Reacting to Cancer

If you want to see the best in people, tell them your father has cancer. If you want to see the worst in people, tell them your father has cancer.

  

I notice the nonverbal reactions first. When I mention my father’s cancer has spread from his colon to his liver, most people look at me with a mixture of something like pity, sadness, a “Thank God it’s him and not me” reaction, and horror. It flickers across their faces, but I always notice.

 

I’ve lost count of the number of people who blurted out, “That’s not good!” or “That sucks!” or my favorite, “That’s fatal!” These thoughts run through my head when that happens:

 

• No shit, genius.
• You have no tact.
• I bet you suck at poker.

 When your father has cancer, the absolute last thing you want to hear is some thoughtless comment, even if the person saying it means well. I know what he’s up against. I wish people would think before they speak. I wish they could hear what their words, regardless of the intent, sound like to me. How thoughtless their knee jerk reactions are when they blurt out the first words that pop into their heads.

 

I would love to react. Say something sarcastic or even cruel. But I don’t. It would be wasting energy, and I need everything I’ve got for my dad. For his fight. See, he’s not in this alone. Whenever a loved one has cancer, the entire family is the patient. I’m in this battle, too. Right by his side. I’m not going anywhere.

 

The best response is simple: I’m sorry. A two word sentence that means more than you’ll ever know.

 

Then there are the people who know actions speak louder than words. The friend who flew all night from Boston to St. Louis after I mentioned the jar of peanut butter in my pantry was moldy. When I asked why she dropped everything to visit, she said, “You don’t let anything get moldy. I knew you were in trouble, and I’m here to help.” She cleaned my entire house and stocked my kitchen with meals before flying back out to Boston.

There’s the friend who reminds me to eat whenever I mention I’ve forgotten to do so. She reminds me to take care of myself, because my dad needs me at my best. She prays for him. And for me.

 

There’s the friend who summoned me to lunch in order to gift me with baseball tickets. My dad was able to go to one game with my brother before he became too ill. I attended the others, happy to have a break from reality, even if it were just for nine innings.

 

There’s the friend who is extremely busy both professionally and personally, and decided to sign up for an athletic endurance event in honor of my dad. She wants a photo of him with her medal. I hope we can make that happen.

These gestures cancel out all the thoughtless comments and looks of horror and sadness. They remind me that I’m not in this alone.

Next time someone mentions a loved one has cancer, pause before you react. Think about how your words will sound to that person. And work on your poker face.