What Not To Say

“You’re lucky.  If you have to get cancer then this is the one to get.”

I’ve been in the direct presence of this statement being said three different times in my lifetime.  

The first was to my father, who was being diagnosed with prostate cancer at the time.  According to his Oncologist everyone (well, every male) will eventually get prostate cancer if they live long enough.  As it turns out, his cancer had unknowingly metastasized into his bone by the time this conversation with the doctor was happening.  My dad died at fifty-nine from “easy” prostate cancer.

The second time I heard this statement it hit a little different as I’d already experienced what such an easy, lucky cancer can do to a person’s body and soul.  During my second rendition of the “you have the best cancer” speech, my mom’s doctor was telling her that almost everyone who gets thyroid cancer survives it.  Again, what that doctor didn’t know yet but would soon discover, my mom Hurthle Cell Carcinoma and while technically thyroid cancer, it is super rare.  No doctor in Lake County, Indiana had any working knowledge of the cancer and she was quickly passed onto the University of Chicago.  Her luck ran out when she was told there were no treatment options but they could get her into a trial.  I’ve since learned that when any doctor offers a trial it basically means a “Hail Mary” pass.  I appreciate a good Hail Mary in the last four seconds of a football game, and I cheer as loudly as anyone if the quarterback connects with his downfield receiver – even if it’s not one of my teams making the connection.  However, I also recognize when the QB lets go of the ball that the chances of it being caught by the correct team are very small.  My mom died at fifty-nine from “easy” thyroid cancer.

The latest time I’ve heard verbatim, “You’re lucky.  If you have to get cancer this is the one to get,” is during a phone call with my dermatologist’s office.  What I didn’t tell the nurse then but I’ll tell you, the reader, now is that statement means nothing to me.  And, actually, makes me pretty pissed off.  It gets lumped into all of the statements made that do not help. 

Nothing about having cancer feels lucky.  Even if it’s survivable the patient and support people still will undergo tremendous amounts of fear and pain over the next many months.  This latest experience with “the statement” reminded me that I was always going to put out a list of things not to say to a cancer patient or their support people.  Today I’ve compiled that list.

I’m thinking it might be helpful to start with what is helpful as that list is much shorter.  (These are my feelings and I wouldn’t suggest they’re everyone’s thoughts and feelings.  However, I’m pretty sure if you start here it’s a good start.)

The best thing you can tell anyone who gives you their bad news is, “I’m sorry.”  And then STOP TALKING!  No need to fill the silence with your feelings.  In that sacred moment the sharer doesn’t care that your Aunt Millie’s sister’s neighbor had exactly the same thing and she’s overcome.  Nor is this a good time to ask if they’re sure.  

I’ve done my best to educate my husband on this statement.  He’s a fixer.  He has twenty-two solutions to any problem at any time.  When his brain panics all twenty-two solutions will come out of his mouth.  As a wife they are not helpful at that moment.  They will definitely be helpful later but in that sacred moment of bad news, I need silence.  I need to know that he shares in my universe by being sorry that this is happening.  The same is true of your neighbor or friends or fellow grocery store shopper.  (About 90% of my solo shopping trips to Meijer have resulted in someone telling me bad news they’ve recently received.  100% of the time I’ve responded correctly because I offer no solutions but I sit with them in their pain by saying, “I’m so sorry you’re having to go through this right now.”)

The next best thing to say to someone who’s just shared bad news is, “How can I help?” or “What do you need?”  And then help. 

When my mom died I was too overwhelmed to even know what I needed.  A friend of mine, completely on her own, went to Meijer and bought everything she thought I’d possibly need over the next week and just delivered it to my house.  She filled my cupboards with comfort food, healthy food, and (needed) toilet paper.  I probably wouldn’t have asked her to do that as I’m horrible about not wanting to inconvenience people.  Her filling that physical need provided balm to my soul in that moment.  Another friend, after my dad died, dropped off to our front porch some homemade bread and a children’s book about how to express your feelings now that a grandparent had died along with a teddy bear for both my children and my niece.  She didn’t even knock because she didn’t want us to have to “perform” for her.  Cash! When my mom died Nathan really wanted a tuxedo (suit) to wear to the funeral. We didn’t have the money to buy him one. A friend gave me the money she would have spent on flowers and I used it to buy Nathan his tuxedo. I know we’re in the day and age of Gofundme but I don’t think I would have started one for my son to get a suit. The day my dad died my mom’s doorbell rang and I answered the door.  His best friend was standing there and, with tears in his eyes, he hugged me for three minutes.  He then just left.  My therapist and I have recently been talking about the ministry of presence.  Sitting with someone in their pain and not needing to  talk is incredibly powerful.  Recently, my friends invited me out to a trivia night and allowed me to just be normal.  We laughed, ate delicious food, and drank horrible alcohol.  Everything doesn’t have to be mopey when bad news exists.  Recently my friend remembered the date of my second opinion appointment and texted asking how it went.  It may seem too simple but I felt loved that she cared.

Helping is going to be as unique as the person needing the help.  You’re going to have to be creative and intuitive.  When in doubt ask the person.  Assure them of your love and care.

That’s it.  That’s the list of what to say.  

Here’s the list of what not to say and, if appropriate, an explanation of why.  This list is not exhaustive as humankind will assuredly come up with more inappropriate things by the minute.  Please allow me to say — if you’ve said one (or more) of these to me, it’s okay!  I’ve said one or more of these to people.  We all have.  This isn’t about shame or blame but, instead, how can we all be better humans.

Here is a list of things someone literally said to me following my parent’s sickness and eventual deaths or in the face of my own cancer diagnosis:

• I’ll pray for you.  — This one being on this list will probably get me kicked out of the Christian circles I run with.  The reality is too many people use this as a cop out.  They don’t want to enter your sacred, painful space so they Jesus the answer.  It’s not helpful.  I will add a caveat that I do have some friends who say this and literally mean it.  Those friends are excused.
• This must be God’s will. — No one, who is in pain, cares about God’s will right then.  I don’t know why this is an alleged helpful statement in the Christian world. 
• I am praying and I know with 100% certainty that God will heal your mom this side of Heaven. — She died.  You were wrong.
• God is with you. — Again, this one is touchy with my Christian friends.  I know this.  However, when I’m knee deep in hellish physical pain it’s not a comfort.  It’s not anesthesia.  
• God won’t give you more than you can handle. — This one is famous in my Christian circle.  It’s been said to me many times.  
• At least they’re healed in Heaven.  — Don’t care.  I want them healed on earth.
• Are you praying with faith? — Oh, Jesus people.  Please stop with the Jesus shaming.
• Following someone’s death – They’re in a better place.  — I didn’t care about that right then because I was selfish enough to want them with me on earth.
• Time heals all wounds. — Ew, don’t care about that right now.  And is time going to make my life go back to what it was before?
• Think of all the things you’re learning (about God, life, etc.) — Yea, um, I didn’t sign up for this course.  
• Johnny (Suzie, Debbie, etc.) is in a much more serious situation than you. — I don’t care!  My pain is my pain and I’m feeling it how I’m feeling it.
• Life is hard but God is good. — Someone said this to me immediately following my mom’s cancer diagnosis.  My first thought was if God is so good why is He deeming to torture me in this moment?  If God is good why is my mom coughing so hard she cannot breathe?  This can lead to a spiritual crisis in a grieving person who asks the question – If God is good why is He not good to me?  Immediate crisis situations are not the time to give pat Jesus answers.  
• When my mom died I got over it much quicker than it’s taking you. 
• It’s time to be strong.  — You mean I have to be strong for you?  I know I have to be strong.  I’m being strong by not melting into an emotional puddle right this very minute.  I’m out of bed and showered.  I’m strong.
• At least you won’t have to worry about elder care for your parents.
• Have you thought about this treatment option? — No, I haven’t and do you want to know why?  I go to a million doctor appointments where test results are presented and treatment options are offered and your (or your neighbor’s brother’s sister’s) particular type of cancer wasn’t presented. 
• Following his father’s death – I know exactly how you feel. — You don’t.  Just like I don’t know exactly how you feel.
• Why are you crying?  You should be rejoicing.  Your dad is in Heaven. 
• You should do … — This isn’t helpful.  
• Can you go to Walgreens and get pantyhose for <name redacted> because we’re running late for the wake and don’t have time to stop. — I said no.  Actually go ahead and ask this.  It has provided laughter to my sisters and I through the years.

I don’t discount that grief and bad news is uncomfortable.    I also know we’re capable of so much more.  We’ll all be okay.