Cancer Diagnosis: No Chirps, Please
by Nancy King
The outer trip to the oncologist’s office takes about fifteen minutes from my house. The inner journey, which has been going on for twenty-four years, continues. One can be in remission from leukemia, but there’s no knowing for how long. It can return, seemingly from one day to the next, with no warning except perhaps for unusual fatigue and weird sweating. I’ve learned to live with the uncertainty of remission by telling myself, “For the moment, all is well.”
Since being diagnosed with cancer I’ve gotten a lot of advice, most of it unasked for. Much of it makes me want to scream, or worse. I have been told: “Cancer is a gift.” “You have to have a positive attitude or you won’t get well.” “You’ve always taken such good care of yourself, how can you have cancer?” “If you dwell on the dark side you’re going to make yourself even more sick.” “What have you done to bring this on yourself?” “You’re lucky, they have medicine for the kind of leukemia you have.” It took me a long time to realize that most of their comments are fueled by their fear. Perhaps they think that acknowledging and facing the dark side of life is a trip from which there is no return. In my experience, it’s about discovering a healthy inner balance. I could not find my way back to life and light until I dealt with the dark side. It’s a scary journey but a return ticket is not only possible, it helps to create one’s new life.
Reading about people with cancer makes me wonder why it is that only positive thoughts are allowed. Almost always, the person highlighted has an upbeat attitude, never feels down, never acknowledges the darkness, and never admits wanting to give up. It’s almost as if the person is a candidate for sainthood, as if the article has been written in chirps rather than words. After reading one too many of these articles I began to think there was something wrong with me. I hated the fatigue, the inability to live life on my terms. I was sure there was something wrong with me when I found myself yearning to be strong enough to take out the garbage. It took months of accepting the inner deadness, despair, and the feeling that my body had betrayed me, before these feelings began to give way to the sense that there was now a before and an after, that my life would never be what it was, but what it could be was worth exploring.
All of this makes a sense of humor an important part of dealing with the cancer journey. When my long, straight blonde hair fell out and it grew back dark and curly, while sitting in the waiting room I asked the group, “Okay, who got my hair?” A woman without hair laughed and said, “Maybe it’ll be me. I’d trade you my mousy brown hair for dark and curly any day.” A bald headed man grinned. “I lost all my hair years ago. I’d settle for hair—don’t care what color or kind.” While part of one experimental protocol I was required to visit a National Cancer Center every month. Each time patients had to wait hours for their new batch of medicine. I am not good at waiting, especially when I think a system is inefficient. I grumpily voiced my opinion, more than once. When told to be patient, I retorted, “I’m not a patient, I’m an impatient.” The nurses laughed and when it was my turn to be called, I heard a chuckling voice call out, “Impatient King.” The people in the waiting room gave me the thumbs up sign, encouraging me to keep protesting. With their support I managed to change the system and from then on we didn’t have to wait as long for our medicine.
So, here’s a bit of unasked for advice. If you meet someone traveling through life with cancer or any other catastrophic illness, and you don’t know what to say, try asking, “What’s it like for you?” You can’t know how they feel or what it’s like to be given a life-threatening diagnosis. Just be there for them as best you can. That’s more than good enough.
Nancy King's book Morning Light deals with some of the issues that arise when dealing with a catastrophic illness. You can read the first pages of her novels: A Woman Walking, Morning Light, and The Stones Speak. on her website: www.nancykingstories.com. Her books can be purchased from her website or ordered by local bookstores.
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Reader Comments (12)
Nancy, you're awesome! Truly awesome.
Love and hugs,
Kim
Nancy offers good advice, but fails to realize she IS an upbeat kind of person almost all the time. It's just that she stays upbeat in a "Move-Your-Ass" kind of way that makes the rest of us try to keep up with her.
Nancy,
Thank you so much for sharing 'what it's like' for you. My husband's daughter is also living in remission from leukemia, so this really hit home.
Good advice for how to interact with someone with cancer. No matter how hard one tries to put onesself in someone else's shoes, it really isn't possible. Your journey has been a difficult one and you've been very gutsy. Angry? Sure. But don't be too hard on folks who want to help and just don't know the right way. We are not born knowing how to respond to the challenges others face. We fall back on trying to give advice because we don't know what else to do. Maybe this is something people should learn in school. Most parents are not equipped to teach these subtle strategies to thier children. Maybe the best thing we could teach would be "shut up and listen." Thanks for the "heads up" Nancy.
Nancy,
Having just gone through the experience of losing my sister to leukemia, this really hit home with me. Poignant and personal. You're unsolicited advise is right on target. Thank you for sharing your experience.
Peace,
Gary
Thank you for your responses. I appreciate hearing from you, laughing with you.
What helps me the most are people who listen, really listen, who leave space in our conversation for reflection, who don't give advice or even comment. They understand that it's about bearing witness rather than "fixing."
I am blessed to have friends and editors who help to make my life journey possible.
If those support groups and "positive thinking" proponents only realized the hidden power in those thoughts that create discomfort. Since our natural, abundant, unlimited state is True Joy, those so-called negative thoughts that result in uncomfortable feelings are pointers to where we've hidden our power; gifts to open the mistaken belief that we are limited. So you go girl and dive right into that power, and recognize the freedom of knowing that's not who you really are.
Hey Nancy,
I read your essay early this morning and right after received a "Caring Page" update from a friend who has just learned she has cancer of the esophogus/throat. I immediately sent her a note with the link and an offer to give her one of your books; she responded with the note below! Her name is Neena.
You continue to have a positive effect on others, my friend; even people you don't know because you are willing to tell the truth about your experience. Thank you. Happy Hannakuh, too! Much love, Judy
Here is Neena's note:
I just read Nancy King's essay! Can I just say phenomenal - I am loving the recognition of the dark side and other's fears - I also just really identify with the fact that my life changed forever last week - no matter the outcome. Thank you for sharing this essay - it is a gift to me to be able to identify some of my feelings and to embrace them - Wow... I would love to read Morning Light - I am still reeling. I am keeping a written and photographic journal of this experience - I will put this essay in the journal -
Thanks for not being afraid to share something that embraces the whole experience - and doesn't just blow sunshine up your rearend :)
Love you,
Neen
Nancy, Thanks for sharing your story. Your strength, spunk and humor are inspirational.
In spite of being a nurse for 30 years, I still wasn't sure what to say to someone with cancer. Thank you for your words of wisdom.
God, I love truth unadorned by bullshit.
This is a wonderful piece of writing and right in tune with Barbara Ehrenreich's new book, Bright-sided.
More power to you pen, Ms King.
jules older
Thank you so much for all your wonderful comments. To acknowledge the darkness within is not "being negative," it is the willingness to emabrace all aspects of what it means to be human. I'm reminded of a time after my first hospitalization when I felt that everything inside me was dead. Friends, well-meaning, kept saying, "You're going to be fine." I stopped talking about the feeling of inner deadness until one day, sitting on my deck on a warm spring day, I spoke about it to a visitort. He was silent for a long time. Then he said, quietly, "There's a kind of pine tree that only releases its seeds in fire." I think this was the beginning of my healing.
If anyone needs/wants to talk about issues aised in my piece, please feel free to email me. All we have is the willingness to bear witness for each other.