...or any chronic illness patient.
...or, heck, just read this.
I wrote something while I was going through chemo moths ago entitled "Ten Things Not to Say to a Cancer Patient." It was raw and full of snark. I was tired. I was scared. It wasn't a particularly grace-filled post.
Thankfully, that little voice in the back of my head urged me not to post it and I, uncharacteristically, listened.
Now, with a bit if distance, I feel capable of writing something more helpful.
The problem with trying to give advice on something that totally rocks one's entire world is that there's really no way to avoid the conflict that's to come. I'm someone who likes solutions. I like to see that things can be fixed with enough planning and elbow grease.
This just isn't one of those situations where there is a fix.
Cancer is hard. Being there for a friend or family member with cancer is hard.
This situation has emotions that are just too big for words, so nothing is going to be right all the time. And sometimes, you have just said everything you can say, so you're left scrambling to find something. I get it.
And yet, we still have to talk to others during these hard times, so we are all searching for the elusive answer to the question, "What does a cancer patient need?"
There's not always a good answer for that. What do we need? Heck, half the time, we don't even know. Simetimes, we only know the wrong thing to say after it has been said.
That leaves people walking on eggshells around us, afraid of making a mistake. And even that can tick us off, because we just want someone else to understand and get it. We just want to be ourselves again.
I'm just being honest. It's rough. For everybody.
So, as I thought about this issue, I tried to whittle it down to one thing. What do we really need? What is the single guiding principle that can help you to evaluate what to say to your loved one? It finally dawned on me.
Hope.
We need hope.
No, I'm not talking about "toxic positivity," which is just another new, unnecessary label for people who are annoying and unable to read a room. (side note: do we really need all these labels for every behavior under the sun? I'm so sick of "toxic labels." See what I did there?)
I'm not talking about people who refuse to acknowledge that this is hard or that yes, we actually might die.
I'm talking about when people understand that possibility, are heart broken by it, and yet they choose to have hope for you anyway.
One of the best things my husband said to me throughout this ordeal involved hope.
One day when the fears were creeping in, I told my husband that all the people in the Bible were healed when they had faith. I didn't think I had enough faith, so I asked him to give me evidence for his belief that I'd be okay. Eventually, the discussion degraded to me standing in our living room, feeling small and scared, crying that, "I don't have scientific evidence. I don't have enough faith. I don't have anything to give me hope."
My husband (who has a very strong faith, but very few words) told me something along the lines of, "You don't have to believe that God will heal you right now. I'll believe enough for both of us."
We need that strength in hope. Sometimes, we can't deal with our fear and yours, too.
Sometimes, the most hopelessness is offered to us by other cancer patients. Cancer support groups are notoriously filled with depressed and depressing people.
I speak to a lot of cancer patients, especially online. It never fails that a newly diagnosed woman will get online and ask a question about her prognosis. I can just envision her: shaking fingers, biting her lip, just praying that someone can come up with something to remind her that there is still hope.
Inevitably, someone thoughtless comes along and says something like, "Well, I'll pray you don't have ovarian cancer because it's a horror I wouldn't wish on anybody." 🙄
If I could crawl through a screen all The Ring-like and shake someone, I think I would.
Seriously. Buck up, buttercup.
I wish someone had said that to me earlier in my life. If you have the opportunity to be the source of hope for someone else more afraid than you, take it!
There comes a time when you have to put away those puffy Gerber training undies and replace them with some big girl panties. You can wallow if you'd like, but keep that business from the ones who really need hope, please. And honest, I used to be a big fan of wallowing. There were times in my life when I spent days being unwashed and mopey. It was my jam. Then, I got cancer and realized that my days- and showers- are numbered.
If I have said it once, I've said it a hundred times: cancer is as much a mental battle as it is a physical one. Those new cancer patients need you to be strong.
The same women who talk about how awful chemo was could also be offering praise for getting through it and achieving NED. Not everyone is so fortunate.
The same women who tell women about the trials of surgery could also give thanks to God that there were able to have surgery. Not everyone is so fortunate.
The same women who complain to newly diagnosed women about how they will always live in fear and how ovarian cancer has changed their lives forever could be using it as a springboard to change their lives and truly LIVE.
I'm not saying that you can't be honest about those challenges when asked, because they happen for sure. But there needs to be a bit of discretion about timing.
And, if we are fortunate enough to have "post-chemo" chapter of our book, we need to be willing to give the whole picture, not just the ugly bits.
That's not toxic positivity, that's being real.
The survivors who are still focused solely on the fight are missing the bigger picture.
As far as caregivers, friends, and family, we have all seen cancer as such a thing of fear. And it is.
But it can also be a thing of beauty. We need to be able to temper our conversations with that, too.
I think this is impossible if you don't have a worldview that includes and afterlife and a "growth mindset." (Oh geez. Here I go with those buzz words again.)
In the absence of earthly hope, those of us who have heavenly hope can still function and, what's more, we can offer that hope to others.
And I know, I know. That sounds fake and Christianese to say that. But it is true.
For this reason, I now believe there is no hopeless situation for a believer with cancer. We either have hope for a longer life with people we love or we have hope for and endless life with people we love. Even in the worst, most painful situation, there is still hope.
Of course, sometimes it doesn't feel that way. Sometimes we need the reminder from those we love.
And sometimes that reminder must be gentle because we aren't ready to hear it. Each situation is different.
So, when you talk to your loved one with cancer, make sure the conversation is guided by hope. There is no good script to follow. You won't have the words to soothe our aching souls. You won't have the cure for our biggest fear. You don't have to pretend this is going to be all sunshine and rainbows, but you can be present with us, despite it being scary or heartbreaking for you, too, and you can offer us hope.
And for that, we thank you. ❤
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