Cancer Schmancer (8 page)

They offered me mirrored eyeglasses that would enable me to see John while in the cylinder. My dad said he’d just closed his eyes when he had to get an MRI but, I must admit, I was beginning to feel a bit anxious just looking at the contraption. And that was on five milligrams of Valium.

9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page 60

60

Cancer Schmancer

So I put on the mirrored glasses and John sat on a chair behind my head, but in the same room. Then, through the reflection in the special glasses, I was actually able to see John behind me.

There he was, his sweet face and calming presence, smiling and comforting me the entire time. I’m so glad I was given those glasses! They made all the difference.

The MRI results came back completely clean. So Doctor #7

gave me Neurontin to take at night. It helped alleviate the pain, but not my problem. R.L.S. (restless leg syndrome) was the closest thing to a diagnosis I ever got. The pills did help, but no connection was made between my leg pain and my other symptoms.

Over lunch the next day with my friend Dorothy, I confided in her about my health problems. She’d directed many episodes of The Nanny, but we’d been friends for years before that, and I knew I could trust her. She suggested I see her gynecologist, an expert on women’s midlife health issues and hormone replacement. She said this woman had saved her; that she now felt full of vim and vigor. I had to admit, she looked great. Apparently, this doctor had written many books and made countless television appearances on the subject of women over forty. With renewed optimism I made an appointment with Doctor #8.

In the meantime, John had come up with a clever concept for MTV. I liked it, so I called my contact over there to pitch it. When I gave the guy our one-liner, he said they were already in develop-ment on a similar idea. It’s unbelievable how tough it is to come up with something original. But the executive said we should come in and brainstorm other ideas. John thought that was it for his ideas and didn’t want to take the meeting.

“Are you crazy?” I asked. “When the head of a network says,

‘Come in and brainstorm,’ you go!” Even as I said it I was questioning my sanity over even considering working on a project with John after everything I’d been through with Peter. Separation of 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page 61

The Pill

61

church and state had been my intention for all future relationships.

Whoops.

Well, we spent a long, hard day trying to concoct ideas, with few results. We were both hungry and tired, so I ordered in some Chinese. I’ve loved Chinese food ever since I was a kid. Just as I shoveled in a forkful of roast pork lo mein, John blurted out an idea. A show about a local telethon—everything that goes on both behind the camera and in front. The minute he said it, I knew that was it. Oh, I really enjoyed my egg foo yong after that.

MTV loved the idea and ordered a script. That was the beginning of John’s and my writing collaboration. I never learn. I did love creating a world with John, but creation is very hard, and we fought over everything. Sometimes I wanted to kick myself for getting involved with it. But I guess I’m just a hopeless optimist or a complete idiot. I’ve not yet decided which.

So, okay, we got along, we communicated, we were attracted to each other, but he someday wanted to have children and I was perimenopausal. Oy. I began to worry that my eggs were getting old and if the day came that we ever did want to have a baby, it would be too late. Between the staining, the cramping, and the leg pain I felt like I had maybe an hour of fertility left. So even though we’d only been together a year, and hardly ready to talk about this, I got it in my head that we should fertilize some eggs and freeze them. Currently, the technology to successfully freeze an unfertilized egg is in the ear-liest, experimental stage. I figured that when and if we felt ready to start a family, we’d already have a few embryos ready to go, no matter what the current status of my ovaries may be. This process is a common technique used among couples with conception problems, or couples hedging against the march of time, as in my case.

I loved the idea!

But John hated it. He wasn’t ready. Honestly, we weren’t ready, and he turned me down flat. I mean, I didn’t know if I wanted kids, 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page 62

62

Cancer Schmancer

but I knew I wanted to keep all my options open. There I was, forty-two years old, my eggs withering away with each menstrual cycle, and my last-ditch attempt at reproduction was being squelched by my twenty-six-year-old boyfriend. I felt trapped by circumstances and anxious about the impending menopause and all its ramifications. Here’s where I think our age difference became a major problem. John and I weren’t on the same page—hell, we weren’t even in the same book!—and I felt hurt and alone.

One word led to another and I, who by now was feeling not only rejected but also old and misunderstood, said, “Maybe we should see other people.” I mean, he wasn’t budging and I wasn’t gettin’ any younger. I just couldn’t see what possible reason would justify not taking the steps now that would prepare for our possible future later.

The moment I said it, we both started to cry. Why was this happening? It wasn’t what either of us wanted, but somehow this baby thing had become a major bone of contention. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” I said, and we both laughed through our tears.

Then he left for work and I closed the door behind him.

I spoke to many friends that day. One person thought we were such a great couple that she was not only surprised, but disappointed that our relationship had taken this unexpected turn. And the truth was, I had never even wanted children, so it was pretty ironic that that’s what we might be breaking up over. But there we were. I just hated the whole situation, yet I didn’t want to live with regrets, either.

I spent the whole day thinking about and digesting what had gone down that morning. John came back to my house after work.

We hugged in the entry hall and although we both knew this issue wouldn’t go away, neither of us really wanted to break up over it.

So for the moment, we agreed to disagree and made up.

It was really all academic anyway. I mean, I was getting all 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page 63

The Pill

63

wound up about fertility and frozen embryos because the doctors kept telling me I was perimenopausal. But that was a misdiagno-sis. Fertility was the least of my problems.

I just wanted to feel good again. I wanted to have sex without cramps. I wanted my complexion to be nice again. I wanted to feel more even emotionally. I had to get rid of my leg pain. That, more than anything, was really getting me down. I honestly felt like I was at the end of my rope. The longer I went without a diagnosis, the worse I felt and the more I feared that when they figured out what it was, it wouldn’t be caught in time.

Perhaps Dorothy’s gynecologist, Doctor #8, would help me once and for all. As the elevator doors opened, I entered her posh and spacious waiting room. Doctor #8, the guru of middle-aged women, the maven of hormone replacement therapy, had copies of her books strewn on tables throughout the waiting area. I perused their pages while waiting for my name to be called. Now, I know a lot of women, but I don’t know a single one who actually likes going to the gynecologist. I mean, what’s to like? It’s the ultimate invasion of privacy. Stripping down, spreading your legs. Talk about feeling vulnerable. I was so sick of it all.

As I sat in my examining gown on the table awaiting Doctor

#8, I found myself thinking about Gilda Radner. During her struggles with cancer, she wrote a book titled It’s Always Something. Peter read it first; we both loved her from Saturday Night Live. In her book she urged women to pursue as many doctors as it takes until you get a diagnosis, if you believe there’s something wrong. Poor Gilda, she was put through the wringer; by the time she finally got diagnosed with cancer, it was too late. She wrote about her leg pains, encouraging women to consider them a symptom of gynecological cancer, even though the medical community still doesn’t recognize them as such.

I remember seeing photos in the book of her with her little dog.

9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page 64

64

Cancer Schmancer

A Yorkie. She never went anywhere without that dog. Just like me and Chester. My friend Danny Aykroyd used to say she was a nice person, a good person. Years after she died, Peter and I spotted Gene Wilder at the Rancho Valencia Resort. There he stood at the front desk with that same little Yorkie, her dog. It broke my heart to see them together, without her. It was an image I’ll never forget.

When Doctor #8 entered the room I ran down the litany of my symptoms, and included Gilda’s story, leg pain and all. I told her I’d been staining for two years. As for Gilda, Doctor #8 said she wasn’t sure what exactly Gilda had, but that it had been well over a decade ago and that a lot had changed in women’s medicine since. The leg pain she dismissed as unrelated. It was the imminent last tick of my biological clock that piqued her interest as she barreled into a series of questions.

“Are you involved with anyone?” she asked.

“Yes, I am,” I answered.

“Do you plan to have children?” That’s a touchy subject, next question.

“Have you considered a fertility doctor?” Boy, was she pressing all my buttons.

Honey, I’m bleeding between periods, can we focus on the issue at hand? I wanted to say, but sheepishly answered, “John is quite a few years younger than I am, and not ready, plus my divorce isn’t even final yet, so we decided to wait a little longer.” She seemed disappointed in that answer as she reexamined my chart. I just knew she was focusing on my age as she grunted, “Hmm . . .”

We did an ultrasound in her office as well. She noticed a slight thickening of the uterine wall, which she said birth control pills would take care of, but saw no tumor of any kind. “Your ovaries look fine, your uterus looks fine,” she said, showing me the monitor, but all I could make out was swirls of gray and patches of dark gray. I didn’t know what she was seeing.

9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page 65

The Pill

65

She told me my symptoms did not indicate cancer, but rather a perimenopausal hormone imbalance. “As for the progesterone Doctor #1 put you on, that wouldn’t have been my choice,” she said. “Birth control pills are the way to go!” she exclaimed with great confidence. I never realized that if you take the pill for even six months it can reduce your risk of ovarian cancer by as much as 50 percent. I told her that when I was a teenager I’d tried the pill to help relieve severe menstrual cramping, and that I hadn’t reacted well to it at all. But Doctor #8 shook her head and said condescendingly, “The birth control pill has improved greatly since the ’seventies, Fran.” Well, aren’t I just an old battle-ax from the Dark Ages. She assured me I wouldn’t have any noticeable reaction this time around, except possibly some bloating and slightly enlarged breasts. Okay, let’s just say the enlarged breasts sounded good and leave it at that.

I never really liked the idea of a birth control pill. It seemed unnatural to me. All my sexual life I used condoms, and not the ones with the spermicide, either. I was used to them. I really never knew any different, and aside from the occasional wrapper stuck to my ass, I liked them. It seemed easy, safe, and clean. I’d keep some in my purse at all times so I could always be spontaneous. I even kept a few in the shower. Because ya never know. . . . The concept of taking the pill was new to me, but I decided to give it a whirl. She seemed so sure and confident in her diagnosis, I wanted to remain open. Maybe she knew what she was doing.

We also discussed a fertility doctor whom she thought was very good, and she urged me to speak with John about seeing him. I thought that the doctor’s also being Lebanese couldn’t hurt. When I saw John that evening we both had something to say on the subject. He’d given it a great deal of thought and decided he wanted to go ahead with the frozen embryo idea, but there’d have to be one made with someone else’s sperm as well. In the event we broke up, 9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page 66

66

Cancer Schmancer

and I still wanted a child, I wouldn’t use our embryo, but instead use the embryo not related to John. He said he couldn’t bear the thought of a child of his growing up in this world without him in its life. I respected that, and I appreciated that he continued to think about it. He’d come up with a solution that would satisfy my needs and accommodate his as well. What a doll.

Somehow I had renewed confidence in the situation. Doctor

#8 was very affirmative and sure nothing was seriously wrong with me. John was definitely into the Lebanese fertility doctor as the way to go and showed enthusiasm toward the switch from condoms to birth control pills. In that brief moment in time there was a feeling of suspended animation and calm. But it was all smoke and mirrors, because the shit was about to hit the fan. Big-time.

9377 Cancer Schmancer 2/28/02 4:18 PM Page 67

The Botero and the D&C

J u n e 6 , 2 0 0 0

now that the show was over, I decided this was the time to reorganize and finish decorating my house, do all the things I never had time for during the series. My apartment had become too small and lacked privacy, so after a year I’d bought a loftlike modern house that was much more suited to my needs.

There I was, living in my new, beautiful beach house and still putting my silverware in the drawer Angelica had placed it in the day I moved in. At the time I was too busy with the show to even unpack, let alone put things where I thought they should go. So getting my house in order seemed like an appropriate thing to do. My therapist had always said cleaning and organizing is a productive extension of your need to do the same mentally. So I started with the drawers and closets. I put things where I preferred them to be, and carried the process through to the art and furnishings.