Thoroughly updated to incorporate the sweeping changes in medical insurance and employment laws, "Can Survive" focuses squarely on the needs of recovered cancer patients. Written by a cancer survivor, this groundbreaking book is a complete resource guide designed to help with problems commonly encountered after cancer treatment, from fear of remission to job and insurance discrimination to altered relationships and long-term physical effects from chemotherapy and radiation. Interweaving stories and tips from survivors with advice from doctors, oncology nurses, psychologists, and social workers, "Can Survive" is both reassuring and pragmatically useful.
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Book Description
Editorial Reviews
About the Author
A documentary filmmaker who was diagnosed with cancer when she was in her early teens, Susan Nessim organized a national support group for cancer victims called Cancervive. She speaks at medical centers throughout the country and has produced seven documentaries on cancer.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
1 My Story as a Survivor
As the plane made its final approach into Pittsburgh, I peered out the window at the mosaic of shimmering lights below. From my aerial viewpoint, I tried to form a first impression of the city I would soon be calling home. The pilot banked hard, and the soft diffusion of city lights suddenly gave way to the night sky. I sat back in my seat, closed my eyes, and focused my thoughts on the days that lay ahead.
With this trip, I felt certain I was finally free of the past and the threat it had once held for me. Four years earlier, in 1975 at the age of seventeen, I had been diagnosed with rhabdomyosarcoma, a rare form of cancer that attacked the soft tissue in my right thigh. With that diagnosis I embarked on a year-long medical odyssey, and learned firsthand what it meant to live with the imminent threat of dying. As grim as the experience was, I emerged from it with new eyes. The world was somehow more vivid to me, richer and more sharply edged. I was exhilarated with the simple joy of being alive and in good health.
But tonight I was also a little scared. I was flying to Pennsylvania to meet my fiancé's parents. As significant as that ritual is for most people, to me it held an even deeper meaning. A commitment to marriage meant a commitment to the future, a personal acknowledgment that I was going to live and thrive. I'd finally put cancer behind me.
Michael, my fiancé, was at the airport waiting to greet me. We had met more than a year before at the University of Colorado- Boulder, shortly after I'd returned to college following cancer treatment. I was then a sophomore intent on getting a degree in business. Michael, a senior, was studying to be an architect. We were introduced through mutual friends, and in two months' time we were dating exclusively.
Michael and I were typical college kids, full of hope and enthusiasm for the future. He had no trouble accepting my medical history, nor did any of my friends. Although I'd had cancer, I didn't see how it could present any obstacles to the plans I envisioned. If anything, beating the disease had made me more resilient and confident in my abilities.
The fall semester arrived, and with it came the realization that Michael would soon be graduating. He planned to move back to Pittsburgh and join his father's architectural firm, where he would be groomed to eventually take over. But Michael and I were very much in love; there was no way we could be apart. We talked about a future together, and then one day, ring in hand, he proposed.
As the chill of winter settled on Boulder, I began to make plans for the wedding and our life together. Michael and I decided that after the wedding we would move back East and I would finish school in Pennsylvania. But I was apprehensive. I'd never even been to Pittsburgh.
"That's easy enough to arrange," Michael said. "Why don't you come home with me for Thanksgiving? You can meet my parents and get to know the city." And so I found myself in Pittsburgh on a cold and moonless November night. As Michael drove away from the airport, I confided how anxious I was. "Just relax and be yourself," he said with a smile. "The rest will work itself out." Although it was late when we arrived, his parents were waiting up for us. We sat in the kitchen and chatted. Michael and I talked excitedly about our plans for the weekend and the neighborhoods of Pittsburgh we hoped to scout for houses. His parents said very little, and I thought it odd. I'd always known Michael to be open and affable, yet his parents seemed subdued, almost distant. But I was tired and more than a little nervous. So I dismissed those first impressions, sure that a good night's sleep would give me a fresh take on my prospective in-laws.
The following morning, Michael's mother agreed to join us for a tour of the city. When we stopped at a restaurant for lunch, she and I sat alone for a few minutes while Michael parked the car. We were trading polite "getting-to-know-you" small talk, when out of the blue she asked, "So what's it like living with a time bomb inside you?" The question stunned me. Was she joking? A look into her expressionless face told me that this was no attempt at gallows humor. Unsure of what to say, I smiled nervously while shrugging my shoulders, and frantically glanced around the restaurant for a sign of my fiancé.
But Michael's arrival did little to disperse the tension between his mother and me. As soon as we returned to the house I told him what had happened. His reaction surprised me. Instead of becoming angry at his mother or empathizing with me, Michael responded with a dismissive shrug. "Oh, Susan," he said inn his breezy manner, "you're being too sensitive. I'm sure she was just trying to make conversation." Perhaps he was right. Although I was still upset, I wasssss determined to overlook the incident.
That evening, Michael's father took us all out for dinner. Michael and his mother were engrossed in conversation when I turned to my future father-in-law and began to chat him up regarding our wedding plans.
"You know, Susan," he began slowly, "I'm sure you can understand my concern . . . as Michael's father . . ." He stared down at the food on his plate and nervously poked at it with his fork. "It's just that . . ." He seemed to want to say more, but was clearly having trouble finding the words to explain himself in detail. Instead, he simply cut to the chase. "It's just that . . . well, I don't want my son to be a widower." In the abrupt and awkward silence that followed, I struggled with what to say. I was young and scared and completely intimidated by his attitude. I knew that if I tried to defend myself, I'd fall apart. Instead I let the remark pass, and, turning to my fiancé, quickly changed the subject.
Once Michael and I were alone, I recounted the remark made by his father. My fiancé brushed it aside with a wave of his hand. Although I assured him that this was no exaggeration, Michael felt that I was overplaying the incident. He could not, or would not, confront his parents. He continued to defend them, obliquely suggesting I be more grown-up about it. I told him I wasn't comfortable staying in their house and would prefer to spend the rest of the weekend in a nearby hotel. I went upstairs to pack, hoping he would join me.
But Michael remained downstairs with his parents. I finished packing my bags, slipped off my engagement ring, and placed it on the bedside table. Shattered and demoralized, I flew home the next day to Palo Alto, California, and my family.
At the time, Michael and his parents' behavior seemed incomprehensible and unforgivable. It wasn't until years later, when a mutual friend mentioned that Michael's uncle had died of cancer shortly before our engagement, that I began to understand the emotional subtext of that weekend in Pittsburgh. My fiancé had never mentioned his uncle's long illness, which had apparently taken a tremendous toll on the family. I now realized that Michael's parents wanted to protect their son from further pain, and in their eyes my medical history jeopardized his happiness. That in turn explained Michael's actions-or more precisely, his inaction. He was undoubtedly afraid that our marriage would anger his parents and was paralyzed by the choice he had to make.
In the months that followed, I did my best to forget about Michael. I moved to San Francisco, where I took a job as a sales representative for a large cosmetics firm. It wasn't long before I formed a close friendship with Ellen, a young colleague who worked alongside me in the marketing department.
Our regional manager informed us that once we had completed our training we would be promoted and given our own territories to handle. I was looking forward to my promotion since I loved to travel. When a territory opened up in the Southwest, Ellen and I learned that the firm planned to cover it with someone from our office. The company was conducting interviews at its New York headquarters, so we both cleared our schedules for the trip.
"I've already booked a flight," Ellen announced when she dropped by my desk one morning. "I'm leaving the day after tomorrow. What about you?" I couldn't leave until the following week. I wished her luck and told her not to be nervous.
I called Ellen the night she returned home, hoping to pick her brain about the interview. She sounded surprised to hear from me.
"So how did it go?" I asked.
She hesitated. "Well, I think I got the job." "You mean they've already decided?" "Yes. I guess they have." I congratulated Ellen, but my enthusiasm was muted. Why hadn't I been given a chance to interview? The vice president of marketing had said he wanted to talk to both of us. What caused him to change his mind? I started asking questions and checking around. One day while having lunch with Kay, a company manager, I found the answer.
"I probably shouldn't even be telling you this," Kay began, "but it was such a lousy thing for them to do. I really thought you should know." She paused and leaned forward. "Ellen got the job because she told them you had cancer." My mouth was dry, and I suddenly found it difficult to speak. I was as confused by Kay's revelation as I was shocked by Ellen's betrayal. My bout with cancer had been years before. The success of my treatment appeared total, my long-term prognosis a relative certainty. My doctors had even used the word "cured." I simply didn't understand. How could cancer still be a factor in my eligibility for promotion? Kay must have seen the bewilderment in my face.
"Ellen said that because you'd had cancer and it had affected your leg, you wouldn't be physically able to handle all the traveling the job required." Like a blow on a bruise, her words revived the pain and anger I'd felt in Pittsburgh. How many years would have to pass before others saw me as a norma...
As the plane made its final approach into Pittsburgh, I peered out the window at the mosaic of shimmering lights below. From my aerial viewpoint, I tried to form a first impression of the city I would soon be calling home. The pilot banked hard, and the soft diffusion of city lights suddenly gave way to the night sky. I sat back in my seat, closed my eyes, and focused my thoughts on the days that lay ahead.
With this trip, I felt certain I was finally free of the past and the threat it had once held for me. Four years earlier, in 1975 at the age of seventeen, I had been diagnosed with rhabdomyosarcoma, a rare form of cancer that attacked the soft tissue in my right thigh. With that diagnosis I embarked on a year-long medical odyssey, and learned firsthand what it meant to live with the imminent threat of dying. As grim as the experience was, I emerged from it with new eyes. The world was somehow more vivid to me, richer and more sharply edged. I was exhilarated with the simple joy of being alive and in good health.
But tonight I was also a little scared. I was flying to Pennsylvania to meet my fiancé's parents. As significant as that ritual is for most people, to me it held an even deeper meaning. A commitment to marriage meant a commitment to the future, a personal acknowledgment that I was going to live and thrive. I'd finally put cancer behind me.
Michael, my fiancé, was at the airport waiting to greet me. We had met more than a year before at the University of Colorado- Boulder, shortly after I'd returned to college following cancer treatment. I was then a sophomore intent on getting a degree in business. Michael, a senior, was studying to be an architect. We were introduced through mutual friends, and in two months' time we were dating exclusively.
Michael and I were typical college kids, full of hope and enthusiasm for the future. He had no trouble accepting my medical history, nor did any of my friends. Although I'd had cancer, I didn't see how it could present any obstacles to the plans I envisioned. If anything, beating the disease had made me more resilient and confident in my abilities.
The fall semester arrived, and with it came the realization that Michael would soon be graduating. He planned to move back to Pittsburgh and join his father's architectural firm, where he would be groomed to eventually take over. But Michael and I were very much in love; there was no way we could be apart. We talked about a future together, and then one day, ring in hand, he proposed.
As the chill of winter settled on Boulder, I began to make plans for the wedding and our life together. Michael and I decided that after the wedding we would move back East and I would finish school in Pennsylvania. But I was apprehensive. I'd never even been to Pittsburgh.
"That's easy enough to arrange," Michael said. "Why don't you come home with me for Thanksgiving? You can meet my parents and get to know the city." And so I found myself in Pittsburgh on a cold and moonless November night. As Michael drove away from the airport, I confided how anxious I was. "Just relax and be yourself," he said with a smile. "The rest will work itself out." Although it was late when we arrived, his parents were waiting up for us. We sat in the kitchen and chatted. Michael and I talked excitedly about our plans for the weekend and the neighborhoods of Pittsburgh we hoped to scout for houses. His parents said very little, and I thought it odd. I'd always known Michael to be open and affable, yet his parents seemed subdued, almost distant. But I was tired and more than a little nervous. So I dismissed those first impressions, sure that a good night's sleep would give me a fresh take on my prospective in-laws.
The following morning, Michael's mother agreed to join us for a tour of the city. When we stopped at a restaurant for lunch, she and I sat alone for a few minutes while Michael parked the car. We were trading polite "getting-to-know-you" small talk, when out of the blue she asked, "So what's it like living with a time bomb inside you?" The question stunned me. Was she joking? A look into her expressionless face told me that this was no attempt at gallows humor. Unsure of what to say, I smiled nervously while shrugging my shoulders, and frantically glanced around the restaurant for a sign of my fiancé.
But Michael's arrival did little to disperse the tension between his mother and me. As soon as we returned to the house I told him what had happened. His reaction surprised me. Instead of becoming angry at his mother or empathizing with me, Michael responded with a dismissive shrug. "Oh, Susan," he said inn his breezy manner, "you're being too sensitive. I'm sure she was just trying to make conversation." Perhaps he was right. Although I was still upset, I wasssss determined to overlook the incident.
That evening, Michael's father took us all out for dinner. Michael and his mother were engrossed in conversation when I turned to my future father-in-law and began to chat him up regarding our wedding plans.
"You know, Susan," he began slowly, "I'm sure you can understand my concern . . . as Michael's father . . ." He stared down at the food on his plate and nervously poked at it with his fork. "It's just that . . ." He seemed to want to say more, but was clearly having trouble finding the words to explain himself in detail. Instead, he simply cut to the chase. "It's just that . . . well, I don't want my son to be a widower." In the abrupt and awkward silence that followed, I struggled with what to say. I was young and scared and completely intimidated by his attitude. I knew that if I tried to defend myself, I'd fall apart. Instead I let the remark pass, and, turning to my fiancé, quickly changed the subject.
Once Michael and I were alone, I recounted the remark made by his father. My fiancé brushed it aside with a wave of his hand. Although I assured him that this was no exaggeration, Michael felt that I was overplaying the incident. He could not, or would not, confront his parents. He continued to defend them, obliquely suggesting I be more grown-up about it. I told him I wasn't comfortable staying in their house and would prefer to spend the rest of the weekend in a nearby hotel. I went upstairs to pack, hoping he would join me.
But Michael remained downstairs with his parents. I finished packing my bags, slipped off my engagement ring, and placed it on the bedside table. Shattered and demoralized, I flew home the next day to Palo Alto, California, and my family.
At the time, Michael and his parents' behavior seemed incomprehensible and unforgivable. It wasn't until years later, when a mutual friend mentioned that Michael's uncle had died of cancer shortly before our engagement, that I began to understand the emotional subtext of that weekend in Pittsburgh. My fiancé had never mentioned his uncle's long illness, which had apparently taken a tremendous toll on the family. I now realized that Michael's parents wanted to protect their son from further pain, and in their eyes my medical history jeopardized his happiness. That in turn explained Michael's actions-or more precisely, his inaction. He was undoubtedly afraid that our marriage would anger his parents and was paralyzed by the choice he had to make.
In the months that followed, I did my best to forget about Michael. I moved to San Francisco, where I took a job as a sales representative for a large cosmetics firm. It wasn't long before I formed a close friendship with Ellen, a young colleague who worked alongside me in the marketing department.
Our regional manager informed us that once we had completed our training we would be promoted and given our own territories to handle. I was looking forward to my promotion since I loved to travel. When a territory opened up in the Southwest, Ellen and I learned that the firm planned to cover it with someone from our office. The company was conducting interviews at its New York headquarters, so we both cleared our schedules for the trip.
"I've already booked a flight," Ellen announced when she dropped by my desk one morning. "I'm leaving the day after tomorrow. What about you?" I couldn't leave until the following week. I wished her luck and told her not to be nervous.
I called Ellen the night she returned home, hoping to pick her brain about the interview. She sounded surprised to hear from me.
"So how did it go?" I asked.
She hesitated. "Well, I think I got the job." "You mean they've already decided?" "Yes. I guess they have." I congratulated Ellen, but my enthusiasm was muted. Why hadn't I been given a chance to interview? The vice president of marketing had said he wanted to talk to both of us. What caused him to change his mind? I started asking questions and checking around. One day while having lunch with Kay, a company manager, I found the answer.
"I probably shouldn't even be telling you this," Kay began, "but it was such a lousy thing for them to do. I really thought you should know." She paused and leaned forward. "Ellen got the job because she told them you had cancer." My mouth was dry, and I suddenly found it difficult to speak. I was as confused by Kay's revelation as I was shocked by Ellen's betrayal. My bout with cancer had been years before. The success of my treatment appeared total, my long-term prognosis a relative certainty. My doctors had even used the word "cured." I simply didn't understand. How could cancer still be a factor in my eligibility for promotion? Kay must have seen the bewilderment in my face.
"Ellen said that because you'd had cancer and it had affected your leg, you wouldn't be physically able to handle all the traveling the job required." Like a blow on a bruise, her words revived the pain and anger I'd felt in Pittsburgh. How many years would have to pass before others saw me as a norma...
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6 of 6 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Informative and Compassionate,
This review is from: Can Survive (Paperback)
"Can Survive" was written to provide cancer survivors (those who have completed successful treatment) with a road map to life after physical recovery from the disease. The obstacles facing survivors are surprisingly plentiful, and many are not obvious either to survivors or to friends and family members. The chapters of practical advice in areas such as insurance, employment, and residual effects of treatment, are thorough and helpful. Because of ignorance, discrimination, poor communication, and other factors, it is crucial that the survivor venture back into the mainstream with a tool kit of strategies, and "Can Survive" provides those tools in an effective and well-organized manner. This book would be the finest present I could imagine to give to a patient leaving the hospital after being pronounced "cured", and I believe it would be an excellent idea for hospitals to do just that.The book discusses serious issues that arise after primary treatment is complete, and it therefore deals with some difficult topics. Despite this, "Can Survive" maintains its empathetic and positive tone throughout. Many of the personal vignettes of survivors are troubling and can leave one thoroughly disappointed in the "system". In my opinion, Susan Nessim's most important achievement with "Can Survive" is that she guides the reader through these minefields with a gentle touch, and with the clear assurance that others have experienced, and conquered, the same problems. This book contains both important practical information that can be put to immediate use and an optimistic, tenacious spirit that enables the fight. Besides being an invaluable resource to survivors themselves, it should be required reading for friends or family striving to understand the experience of their survivor, and to help him or her negotiate the unexpectedly perilous shoals of post-treatment life.
5.0 out of 5 stars
A must-have for the cancer patient & family,
By Mrs.H (Maryland, US) - See all my reviews
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This review is from: Can Survive (Paperback)
I purchased this item after my husband was diagnosed with cancer at the age of 40. He has malignant melanoma. This is the only book he has needed to answer many of his concerns. The information is easy to read and understand. My husband is amazed at how the book is answering the exact things he needs to know or are concerns at the top of his list.For example, he was dealing with the impact of the diagnosis and how it can affect family relationships. The book addressed those topics in the next chapter that he read. It gave him answers and a sense that what he was going through was normal. I would recommend this book to anyone that has been diagnosed with cancer or knows someone who has. It serves to benefit both.
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Inside This Book
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First Sentence:
AS THE PLANE MADE its final approach into Pittsburgh, I peered out the window at the mosaic of shimmering lights below. Read the first page Key Phrases - Statistically Improbable Phrases (SIPs): (learn more)
insurance obstacle, life after cancer, recovering cancer patients, recovered cancer patients, cancer survivorship, delayed stress reactions, cancer experience, cancer history, infertile people, cranial radiation, sperm sample Key Phrases - Capitalized Phrases (CAPs): (learn more)
Can Survive, Los Angeles, The Double-Edged Sword, Includes Cancer, San Francisco, Rehabilitation Act, The Cycle of Life, National Patient Advocate Foundation, New York, Blue Cross, Blue Shield, Christine Perkins, Department of Labor, Disabilities Act, Moving Beyond the Fear of Recurrence, Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, Julie Brennglass, The Emotional Aftermath, Van Scoy-Mosher, Barbara Hoffman, Cancer's Effect, Constitution Ave, Julie Steckel, Jordan Wilbur, Leslie Schover New!
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Front Cover | Table of Contents | First Pages | Index | Back Cover | Surprise Me!
AS THE PLANE MADE its final approach into Pittsburgh, I peered out the window at the mosaic of shimmering lights below. Read the first page Key Phrases - Statistically Improbable Phrases (SIPs): (learn more)
insurance obstacle, life after cancer, recovering cancer patients, recovered cancer patients, cancer survivorship, delayed stress reactions, cancer experience, cancer history, infertile people, cranial radiation, sperm sample Key Phrases - Capitalized Phrases (CAPs): (learn more)
Can Survive, Los Angeles, The Double-Edged Sword, Includes Cancer, San Francisco, Rehabilitation Act, The Cycle of Life, National Patient Advocate Foundation, New York, Blue Cross, Blue Shield, Christine Perkins, Department of Labor, Disabilities Act, Moving Beyond the Fear of Recurrence, Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, Julie Brennglass, The Emotional Aftermath, Van Scoy-Mosher, Barbara Hoffman, Cancer's Effect, Constitution Ave, Julie Steckel, Jordan Wilbur, Leslie Schover New!
Books on Related Topics | Concordance | Text Stats Browse Sample Pages:
Front Cover | Table of Contents | First Pages | Index | Back Cover | Surprise Me!
Citations (learn more)
This book cites 35
books:
See all 35 books this book cites
4
books
cite this book:
- Sexuality and Fertility after Cancer by Leslie R. Schover on page 205, page 225, and Back Matter
- Illness as Metaphor and AIDS and Its Metaphors by Susan Sontag on page 50, and Back Matter
- Road Back to Health/ by Neil A. Fiore Ph.D. in Back Matter
- The Dread Disease: Cancer and Modern American Culture by James T. Patterson in Back Matter
- Coping with Lymphedema by Diane Sackett Nannery in Back Matter
See all 35 books this book cites
- Surviving Cancer Emotionally: Learning How to Heal by Roger Granet in Back Matter
- Coping with Chemotherapy: Compassionate Advice and Authoritative Information from a Chemotherapy Survivor by Nancy Bruning in Back Matter
- Women's Cancers: How to Prevent Them, How to Treat Them, How to Beat Them (Hunter House Cancer & Health Series) by Kerry Anne McGinn in Back Matter
- Women's Cancers: How to Prevent Them, How to Treat Them, How to Beat Them (Hunter House Cancer & Health Series) by Kerry Anne McGinn RN NP MSN in Back Matter
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