Cynthia Hayes been preparing her whole life to write The Big Ordeal. She learned the basics of interviewing, synthesizing information, finding the headlines, and telling a story as a journalist early in her career. After a brief interruption to earn an M.B.A. from Harvard Business School, she spent 25 years as a management consultant. In that role, success depended on her ability to jump into new topics, ask sensitive questions, understand specialized information, and turn complex findings into a compelling narrative.
Shortly prior to her own diagnosis, Cynthia resigned from Montefiore Medical Center, where for three years she had served as vice president and chief marketing officer, focused on telling stories of health and recovery. While at Montefiore, she gained a deeper understanding of medicine and an opportunity to build relationships with cancer professionals who helped her write The Big Ordeal.
When Cynthia is not on the tennis court or writing, she mentors patients going through gynecologic cancer as part of a program called Woman to Woman at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York, and serves as a BOLD Buddy peer mentor to patients receiving care at the Montefiore Einstein Center for Cancer Care in the Bronx. Cynthia also serves on the board of Moving For Life, a dance exercise program to support cancer recovery, and Global Focus on Cancer, which provides education and support for patients in developing countries.
The author lives in New York City with her fabulous husband, Charlie Cummings, two amazing adult children, David and Katharine, and their adoring Shih Tzu, Horatio, who has sat at her feet through multiple drafts and countless rounds of edits.
My Story
My own ordeal started on a beautiful, blue-sky September day. My daughter and I were headed to a neighborhood salon for manicures. When my cell phone rang, I was surprised to see my gynecologist’s name on the display. Having been in the week before for a regular check-up, I assumed it was someone in the office calling about a billing issue and answered as we continued walking. But, I stopped short when I heard my doctor say I had flunked my Pap smear — it had detected “atypical glandular cells.” Probably it was nothing, she said, but I needed to come back in for more tests. She was at the hospital in the middle of a delivery so signed off quickly with assurances and instructions to call the office.
It went by so fast, I didn’t quite know what to make of her call. My daughter and I were on a mission with a deadline — we were going out in two hours and our nails were not yet red — so I carried on without giving it much thought. Moments later, sitting in the salon, I called to schedule the follow-up procedures, but the office had already closed for the day.
There are times when it might be better not to be such an insatiable Internet researcher. I had just a few minutes to use my phone before succumbing to the manicurist, and quickly learned that “atypical glandular cells” were the warning signs for a particular type of uterine carcinoma that had grim survival statistics. I went from unconcerned to terrorized in an instant. Cancer already had a grip on my emotions, and it would be a long weekend of grappling with the possibility that I had a life-threatening disease.
Isolated and Alone
“Everything is going to be fine,” my husband assured me, feeding me the same line I had taught him to say years before when he tried to solve a problem that needed only solace. But this problem needed more than a comforting arm around the shoulder. What if I did have cancer? At 57 years old, I was too young to think about sickness and death, but it seemed unlikely that the Pap smear was a false positive. I wanted to talk to someone who would understand my fears, but my best friend, the one who would have known exactly what to say to acknowledge the intensity of my feelings and be with me in the moment of foreboding, had passed away only nine months earlier from the very disease that threatened me now. I felt isolated and alone.
The endometrial biopsy the following week was excruciating, but not as bad as the wait for results. It was a week of suppressed terror — putting up a brave front and a false smile while inwardly on the verge of tears or frozen with panic. I was home alone when my doctor called with the news. “I am very sorry to tell you this, Cynthia,” she said, “but the biopsy results confirm that you have cancer.” The news hit with the force of tornado, depriving me of air and upending my life. Instantly, my head ached and my heart raced. I had cancer. And not just any old cancer, but uterine papillary serous carcinoma (UPSC), an aggressive, fast-growth cancer. The nightmare I had kept under wraps for two weeks was real.
I was in shock, but needed to act quickly. I needed scans. I needed to find a surgeon and schedule pre-op testing. Most of all, I needed my husband, who at that moment had a mouth full of cotton in the dentist’s chair. It all happened so fast, I barely had a chance to think, let alone cry. Phone calls and emails, recommendations and confirmations. By the end of the day, I had a morning appointment with the radiology team for scans of my entire torso, and appointments with two surgeon candidates. The scans would give us further insight into the depth and breadth of my cancer, but not until a surgeon had probed my inner organs and removed many of them would we know the stage of my disease, a prognosis, and a treatment plan — more waiting and uncertainty, and more dread.
Cancer Isn’t Always a Death Sentence
In the United States alone, nearly 600,000 people a year die from cancer[1]. For centuries, the disease has been synonymous with death. A diagnosis was accompanied by a timeline, usually short, and encouragement to get one’s affairs in order. But improvements in screening and detection mean that doctors catch many cancers in earlier stages, when they are more treatable. At the same time, breakthroughs in treatments are helping patients live longer with the disease and return to health.
But that death sentence is still what we hear when we learn we have cancer. Like the roar of an approaching train, overpowering the words of the speaker beside us, the diagnosis instantly overwhelms, blocking out information and insights that might help us understand how to deal with the disease and move forward with our lives.
I was lucky, destined to join the ranks of the survivors. Although UPSC carries a survival rate of less than 40 percent[2], my cancer was caught early: after surgery, and another anxious week waiting for the pathology report, my doctor was able to give me the good news that it was stage one, consisting of a small, single tumor, confined to the uterus and barely dug in. This significantly increased my odds. It helped, too, that I was in New York with a top-notch care team, expert in my type of cancer. Also, I was healthy going into the ordeal and had a loving support network, all of which eased the process. Surgery and six chemo treatments later, I was cancer free. Nearly five years after the diagnosis, the terror is as faded as my surgical scar.
Emotional Turmoil
But the process from diagnosis to recovery was far from smooth and easy. While my doctors were clear about the physical effects of surgery and treatment, we had few conversations about the emotional toll the process would take. And although my family was prepared to support me through the helplessness of surgical recovery, the nausea of chemotherapy, and the cancer-induced malaise, none of us anticipated the emotional swings, the anxiety, or the cognitive impairment that accompanied the physical trials. When I dissolved into tears at my fate on the fourth day after every chemo treatment, we didn’t know that withdrawal from the steroids pumped into me as part of treatment could lead to an emotional crash. Or that the despair I felt so acutely one day would be gone the next. I anticipated the loss of my hair as chemo progressed, but wasn’t prepared for the loss of my identity as I shifted from high-functioning executive to obvious “cancer patient,” with bald eyes and a blank stare. I was no longer on top of my game physically, mentally, or emotionally.
While I often felt adrift in my emotional turmoil, as the months passed, I was surprised to learn that I was not alone. Conversations with friends and colleagues — even with acquaintances at the gym as I struggled to regain some strength — revealed that many cancer patients experienced the same emotional volatility, the same anxiety around test time, the same relief mixed with fear when cleared, and the same urge to make something good of it when cancer was finally history. And the more I spoke with patients and survivors, the more clearly I saw the patterns in how we respond to the ordeal.
[1]American Cancer Society, Global Cancer Facts and Figures,3rd edition: https://www.cancer.org/content/dam/cancer-org/research/cancer-facts-and-statistics/global-cancer-facts-and-figures/global-cancer-facts-and-figures-3rd-edition.pdf
[2]Patterns of failure after the multimodality treatment of uterine papillary serous carcinoma, Sood, Brij M. et al., International Journal of Radiation Oncology • Biology • Physics, Volume 57, Issue 1 , 208 – 216
The Big Ordeal
- Learn about the typical sequence of emotions you can expect, from diagnosis through treatment and beyond.
- Discover how other patients have experienced cancer and the emotions they share.
- Understand the science behind the emotions, and how cancer and its treatment contribute to how you feel.
- Gain insight into coping styles, exercise benefits, complementary medicine and other ways to help you build resilience.
- Gather advice from those who have been there.
Coping with cancer is hard. It is an emotional ordeal as well as a physical one, with known and somewhat predictable psychological responses. And yet, patients often feel isolated and alone when dealing with the stress, anxiety, depression, and existential crises so typical with a cancer diagnosis. The Big Ordeal, written in collaboration with a psychologist and two oncologists, tackles the emotional side of the experience head-on, to help newly diagnosed patients and their loved ones anticipate, understand, and deal with the psychological turmoil ahead. Based on interviews with scores of patients and experts across a variety of fields, combining patient stories with medical insights and advice from those who have been there, and structured around the typical phases of the process, this book is an accessible resource for anyone who receive a cancer diagnosis.
Nothing can truly prepare you for the emotional rollercoaster of a cancer diagnosis. But, The Big Ordeal: Understanding and Managing the Psychological Turmoil of Cancer, will help you anticipate and respond to the psychological turmoil ahead.
Written by a cancer survivor with the help of a psychotherapist and two oncologists, The Big Ordeal presents the typical emotional experience, illustrated by patient and caregiver stories. The book explains the science behind those emotions, helping you understand why you feel the way you do, and offers advice on how to cope. Based on interviews with over 100 patients, caregivers, oncologists, neuroscientists, and other experts, and endorsed by doctors at leading institutions, The Big Ordeal is the go-to book for those who seek to better manage the cancer experience.
Praise for The Big Ordeal
The Big Ordeal is a must read for anyone facing cancer, as a patient or loving caregiver. Through her research with patients and experts, Cynthia brings new insights and understanding to the experience of cancer, helping to reduce the isolation, fear and anxiety so common with a diagnosis. I experience on daily basis the psychosocial challenges the diagnosis engenders and know that the empathy and intelligence shared in this book will help to ease the stress of a cancer care journey.
Shalom Kalnicki, MD, FASTRO, FACRO
Chairman, Department of Radiation Oncology, Montefiore Medical Center
Professor, Radiation Oncology, Albert Einstein College of Medicine
The Big Ordeal is a vital guide for patients and family members contending with a cancer diagnosis, treatment and life beyond. Interweaving the empathic perspectives of a survivor with grounding insights from the science of the stress response, fear, anxiety, depression, cognition and resilience, the book provides a unique roadmap for an often disorienting and life-changing journey. With its double helix of heart and science, The Big Ordeal is a must read for anyone trying to fathom the unfathomable.
Jonathan Alpert, MD, PhD
Chair, Department of Psychiatry and Behavioral Sciences, Montefiore Medical Center
Professor of Psychiatry, Neuroscience, Pediatrics, Albert Einstein College of Medicine
While important strides in cancer care have led to substantial increases in survival, the personal experience of having cancer remains extraordinarily challenging. In The Big Ordeal, Cynthia uses her knowledge as a cancer patient and her skills as an observer to present a message of understanding and hope for all those touched by the cancer experience.
Greg Fricchione, MD
Professor of Psychiatry, Harvard Medical School
Associate Chief of Psychiatry, Massachusetts General Hospital
Director, Benson-Henry Institute for Mind-Body Medicine
The Big Ordeal addresses a critically important need for cancer centers and their patients to better understand the emotional arc of the disease and how to support patients through what is a physically and psychologically challenging experience.
Steven K. Libutti, MD, FACS
Director, Rutgers Cancer Institute of New Jersey
Senior Vice President, Oncology Services, RWJBarnabas Health
Vice Chancellor Cancer Program, Rutgers Biomedical and Health Sciences
Ms. Hayes writes with confidence, balancing difficult psychological and medical issues in a voice that will please both professionals and lay reader—not an easy task. This book, an important guide for the cancer community, is recommended for readers of The ASCO Post and their patients.
Ronald Piana
Writer, The ASCO Post
Available on Amazon.com
Fifty percent of net proceeds from The Big Ordeal will be donated to The Women, a global nonprofit organization dedicated to eliminating inequities in health care among women affected with gynecological cancer through research, education, awareness, and advocacy.
Cynthia’s website, TheBigOrdeal.com, discusses the psychological turmoil of a diagnosis, as well as presenting interviews with hundreds of patients and a variety of experts. Her mission is to validate patients’ experiences, bringing insights into the physical drivers of those emotions, and supporting patients and their loving caregivers through the process of coping with it all.
The book is very different from the website — a more in-depth read for those seeking greater understanding of the experience. Each chapter has a through-line that follows the roller coaster of emotions for a particular phase in the process, from diagnosis to recovery (or recurrence and progression), using brief excerpts from the stories on the website to highlight key elements of the experience and the coping process.
New York, New York
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www.TheBigOrdeal.com
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