Zusatztext Husbands and partners are usually the odd men out in books on breast cancer. Silver! an editor at U.S. News & World Report ! didn't know what to do when his wife was diagnosed. Finding no books specifically from his perspective! he decided to write one. Gleaning information from medical professionals and other men in his position! he created a helpful guide that covers all manner of providing support! even down to instructions for washing a woman's hair while she has drains in place. Silver's Husband is funny! tender! and rock-solid. Library Journal Informationen zum Autor Marc Silver is an editor at U.S. News & World Report. He has been a guest on the Today Show , Good Morning America , and various CNN and CNBC programs, and has contributed freelance stories to the New York Times , the Washington Post , and other publications. He lives in Chevy Chase, Maryland. Klappentext This unique guide! like none other on the market! is packed with medical information! practical tips! psychological insight! and coping strategies to help men help the women they love through this trying time. Unwelcome to the World of Breast Cancer What to do in those frantic early days When the news came, I was a husband behaving badly. It was the last Friday of August 2001. The phone in my office rang around 11:00 A.M. My wife's voice, shrouded by cell-phone static, sounded raw and uneasy. I knew she had gone to the doctor for a follow-up mammogram. A reading earlier that week had raised eyebrows. But Marsha, who was 53, had had plenty of callbacks before, and neither of us was particularly nervous about this one. She thought it was a nuisance that she had to run back to the HMO for what undoubtedly would prove to be a false alarm. Needless to say, I didn't bother to go along. So my wife went in, unsnapped her bra, and placed her naked right breast in the grip of the mammogram machine. The technician gave the image to the radiologist to examine. A few minutes later, the doctor came into the room where Marsha was putting on her clothes, and with six little words catapulted her into the world of breast cancer: "Sure looks like cancer to me." Deeply distraught, Marsha called me as soon as she was out of the doctor's office. She wanted to share her pain and to seek some husbandly solace. On a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being truly superb and 1 being utterly inadequate, my reaction deserved, oh, maybe a minus 11. And I'm being a lenient grader. My wife still likes to remind me of my exact (and insipid) words: "Ew, that doesn't sound good." We spoke for only a few minutes on that balmy summer Friday as we headed into Labor Day weekend--mainly about logistics (because they're a heck of a lot easier to talk about than feelings). Marsha couldn't see a surgeon until Tuesday because of the holiday. Nothing we could do about that. We decided we wouldn't say anything to our two daughters (they were 12 and 15 at the time) until we knew for sure . . . because the doctor could be wrong, right? And then I said something like, "I'll be home at the usual time." What was I thinking? Yes, what was I thinking? I'm sure that question must have crossed my wife's mind. "Women always ask what men are thinking about," comedian Jerry Seinfeld says in one of his monologues. "We're thinking about nothing. We're just walking down the street, not thinking about anything." I believe that was my goal at the time. I didn't want to think about anything. But, truth be told, my mind was working overtime. Deep inside, I was shocked and scared. I may have been 49, but I felt as if I were 14. I didn't know how we'd muddle through the next 3 anxious days until we saw the surgeon. And if the radiologist proved to be correct, I couldn't even begin to imagine how we'd cope in the months ahead. YOUR FIRST REACTION ...

Autorentext
Marc Silver is an editor at U.S. News & World Report. He has been a guest on the Today Show, Good Morning America, and various CNN and CNBC programs, and has contributed freelance stories to the New York Times, the Washington Post, and other publications. He lives in Chevy Chase, Maryland.

Klappentext

This unique guide, like none other on the market, is packed with medical information, practical tips, psychological insight, and coping strategies to help men help the women they love through this trying time.

Zusammenfassung
A unique guide, like none other on the market-packed with medical information, practical tips, psychological insight, and coping strategies-to help men help the women they love through this trying time.

When Marc Silver became a breast cancer husband three years ago, he learned firsthand how frightened and helpless the breast cancer husband feels. He searched in vain for a book that would give him the information and advice he so desperately sought. Now this award-winning journalist has compiled just the kind of emotionally supportive and useful resource that he wished he had been able to consult-to give men the tools they need to help their wives, their families, and themselves through this scary, uncertain time.

In his years as a consumer journalist and veteran of the News You Can Use staff at U.S. News & World Report, Marc Silver learned what kind of information and advice on medical crises readers found most valuable. He draws on that experience as he covers in depth all the issues couples coping with breast cancer will have to face during diagnosis, treatment, and beyond. Highlights include:

The shared experiences of other breast cancer husbands
Guidance from top cancer doctors in the country
Advice on when, how, and what to tell your young children
Tips on coping with radiation and chemotherapy
A candid discussion of sex and intimacy following breast cancer surgery

More than 200,000 women are diagnosed with cancer each year in the United States. At last, with this book, the men who love them have a road map to help them through a difficult and unprecedented journey.

Leseprobe
Unwelcome to the World of Breast Cancer

What to do in those frantic early days

When the news came, I was a husband behaving badly.

It was the last Friday of August 2001. The phone in my office rang around 11:00 A.M. My wife's voice, shrouded by cell-phone static, sounded raw and uneasy. I knew she had gone to the doctor for a follow-up mammogram. A reading earlier that week had raised eyebrows. But Marsha, who was 53, had had plenty of callbacks before, and neither of us was particularly nervous about this one. She thought it was a nuisance that she had to run back to the HMO for what undoubtedly would prove to be a false alarm. Needless to say, I didn't bother to go along.

So my wife went in, unsnapped her bra, and placed her naked right breast in the grip of the mammogram machine. The technician gave the image to the radiologist to examine. A few minutes later, the doctor came into the room where Marsha was putting on her clothes, and with six little words catapulted her into the world of breast cancer: "Sure looks like cancer to me."

Deeply distraught, Marsha called me as soon as she was out of the doctor's office. She wanted to share her pain and to seek some husbandly solace. On a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being truly superb and 1 being utterly inadequate, my reaction deserved, oh, maybe a minus 11. And I'm being a lenient grader. My wife still likes to remind me of my exact (and insipid) words: "Ew, that doesn't sound good."

We spoke for only a few minutes on that balmy summer Friday as we headed into Labor Day weekend--mainly about logistics (because they're a heck of a lot easier to talk about than feelings). Marsha couldn't see a surgeon until Tuesday because of the holiday. Nothing we could do about that. We decided we wouldn't say anything to our two daughters (they were 12 and 15 at the time) until we knew for sure . . . because the doctor cou…