By Fran Drescher

One doctor told her to eat less spinach. One prescribed a bedtime dose of gin and tonic, and another merely complimented her on having "the [breasts] of an 18-year-old." Two years later, in 2000, after futile visits to eight doctors, Fran Drescher learned she had uterine cancer and needed a radical hysterectomy. "Was I going to die?" she wondered. "I've got Lancôme I haven't even opened yet." The actress's excruciating journey from the 1998 onset of her symptoms—such as cramps after intercourse—through her full recovery reveals a raw, vulnerable side to the Nanny. Although at times too descriptive (a first attempt at post-op sex reads like a letter to Penthouse), Drescher writes with unforced humor and plenty of gusto. She informs, comforts and movingly entertains. (Warner, $22.95)

Bottom Line: A funny lady provides laughs—and inspiration