"Talking with a Cancer Patient"

Watching people’s approach to talking with me about cancer was a study in human behavior. At one point, I began to wonder if I had a flashing sign on my head or something which caused previously perfectly normal people to react strangely to me.  I had fun analyzing them. I found people seemed to have two general types of responses. There were the secretly terrified ones and the caring but bumbling responses.

The frightened people would use similar phrases. They would furrow their brows in concern, and ask if there was anything they could do.  It seemed so vague that somehow I felt “anything” included doing “nothing”—at least not anything specific and time-consuming like walking my dog. These were the people who would whisper the word, “cancer.” I looked around in response, wondering, who can overhear us and why should we care? We weren’t in a library.  Others couldn’t even manage a whisper of the word. They avoided uttering the word, “cancer.” What? I thought. The word can’t cause the disease! Besides, I already have cancer. We aren’t in a primitive society believing the uttering of a word has the power to produce the condition. Maybe they have never faced their own mortality. Subconsciously, they want to separate themselves from a dreaded disease and the person who reminds them it exists.

My most caring friends sometimes came off as awkward. I know many of the raising awareness events and cancer sites have promoted an acceptable vocabulary of “warrior” and “fight like a girl” but I didn’t know how to respond when someone enthusiastically exclaimed, “You got this! You are strong! You are a warrior!” Cancer is not some athletic event that can showcase my prowess in battle. I know people mean well, but the whole vocabulary was foreign to me. Older folks have the Urban Dictionary so we know if we should let our teens “Watch Netflix and chill,” but what dictionary do cancer patients have? I sure didn’t FEEL as if I was in a competition with cancer. I felt I was an abused woman, cowering in fear and pain. If I didn’t actually die at the hands of my abuser, others excitedly proclaimed me victorious. It seemed weird.  

A common response I encountered included remarks about the people they knew who had cancer; “had” in the sense that they were now dead. I recognize people usually want to relate to something in the conversation, so all some can come up with is, “I knew a cancer patient.” In fact, the first person I told in church said, “My first wife had breast cancer, too, but she died.” Uhh…thanks for sharing?         

Advice was dispensed like a doctor writing a prescription (minus the credentials). “I know! Take this natural oil. It works. My Uncle Bob takes it and he never got cancer.” Since I taught forensics, I was tempted to reply, ad ignorantiam (appeal to ignorance) is a logical fallacy but I was too weary to continue the conversation.  Other advice was overly helpful, spoken with conviction and authority. “I read on internet there’s really a cure. Let me get you the website.”

One person said what to me sounded bizarre. She said, “Oh, you have the good kind of cancer.” My mind was reeling, “There’s a good kind?” I didn’t want to be too particular, though, about the wording of the encouragement I was given. I read about a woman who resented it when people called cancer “her journey.” She retorted that she wasn’t going to the Bahamas! I tried to focus on the intent more than the words.

To formulate a reply to the people putting a positive-spin on cancer was also difficult. One acquaintance said to me as encouragement: “Well, now you get to use marijuana!” Whee. Like I’m supposed to be glad now to have cancer.

I had to endure well-meaning but in-denial remarks such as, “Don’t claim it. Don’t say it. Claim good health. Speak it into the universe.” I thought, should I tell my mirror too? Good morning, mirror. I don’t have cancer. No sir-ree. I’m naming it and claiming it: I’m wonderful (well, maybe that part could be true) and I’m healthy!

The thoughtless remarks were the worst. A cashier asked if I wanted to donate to breast cancer research. I declined. So she scolded me, saying, “Well, you know, some women are depending on you.” I wanted to pull my blouse collar down to reveal my port-site and say, “Yeah. I’m one of the ‘some women’ depending on me!”

Then, surprisingly, there were the compliments. Maybe people were trying too hard. They left me struggling for responses. Fortunately, I usually chose a succinct, “Thank you,” while mentally adding, “I guess.” One sales associate enthusiastically exclaimed, “You have a lovely-shaped head.” (Oh, goody. The benefits of cancer never seem to end!)

In retrospect, I may have been more sensitive during my time of trauma and turmoil. Perhaps there are no perfect responses to finding out someone has cancer. May I suggest just a couple old standbys though: “I’m sorry to hear that. How may I be of help?” or “Thank you for being comfortable sharing. I will keep you in my thoughts.” Enough said.

Reflection:

What phrases could you have ready to respond to a friend announcing they have cancer?

If you had/have cancer, what were some of the best responses you heard?