What do you say to someone diagnosed with cancer?
I've hesitated about writing this blog. Of course, everyone reacts
and deals with their diagnosis differently so there can be no rights and wrongs
– after all, one man's compliment is another woman's smack in the teeth.
But in my own experience, and in listening to other people
who have cancer, there are some common statements issued in good faith by caring
souls who believe them to be soothing and consoling, which prove to be the opposite.
And as it's frequently said that people don't know what to say when they find
out their friend, relative or colleague has cancer, I thought I'd pick out a few
classic comments where I suggest you proceed with caution.
Please don’t have nightmares. Much more than the clangers, we
talk about the wonderful love and support which gets us through the tricky
times. And I can honestly say that nobody has said anything that's made me
cross or any more upset than I currently was – apart from the person who
insisted on telling me a statistic about prognosis she'd read, but even that
was said in good faith.
Compassion, whatever the wording, should never be criticised.
Besides, I'm sure I'm guilty of some of these myself…
We could all be
run over by a bus.
Yes, we could, and I appreciate the sentiment. But crossing
the road is a risk we take; having cancer is somewhat forced upon us and when we
have it, the reality of a premature end is so much more blatant than the
potential to find ourselves under the wheels of a bus. I would also say that if
we were particularly worried about being run over by a bus, we could take
precautions to prevent this unfortunate incident such as never crossing a road.
I, and everyone I know who's been touched by cancer, would like to be told the
one thing we must do to prevent cancer coming back. And we'd all do it. Unlike
not crossing a road, this hasn't been discovered yet.
My friend's brother's
sister's cousin had breast cancer twice and is fine.
I understand this one entirely. We all love a success story.
Surely when someone has cancer, they also want to hear success stories, right?
Sort of.
But it's a certain kind of success story. Having cancer is
about having your mortality thrust in front of your face; however aware you
were of it before, it's just so much more immediate now. On diagnosis, I'd
suggest there are two questions that people need answered – hopefully in the affirmative:
Can I be cured? and, Can I stop it coming back? With cancer, one of the hardest
things to believe is that if you're lucky enough to survive the first time,
that your body won't get it wrong the next time. When those rogue cancer cells
called, your body was found wanting. What logic says your defences will perform
better next time? Much logic, actually. There's plenty of research and a wealth
of stats to show that your body won't get caught out again and drugs such as
Tamoxifen and Herceptin also help your body change its attitude. But whatever
the scientists tell us, it takes time to trust your body again after cancer. If
you have breast cancer and have had one breast removed, it's really hard to
rationalise that you're not going to get cancer in the other one. And next time
it might be harder to detect. It might have spread further. It might be more
difficult to cure. And even if all the answers were positive, who would relish
the idea of another round of treatments?
So, I suggest proceeding with caution in the choice of success
stories. Those where people have survived multiple incidences of cancer are another
resounding endorsement that recurrence happens. And that isn't something that somebody
who's currently dealing with their first bout, wants to think about.
I've just read an
article that if you snort three pieces of seaweed (freshly picked that morning
from anywhere along the beach between Seahouses and Alnwick on the north coast)
on the hour, every hour, they said it could reduce the risk of cancer.
I'm all for well-researched information which has scientific
backing. Trust me, I'm as keen as anyone to discover a food source which will
give me that piece of mind. But one person's chance hearing can be another
person's 24 hours of research and if you magnify that up by all the good folk
who've heard a rumour, all of a sudden you're wading through a confusion of
unsubstantiated research where much better for your health might have been to
relax and read a book. The most helpful suggestions are from those who hear
something, carry out the research and only pass on the findings when they've
done the work for you. Some people have done this for me and I really
appreciate it.
We’re all going to
die anyway.
Yes, we are. However, most of us hope that if we do our best
to treat our body with respect, we'll live beyond retirement. It isn't
something I take for granted but it is a hope. So yes, we will all die one day
but when you've just been diagnosed with cancer at 45, your biggest fear is
that the day could be forty years earlier than it might have been.
What's the
prognosis?
No. Just no. Nobody has asked me this but I was staggered to
hear that it was quite a common question and generally from relative strangers.
Eeek! I don't think you need me to point out that if somebody hasn't discussed
their prognosis, they probably don't want to talk about it. It isn't something you'd
forget to mention.
Re chemo aches and
groans: at least it means it's working.
It doesn't mean it's working; it doesn't mean anything
significant and the inaccuracy of this upsets some people.
Re pending chemo:
does it make it easier now you know what to expect?
I think this might be acute paranoia on my part but it feels
like the awfulness of chemo is belittled with this question. It's as if, had you'd
been stronger or braver rather than fearful for previous doses, the experience
wouldn't have been as bad. In truth, knowing what's coming is more likely to
make it worse.
You look great.
- when you don't and /or you feel terrible. This offends
some people but not me, you can tell me as many times as you like ;)
