Author Lucas, one sassy example of the changing face of cancer

And one to grow on: Geralyn Lucas, with son Hayden and husband Tyler looking on, presents a cake to daughter Skye for her 12th birthday. The family is shown at a restaurant in Manhattan, N.Y.
Photo for The Washington Post by Jon Vachon
And one to grow on: Geralyn Lucas, with son Hayden and husband Tyler looking on, presents a cake to daughter Skye for her 12th birthday. The family is shown at a restaurant in Manhattan, N.Y.
Geralyn Lucas, author of the irreverent best seller “Why I Wore Lipstick to My Mastectomy,” is a sassy example of the changing face of cancer. Lucas, shown in Brooklyn, N.Y., leads a growing number of younger cancer survivors who are changing attitudes toward a disease that now has more young survivors than ever.
Photo for The Washington Post by Jon Vachon
Geralyn Lucas, author of the irreverent best seller “Why I Wore Lipstick to My Mastectomy,” is a sassy example of the changing face of cancer. Lucas, shown in Brooklyn, N.Y., leads a growing number of younger cancer survivors who are changing attitudes toward a disease that now has more young survivors than ever.
Geralyn Lucas gets a tattoo from Josh Lord at Graceland Tattoo Parlor in Brooklyn, N.Y. A group of her friends joined her in commemorating the 16 years since Lucas’ breast cancer diagnosis.
Photo for The Washington Post by Jon Vachon
Geralyn Lucas gets a tattoo from Josh Lord at Graceland Tattoo Parlor in Brooklyn, N.Y. A group of her friends joined her in commemorating the 16 years since Lucas’ breast cancer diagnosis.
Posted Sept. 08, 2011, at 12:42 p.m.

NEW YORK — Geralyn Lucas thought she would be dead by 30. Instead, 16 years after her breast cancer diagnosis, the author and activist is a huge fan of hair dye and Botox. Ironic, she acknowledges, because all she ever wanted was to grow old.

Her tween daughter, Skye, was her “miracle child” after chemotherapy threatened Lucas’s fertility. Now the 12-year-old rolls her shadowed eyes and mocks her svelte mother for having “back fat.”

“I want to call my next book ‘I Survived Cancer. But Can I Survive My Kids and My Grumpy Husband?’ ” quipped Lucas, 44, who recently was drinking chilled rose in the back of a New York City cab with a group of girlfriends, headed to a hipster Brooklyn parlor for celebratory tattoos.

Before such celebrities as Christina Applegate and Sheryl Crow helped take the edge off the C-word, Lucas was speaking out irreverently about the disease. Her 2004 memoir, “Why I Wore Lipstick to My Mastectomy,” became an international hit, as did the ensuing Emmy-nominated 2006 movie.

Now Lucas leads a growing number of Gen-X and younger cancer survivors who are changing attitudes toward a disease that was once a death sentence but now has more young survivors than at any point in history.

About 513,000 cancer survivors are ages 20 to 39, according to data from the American Cancer Society. Since 1999, cancer death rates for people in that age range decreased 19 percent in men and 15 percent in women. The declines in mortality rates are because of earlier detection and improvements in treatment, researchers from the society said.

“That data is completely shaking things up for young people,” said Lucas, whose jet-black hair and Jackie O sunglasses have helped make her the sassy face of cancer survival. “There’s a lot of real energy now with survivors.”

Lance Armstrong has his bike. Lucas has her lipstick – a metaphor for courage, for fighting back. Lucas was a quirky, female superhero during my own battle with cancer in 2006. I was a fan of her oncological brinkmanship and Bridget Jones-meets-breast-cancer mash-up memoir.

Lucas is not alone in her effort to subvert cancer’s stigma. Showtime’s “The Big C” stars Laura Linney as a woman who decides to live her life fully, having a steamy love affair and emptying her retirement account to buy a sports car, despite a bleak prognosis. This fall will see the release of “50/50,” starring Joseph Gordon-Levitt as a young radio reporter with cancer and Seth Rogen as the kindhearted and slightly overwhelmed BFF.

The screenplay is based on real life. Rogen and Will Reiser were best friends as comedy writers for “Da Ali G Show.” Soon after Reiser, then 25, was diagnosed with a spinal tumor. He survived and wrote a screenplay about how bizarre it was to have a life-threatening illness in the prime of life.

“Most movies depict cancer in a maudlin and very heavy-handed way,” Reiser said by phone. “I didn’t want to write a movie about me. Who cares about me? My hope is that it would be authentic and really capture what it’s like when you are so young and it’s such uncharted territory for you.”

“It totally captured how weird and (expletive) it was that this could happen to young people,” Rogen boomed in a telephone interview. “Our hope is that it’s about a topic that no one wants to talk about, but it ends up ultimately being a great story, of friendship, that people want to watch anyway.”

Such pop-cultural touchstones signal a diminution of “cancer’s bugaboo,” said Matthew Zachary, head of the I’m Too Young for This! Cancer Foundation, the nation’s largest support organization for young adult survivors.

“We are not the dying Debra Winger anymore,” said Zachary, referring to the star of the 1983 tearjerker “Terms of Endearment.”

In 1995 Zachary, then 21, was a concert pianist, composer and college senior with pediatric brain cancer. He was told he probably would not survive six months, much less perform again. In March, he will host the OMG! Cancer Summit in Las Vegas for 500 young adult survivors.

Scientists at the National Cancer Institute in Bethesda, Md., recently released a white paper called “Changing the Conversation,” which addresses advances in detection, treatment and survival. According to Rick Borchelt, the institute’s special assistant for public affairs at the National Institutes of Health, it’s time for a new national dialogue about cancer, one that’s focused on not on “the cure” but a future in which many cancers will be prevented, a slim few will have cures and the vast majority will be treated as chronic diseases much as diabetes and HIV are now.

“It’s a much different world today for people diagnosed with cancer. Successfully surviving cancer with good quality of life is increasingly the story our research lets us tell,” Borchelt said.

Harold Varmus, director of the cancer institute, said, “There is a serious effort by NCI to address the medical and psycho-social problems that are faced, like questions about what happens after you survive: employment discrimination, fertility, dating.”

The best-known voice in survivor advocacy is Armstrong, he of the yellow wristbands, whose LiveStrong Foundation partnered in November with the American Society of Clinical Oncology to start Focus Under Forty to educate physicians about the unique challenges facing young adult patients.

“The best way we can end the stigma of cancer is to share our stories with one another,” Armstrong said in an e-mail interview. “One in three women and one in two men are affected by this disease. It’s all around us all the time and humor is a great coping mechanism. TV and film can help to de-stigmatize cancer.”

Lucas worked with Nancy Silvers to turn her memoir into a Lifetime Television movie: A recent journalism graduate is working her dream job as a television producer when breast cancer is diagnosed. She visits a topless bar and contemplates the power of breasts. She tries to imagine life after a mastectomy. She deals with a withdrawn husband who takes off skiing during her final chemotherapy session because he feels left out. She gets sick, very sick, especially in cabs, where she blurts out her bad news to a cabbie who confesses that he had testicular cancer.

Lucas sees herself as standing on the shoulders of such women as Betty Ford. The late first lady was one of the first public figures to talk openly about having a mastectomy, an issue still highly taboo in the 1970s.

For me, Lucas’s humor is comforting. Grandparents can talk about death because they and their friends are facing it. But my peer group would rather go out for cocktails than talk about how it feels to know that cancer might kill you before you hit 40.

“It’s been such an evolution with this whole idea of humor being used while a person goes through the C-word,” Lucas said. “We used to whisper about this disease. Now we can note the absurdity. But I think it’s important that with the humor you also honor the darkness.

“The biggest compliment I ever got from a reader was, ‘You made me laugh when I thought I would have nothing to laugh about.’ ”

At one point in her book, Lucas recounts consulting with a cosmetic surgeon about having areolae tattooed onto her reconstructed breasts. (“Whoever thought you would be shopping for a nipple?”) A doctor suggests creating a pointillist effect with hues of creamy pink, soft white and maroon: a Monet!

Lucas decides impressionist nipples seem inauthentic and ends up at a New York tattoo parlor where a tattoo artist designs a tasteful heart with wings for the lower end of her mastectomy scar.

“I was born into a certain body, but I have become this one,” she writes.

Now, 15 years later, she’s back at the artist’s parlor in Brooklyn. Her friends look through books of tattoos as the record player spins New Order and Madonna.

All of us, inspired by Lucas and perhaps the mood of hipster America, get tattoos. And every woman has her own reason.

Lucas gets one to honor 16 years of survival.

This time, it’s pain that she’s choosing.

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