Discussing Breast Cancer

“Cancer, I am going to kick your butt … “

That’s what Marisa (in character form) is saying to the cloaked cancer villain on the inside hardcover of her graphic memoir.

Marisa created a work of brilliance when she cartooned her way through breast cancer. She visually depicts the shared experiences of survivors, down to the most minute details. Like including the time she received the call re: her diagnosis (10:12 am) and the time she called her parents to share the news with them (10:12:03 am). Like the one post-diagnosis phone call (from her sister) that caused her to finally break down and cry. Like the number of needles she was poked with throughout her experience (29). Oh, and like the number of pounds she gained throughout the ordeal (18).

Marisa’s experiences are so poignantly told in her visual story that I sat down and read this book in one sitting. I related to so much of what she shared in “Cancer Vixen” — reinforcing the idea that survivors are united in an experience that surpasses differences in status, style and sociality. That says a lot since I’m a Connecticut wife of ten years and mother of three kids and Marisa is a single child-less Manhattan cartoonist, published by The New York Times and The New Yorker, engaged to a ‘It’ Italian restaurateur. (I’ll let you read about whether or not she stays single for the duration of the book.)

The words we choose to describe what we are going through aren’t always sufficient to describe our experience. Even as a writer, I find myself struggling to convey my thoughts and feelings at the time of my diagnoses and during my treatments. (I think that’s why it is such a relief when you talk with a survivor because they can just say, ‘I know,’ and they mean it because they’ve been there.)

When Marisa depicts herself as a young girl climbing up onto her mommy’s lap and saying, “I don’t want to be here,” … well, I’ve never had a cartoon bring tears to my eyes before, let me tell you, and I never imagined feeling such emotion in this genre.

My favorite topic? The Cancer Card (page 107 if you have the book). We’ve all been given it and we’ve all used it. It’s our consolation prize. Heck, just last night, a friend of mine swiped my card and I didn’t even know she had one with her name on it. LOVE how Marisa handled that one.

Two great two page layouts:

(1) In the beginning of the book, Marisa takes us back to the other life-changing event dominating her life as an American and a Manhattanitte (9/11). She included her ‘talking pictures’ from that day in 2001; I’m so glad she did.

(2) Towards the end of the book, Marisa takes us into the radiation clinic where she succinctly captured the reason radiation is ‘psychologically harder than chemo’ (her words, not mine). I love her succinct summary of what took place over several weeks.

Finally, and this might be the main reason I smiled as I turned page after page: Marisa wasn’t afraid to reference Catholicism in the book. Praying to God and praising Mary and the intercession of Saints Philomena and Blessed Iacobus — lighting candles in the church, saying the rosary. Those familiarities speak to me personally as a Catholic. But Marisa also visited The Kaballah Centre. So, without saying it, she communicates to us that survivors need all the help we can get from God and the saints and any practice of our faith that helps us to feel the strength He offers us is a good thing.

I highly recommend this book. Powerful. Light. Funny. I’m going to leave this one on my coffee table for a long, long time. Probably opened to the page with a single candle with a glowing flame and the line, ‘When you light a candle, you illuminate a soul.’ A moment of silence for those who lost the battle against cancer and no longer live in our world.

Read more reader reviews on the Amazon web page.