Fabulously Fighting: Living with Cancer Through Love, Laughter, and Honesty.

Fabulously Fighting: Living with Cancer Through Love, Laughter, and Honesty.

by Fabianna Marie


View All Available Formats & Editions
Eligible for FREE SHIPPING
  • Want it by Thursday, October 25  Order now and choose Expedited Shipping during checkout.
    Same Day shipping in Manhattan. 
    See Details


Fabulously Fighting: Living with Cancer Through Love, Laughter, and Honesty. by Fabianna Marie

With a brand-new baby and feeling as if her life was falling

into place, Fabianna Marie was diagnosed with not only an

autoimmune disease that was damaging her organs but was just handed

the diagnosis of breast cancer at age twenty-seven.

Fabianna was a new mother and a wife who felt no longer in control

of her life. Cancer had the wheel and wasn’t letting go. Fabianna Marie

was searching for a book about breast cancer that wasn’t full of medical

jargon that scared the crap out of her. She wanted a book that would

help her cope with everyday life.

The last eleven years of battling cancer have been a journey during

which she has learned how to live each day with love, laughter, and

honesty. Fabianna hopes that sharing her story can be that resource for

others she didn’t have.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781524647209
Publisher: AuthorHouse
Publication date: 11/04/2016
Pages: 112
Sales rank: 817,735
Product dimensions: 6.02(w) x 9.01(h) x 0.30(d)

Read an Excerpt

Fabulously Fighting

Living with Cancer Through Love, Laughter, And Honesty

By Fabianna Marie


Copyright © 2016 Shanna Clarke Pinet
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5246-4720-9


Fabianna vs. Cancer

The year 2004 was a great one for us. Dave and I had been happily married for four years, our beautiful daughter, Mackenzie, was born in April that year, and we had just purchased our first home.

It was also the year I was diagnosed with lupus. I had no idea then just how that diagnosis would turn into a landslide of appointments, surgeries, and a diagnosis of metastatic, BRCA1 positive, triple-negative, invasive breast cancer.

This will be the only chapter in which I talk about the nitty-gritty of my disease and diagnosis. I was twenty-seven when I was diagnosed, and I was searching for a book about breast cancer that wasn't full of all the medical jargon that scared the crap out of me. I wanted a book that would help me understand how I could get through everyday life. I had a one-year-old daughter, I was a wife, and I felt I was no longer in control of my life. Cancer had the wheel and wasn't letting go.

The last eleven years of battling cancer has been a journey during which I have learned how to live each day with love, laughter, and honesty. I hope my story can be that resource for others I didn't have.

I am Fabianna. Cancer is what I have, not who I am. This is my story.

During my pregnancy, I knew something was wrong. I had unexplained weight gain, swollen feet too big for my shoes, and headaches to the point of being bedridden for days at a time. Call it a mother's intuition, but the night I gave birth to my beautiful girl, I knew my body couldn't handle having another one.

Months after having Mackenzie and after numerous tests, the doctor finally diagnosed me with a condition called lupus, an autoimmune disease that attacks your organs. As if adjusting to a newborn wasn't enough, I'd have to adjust to a life of health concerns. Much thought was put into our next steps in the process of health care. One option that came up was undergoing breast-reduction surgery. I had ginormous breasts (triple D), and the weight on my joints was making the pain the disease caused that much worse.

I had a consultation with a plastic surgeon a little over a year after Mackenzie was born. Meeting this doctor forever changed my life. After filling out the intake forms and having the standard breast exam, the doctor recommended I have a mammogram "to cover all our bases." Looking back now, I think he must have felt something during the exam because I felt something after all this happened.

After the mammogram, I was instructed to sit in the waiting room while they checked the films. Ten to fifteen minutes later, the nurse came out and told me I was being sent for an ultrasound. Oh yeah. Did I mention I was alone? Who wants her husband to miss a day of work for "just" a consultation? During the ultrasound, my doctor, this man I had just met, told me there was cause for concern as they were seeing something. He strongly recommended a needle biopsy.

All this happened within two hours. I felt like a pincushion, the subject of a science experiment. I was told I'd be called later that day with the results and that we'd go from there. I sat in the car and cried for fifteen minutes before pulling myself together. I realized I had to face telling my parents, who were taking care of my daughter at home.

The whole way home, I went back and forth: Do I tell them? Do I wait? Do I scare them with this news that may not even be news? I knew I had to wait to hear from the doctor before telling them anything. After my parents left the house, I sat with Mackenzie in my lap. I was frozen. I couldn't move. I couldn't stop holding her. I couldn't stop praying that this was a bad dream I'd simply wake up from. Why wasn't Dave here with me? How will I explain to him what transpired at my appointment? I was startled out of my thoughts by the phone. I carefully picked up the receiver as if it were a bomb about to go off. The analogy is priceless.

"Yes, I understand what you're saying, Doctor. I have cancer."

I hung up the phone. I wondered if that was how doctors told people they had cancer. How do people handle this? I looked at my one-year-old daughter, this beautiful soul who had so much hope in her eyes. Will I live to see her grow up? Will I make it through breast cancer? Am I strong enough? The world around me became silent. The only thing I could hear was Mackenzie breathing as she put her head on my chest and snuggled right into our spot. This little girl who was part of me was breathing as if for me. I hadn't noticed I was holding my breath. The only thing that broke the silence was when she lifted her head, looked at me, pointed to my eyes, and said, "Mommy, no cry." I wiped away the one tear running down my face. My world stood still in the silence of my thoughts.

As I put Mackenzie to bed that night, I swore to myself that this would not derail my dreams of celebrating her birthdays, seeing her graduate from high school, and of becoming a grandmother to her children. I vowed that cancer would not dictate my future. It would not define me.

I waited for Dave to get home from an extremely hard, long day at work. I wondered how he would take the news. As I closed the drapes and snuggled up on the couch, just the light of the TV illuminated the room. Silence was all I could bear. Thank God for the mute button. My thoughts were enough to preoccupy me until I heard the car door close. He was home. How do you tell your soul mate that you may not be around to share the golden years or every birthday and memory we were supposed to create together?

One look at my face and Dave knew something was wrong. I told him about my appointment and of course the results. He just stared at me. The word cancer hung in the air like a balloon. The silence seemed to last forever as he processed what I had just said. He didn't ask many questions that night. I think he was in shock. I think we both were. The TV, still on mute, shed its flickering light on Dave's worried face. I'd never seen that look before — a look of horror, worry, sadness. It was torture to watch the agony I knew he was feeling.

As Dave laid his head on my belly, all I could hear was his breathing in and out. As he took his breath, my belly would sink and so did my heart. This man, this beautiful man, was my dream come true. He was my best friend, my everything. How were we going to get through this?

The next day, a Friday, my sister and I had plans to take my grandfather to lunch. When my sister arrived at the door, she was surprised to see Dave at home and about to accompany us to lunch. I think I made up a lame excuse — he had a headache; that was why he was home. I wasn't ready to tell anyone else about my diagnosis.

After we got back from lunch, Dave and I scheduled my first appointment with my first oncologist for the following Monday. (My mentioning "my first oncologist" is intentional; I've had a lot of doctors in eleven years. More to come on that later, but for now, let's focus on that first appointment.)

"You have stage 2 A breast cancer." Those were pretty much the first words out of my oncologist's mouth. I wish I could tell you that the severity of that statement resonated with me and that I listened diligently to the explanation of what 2 A meant, but that isn't what happened. All I could focus on was A. I was going to be an A. An A cup. Two-A could have meant I was a goner, but I couldn't listen. I didn't hear him. All my brain could focus on was that letter A. Later, I discovered that the 2 A meant the cancer was growing but still contained in the breast and that the tumor was under two centimeters.

We met the team of doctors; it was a tennis match — one doctor at one end of the table, the other at the other end, and back and forth they went. We should do this, we should do that, we should do this and that. Exhaustion set in as I listened to them talk about me and my body and making decisions I knew nothing about. I wanted to shout, "Hey you assholes! I'm not a doctor, nor do I play one on TV!" But I just sat there, watching this tennis match from hell and listening to them spouting long medical words. I was confused, overwhelmed, and aware that the doctors didn't seem to care. It was all Greek to me. I felt I was just another case study. I needed information, facts, and knowledge, but I wasn't getting any of that, at least not in a way my shell-shocked brain could comprehend. How was I supposed to make an educated decision at twenty-seven without hard facts about breast cancer? All I knew was my breasts were trying to kill me so just take them! I don't need them. In that one appointment, I went from fearing the A cup to embracing it. They were just boobs.

About an hour later, Dave and I left. I told him I hoped he'd been listening to what they said because I certainly hadn't been able to. Dave hadn't taken away much more from that meeting than I had. Dave's sticking point was that he'd have to change my drains after surgery and he was scared shitless. I thought, Me too, honey, me too.

The two weeks leading up to my surgery were surreal. I already had appointments booked for pre-op testing, I was debating how and when I'd tell my family, and I was preparing for my sister's baby shower, which was scheduled for the day before my surgery. I had always been told that when a baby is born, another soul leaves this world. When Mackenzie was born, my brother-in-law's grandfather passed away, and as I prepped for surgery and my sister's baby shower, I wondered if I would be the soul leaving the world for that baby.

I broke the news to my parents while I was preparing for the baby shower. It's funny what you remember and what you block out during life-altering experiences such as a cancer diagnosis. I vaguely remember telling my parents; they of course remember vividly. I don't remember telling my sister, and after some family conversation, it seems my parents broke the news. My sister remembers not being concerned about the diagnosis, and my parents made it seem like the surgery would fix it and all would be well. Maybe we all felt that way.

The barrage of pre-op appointments brought out a side of me I never knew I had. I had become the question lady; I needed to know what was going on and why. I had lost all control of my life, or so it felt, and knowing that they needed my weight to properly gauge how much anesthesia I'd get and my blood pressure to ensure I was healthy enough to endure the surgery offered a small semblance of regaining control.

I was very emotional the day before surgery, the baby shower. After one of my many trips to the bathroom to cry, I came out of the bathroom and saw my dad staring out the windows into the distance. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing I was. He said, "We're just going to get through right now."

After the shower, my parents came back to our house to get Mackenzie's things as they were going to watch her during my surgery. I remember holding Mackenzie, crying, putting her into the car, crying some more, and telling her I'd be fine. That feeling of having my heart torn out still brings tears to my eyes today, eleven years later.

The night before surgery is a blur. I remember taking a shower with the special wash they ask you to use and coming out of the shower to Dave asleep on the couch (shocker). I wrote a letter to my parents and one to Mackenzie. As I was writing a letter to Dave, I asked myself what the hell I was doing. Why was I writing good-bye letters to my loved ones? I closed the notebook, hid it (later to be found by my mother) and said f — that and f — cancer. I wasn't going anywhere; no need for good-byes.

The next morning, Dave and I went to the hospital. My partial mastectomy would take three or four hours. My team of oncologists and surgeons insisted this was the best route for me at age twenty-seven. They wanted to save my breasts. Damn boobs. Useless fat tissue that wanted to take my life. If the surgery was more complex than expected, if the tumor was bigger than they thought, the surgeons had my consent to do the full mastectomy. Just take 'em! They're trying to kill me anyway.

Dave was only with me for the first thirty minutes of pre-op, and then they kicked him to the curb — well, the waiting room. I was once again alone, just like that consultation and when I received my diagnosis. I asked questions again; I even asked the surgeons if they'd had a good night's sleep. I became a human doodle pad; surgeons drew circles and lines all over my upper body. I went into surgery with this overwhelming calm. It could have been the meds they were jacking into my veins, but I was calmer than I had been in weeks. Somehow, I knew it was going to be okay.

Ten hours later, as I was being wheeled out of recovery, the smell of stale, sterilized halls overwhelmed me. The two nurses wheeling my gurney were chatting about me as if I were dead. Am I dead? Is this heaven? If this is heaven, it sucks! I realized the nurses were talking about me as if I weren't there because my eyes were shut. One said, "I think we should be wheeling her back down to recovery. She looks awful. The doctor said she lost a lot of blood and that it was worse than they thought." What? Hello, ladies. I'm here, I can hear you! My eyes didn't open. My mouth didn't move. All went black again.

I woke up in my private room to the sounds of machines and feeling pain, so much pain. I looked down and realized they were gone — no more triple D breasts. I had nothing, not even an A cup. I guessed they had heeded my wishes and did a full mastectomy. Dave was sitting bedside holding my hand. Nothing feels as good as my husband's hand in mine; somehow, it makes everything better. The doctor in his white coat and really white teeth came sauntering in.

"Nice to have you back, Fabianna. That was a lot rougher than we anticipated. We're sorry we scared your family. We had to take a lot more of your breasts than we had anticipated."

"What? You mean I didn't have a full mastectomy?"

"No, we took quite a bit, but after healing, you should be about B cup. We couldn't get clean margins, so we kept taking more. But after all the reconstructing, you should heal nicely and go into chemotherapy like a champ."

Chemotherapy. The word I'd been dreading. As if losing the majority of my breasts and the resulting pain wasn't enough, now I'd have to endure chemotherapy and losing my hair. Memories of being a pageant girl and of strutting my stuff on stage raced through my mind. Will I ever strut again? Will I ever feel like a "real woman" again? Will I ever be the same Fabianna, or has cancer changed me forever?

That night, after the nurse threw Dave out of my room so I could sleep, I was in so much pain. I kept pressing the morphine button and praying to God for some relief. It's so funny when we choose to pray. At that time, at my young age, I prayed when I was in pain or trouble. Praying has now become a morning ritual. I've learned that praying is giving thanks to the universe for continuing to breathe another breath for another day. I prayed that night more than I had ever prayed before. I prayed for the pain, I prayed for my family — their worry and empathy were so evident when they came to see me out of surgery. The face I will never forget is my dad's. He stepped into the room and sat in the chair farthest from my bed, never taking his eyes off mine. The pain I saw in his eyes was worse than the pain I was feeling post-surgery. I don't know exactly what he was thinking, but I could imagine. Having a daughter of my own, I tried to put myself in his shoes. The heartrending pain was too much to think about.

Later that evening, as the nurse came to take my vitals, I was unpleasantly surprised at how rude she was. I understood it was the middle of the night, but I had to pee. I politely asked her to help me to the bathroom. She grumbled. I also asked her to wipe me because you don't realize how much you use your muscles to do everything until you can't. I couldn't move my arms.

She got me back to bed. I spent the rest of the night wondering how I was going to get through the rest of this treatment. They checked my vitals and my drains every hour. Since it was a teaching hospital, every surgical resident in the area was in my room all night long checking my dressing, removing the compression, causing me great pain, and seeing my naked breasts. All of these people were looking at my breasts or what was left of them, but I couldn't bring myself to look. I didn't until days later.

I prayed that night for the strength to endure what my life was going to be like for the next several months. I promised myself that I would begin to look at every day as a gift, and no matter what life was going to throw at me, I'd live it to the fullest. Cancer wasn't going to define me.

The next morning brought a very welcomed face. Dave's beautiful smile has always melted my heart, but I didn't realize how safe his smile and demeanor made me feel. The next few hours were filled with doctors' visits and nurses prepping us to go home. Dave was going to be my twenty-four-hour nurse — emptying my drains, helping me to the bathroom, and keeping me comfortable and drugged for the pain.


Excerpted from Fabulously Fighting by Fabianna Marie. Copyright © 2016 Shanna Clarke Pinet. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents


Preface, vii,
Chapter 1 Fabianna vs. Cancer, 1,
Chapter 2 Dave vs. Cancer, 13,
Chapter 3 Us vs. Cancer, 23,
Chapter 4 Positive Thinking vs. Cancer, 29,
Chapter 5 Body Acceptance vs. Cancer, 37,
Chapter 6 The Outside World, 47,
Chapter 7 Life Support, 57,
Chapter 8 Balance vs. Cancer, 67,
Chapter 9 Parenthood vs. Cancer, 75,
Chapter 10 You Are What You Eat, 87,
Chapter 11 Where Do We Go from Here?, 95,
About the Author, 101,

Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See All Customer Reviews

Fabulously Fighting: Living with Cancer Through Love, Laughter, and Honesty. 4.4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 24 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Had a chance to meet Fabianna Marie and her wonderful family. She is an inspiring person who had chosen to share her story with everyone. She is positive and up lifting person, who has told her story and details of her personal life to help others through hard times. I believe that everyone has a loved one affect by cancer and everyone can learn from each other’s experience. I strongly recommend this book.
BookLoverr629 More than 1 year ago
After recently losing a family member to cancer, I was looking for a read that would provide me with strength and hope. The writer made me laugh, cry and most importantly restored my hope. Her tips on how to speak to children about cancer are so valuable, and her daughter seems just as strong as her mama. For anyone who has been diagnosed themselves or has a loved with one fighting this awful disease, this is a MUST READ.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I don't usually write reviews, but I feel I must commend Fabianna for her strength and courage in sharing her story. I enjoyed this book very much. It was a quick read, but I found myself turning back to the beginning to start it again as soon as I finished it. I lost my grandfather to cancer - it was a quick diagnosis and passing, so we did not have a chance to think about much or even get over the shock of it all. I felt I could really connect with Fabianna and her family. Strongly recommend this book. Thank you.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I didn't know what to expect, but WOW! Fabianna's ability to pull you in and make you feel like you know her and have known her for years is incredible. I was blown away at the down to earth, real life approach that Fabianna takes in telling her story. It was wonderful to be able to "hear" from not only her, an 11 year cancer fighter, but also her husband, daughter and parents about living with cancer. That might be my favorite take away - living WITH cancer. I also found an ebook that Fabianna has done and am now following her on social media, I might be obsessed. I have bought multiple copies for family as Christmas presents. This book just makes you feel good, and like hugging your loved ones. I am pulling for you Fabianna - I can't wait to see what you can do in the next 11 years.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
JodiL13 More than 1 year ago
Fabianna is an inspiration. She is a mother, a daughter and my best friend. I have known Fabianna for over 25 years. I have attended doctor's appointments with her, cried with her, sat with her during bouts of nausea and during a crazy 36 hour protocol for the Soqi bed. Fabianna always remains positive, despite how she is feeling physically. If I am having a bad day and ready to give up, I think of her and I am energized by her constant positive attitude and her tenacity. While writing this book, Fabianna and her family relived and rehashed 11 years of painful stories and memories. It was hard to remain positive and it took its toll, but Fabianna continued on because she wanted to share her story in an attempt to help someone else stay positive and fight another day. Fabianna is a beautiful soul and has an amazing heart. Her story is heartwarming, genuine, and beautiful, just like she is. Highly recommended.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I only wish this book was longer! I wanted to read more! I want to know more! I figured this book would be like many of the others I have purchased on cancer, illness and overcoming adversity. You get a story of someone's journey and then lots of medical jargon and statistics that leave you feeling like you just read an article in The Journal of Medicine. Here, instead, Fabianna Marie shares what feels like every aspect of her journey with cancer, including raw, honest emotion and horrific trials and tribulations. Despite the subject matter, this didn't leave me depressed and reaching for the Ben and Jerry's. I am left with a renewed sense of hope that we can beat cancer and that there are truly good people in this world. I will be recommending this book to family and friends as I feel anyone who has faced adversity can benefit from Fabianna's positive take on cancer and life.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
A heart warming story and in depth look at what living with cancer is like. I wish I had been able to read this book years ago when faced with family and friends who were battling cancer. Fabianna and her family are an inspiration for anyone facing adversity. This is a great read and resource for anyone who knows someone facing cancer. It made me laugh, cry and really appreciate the people I have in my life.
LeelaBasenji More than 1 year ago
EllieBelliecanread More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Great read. Having read other published stories of cancer, I have felt the stories were so self-serving. However, with this book, I was pleasantly surprised by the tone. Fabianna's 24-carat spirit shines with her truth and humor. I truly felt myself wanting to feel sad and laugh at the same time. The inclusion of her family was wonderful. I feel a potent connection with them, and appreciated their perspectives and realism behind this disease, and the affects on those you love the most. If you want to read a story that will truly serve your mind and spirit, I truly recommend this book. If you are currently fighting or know someone who is, this is a MUST READ.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Great read! Inspirational story.
123Deb More than 1 year ago
I thought this was a great read! Will she be making any appearances? I would like to see a book signing in NY!!!!!
kj505 More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Great book! Wish I could meet her!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I thought the chapter from her husband was awesome. I hope to hear more from him, i think its important to understand how to support our wives.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This woman truly amazes me. I could give her 5 stars simply because she has got it all going on...wife, mother, author, business woman, and survivor. But. I gave her book 5 stars because I absolutely loved it. You'll love it too!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Fabulously Fighting is a very well written book not only for people fighting cancer, family of the fighting, but everyone. I throughly enjoyed this book that was mixed with hardening truth about cancer as well as Fabianna's sense of humor. Parts of the book were educational but just enough to give a little background to better understand some terms. As tears flew out my eyes I read the devastating truth about Fabianna and her life of living with cancer. She is a fighter and this book describes her story of living with cancer.
kac More than 1 year ago
I shed some tears while reading this book but sharing her journey gives you hope and inspiration. The in depth details of her battle with this disease and her family's input provide information without scaring you. What a heart-warming, well-written book. A must read for everyone!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Poorly written and lacking on details and facts. The book doe not chronicle cancer but rather mental illness and an obsession with gaining the attention and acceptance of others. A regretful read.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago