading the news, and determining how broadly and by what means to expose yourself to the "outside" world.

COMPREHENDING AND COMMUNICATING THE NEWS: AN UNEXPECTED TIDAL WAVE

Malignant Cells: Are Those the Good Ones or the Bad Ones?

It's 4 P.M. on a Thursday afternoon, and I'm waiting for a meeting to begin in my office. The phone rings and I decide to answer it while I await my guest. I had been to see a "breast specialist" forty-eight hours earlier for a biopsy on a lump I had found on the side of my breast, but to be honest, I hadn't thought twice about it since. He had reassured me, "It's probably nothing. With women your age, most likely—80 percent chance—it's just a fibrous knot." I had no family history, knew nobody who had breast or any other cancer in my age group, so I had just put it out of my mind.

No more; actually, never again. When I answered the phone, he got straight to the point. "Hello, this is Gene Nowak. I'm sorry to tell you this, but the lab tests showed some malignant cells in your biopsy, which will require treatment." Malignant? Are malignant cells the good ones or the bad ones? I could tell by the tone of his voice that malignancies didn't exactly bring you the winnings of a lottery ticket, but what did he mean? Did he mean cancer? I had only known two people with cancer, and they were older relatives of mine, my grandfather and my uncle, more than ten years ago each. I knew that "lumps," tumors, or cysts—whatever you call them—were classified as either malignant or benign, but I didn't know which was okay and which meant cancer. It just wasn't on my radar screen. It was irrelevant to my young, healthy, active life. Treatment? What does that mean? Is it surgery? Or does it mean lots of other medical "procedures" that are terrifying, so the doctors don't tell you the potentially far-reaching implications of them now, because you have enough to swallow today? My head was spinning.

So, I queried, "Dr. Nowak, does this mean I have c-c-c-c-cancer?" And he responded, "Yes, unfortunately it does. Why don't you come see me tomorrow morning when I have some time to sit with you and thoroughly discuss your alternatives." Tomorrow morning? Can I wait until then? Will I still be alive!? I was in shock. I managed to get out, "Okay. What time?" Then I put the phone down. Now the entire room was spinning. I was shaking and my heart dropped to my stomach. I called my mother. "Mom, the biopsy is back and it shows some malignant cells." "What???" she responded. "Mother, I have breast cancer," I replied, deliberately pronouncing each word. And as I hung up the phone on her because those were the only words I could muster, my meeting guest was standing at my office door. I looked up and said, "I have to cancel our meeting and go home. My doctor just told me I have cancer." And I picked up my coat to leave. Yes, malignant cells are the bad ones. And there, I had even said the "c" word three times. As I left the office, I knew that somehow my life had changed forever, but I was not yet quite sure how. All I knew was that I felt as if I had been smacked in the face by a tidal wave. Somehow, I would have to pick myself up and put myself back together again.

There Are Many Roads Leading to "Suspicious."

If you're reading this book, unfortunately you may have realized that there are many roads which can lead your doctor to mutter something about "suspicious ____" (fill in the blank). It could be several alternatives: a "lump" you found yourself, either intentionally or accidentally; a "thickening" that your doctor found upon examination; or a mammogram where something caught the doctor's attention. Whatever the pathway there, the next step is typically a biopsy. You must understand the role of the biopsy, and what information you can glean from it before considering your surgical options, if that is the appropriate route. Remember, early-stage cancer is very treatable, with extremely high survival rates. In a strange sort of way, think of yourself as lucky that your doctor was suspicious. It may have saved your life.

Getting Your Lab Report ... like Remembering Where You Were When JFK Was Shot.

Just accept that you will never forget the moment your doctor received the results of your lab test, and had to break the news to you. Just as every American adult has a vivid snapshot branded in their memory of exactly where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news that John F. Kennedy was shot, so will you have an indelible imprint of where you were and how you were told that you have cancer. Just as JFK's assassination became a significant moment in American history, your news will become a part of your heritage, your strength, who you are. No matter how much you want to rewind the clock and erase it, you can't. Cancer is now part of your history....