The Fog of Cancer

Picture this. Your friend was captured by aliens. They experimented on her, crossing her DNA with the DNA of one of their hottest babes from planet Euphoria.

You drove straight over to console her.

Oh, my God, it must have been horrible. She must have endured so much. I have to be there for her.

You brought a casserole and a bottle of brandy.

Maybe we’ll get drunk together and laugh it all off.

Footsteps. You can hear her approaching the door.

Good, she’s home.

The door opens hesitantly. There she is, your friend, as beautiful as ever, except for the third eye hovering above a unibrow.

You sink into a wingback chair as she hands you a snifter. The brandy warms your throat. You hope it will loosen your tongue too, but you can’t find the words to comfort her.

“Oh, Sarah,” she says, “I’m so glad you’ve come. I really need a friend right now. As you can see I’m not quite myself anymore.”

You offer half-smiles and sympathetic looks.

Your phone rings just as you finish your glass.

Oh, thank God. It’s my husband.

He needs you to pick something up on your way home. “No hurry,” he says.

Speaking louder than necessary into the phone you say, “Oh, yes. I understand. I’ll leave right now. Bye.”

You make your excuses. “Sorry, an emergency, gotta go.”

It's not easy for everyone to hear we have cancer

Now imagine the person with the third eye is you, and the befuddled visitor is your friend. Could that be what it’s like for them when they first hear you have cancer?

Okay, I know that was an extreme example and a bit of an exaggeration. I’ve never had a problem with aliens. They’ve always been friendly. Why just last weekend we had a good old time playing three-dimensional chess and knocking back a few bottles of Romulan Ale.

Anyway, those of us with cancer need to realize it’s not easy for everyone to hear we have a potentially terminal disease. Some people are naturally empathetic and supportive, but for others, who may love us just as much, it is awkward. They don’t know what to say or how to help.

They may avoid us at first, afraid they will say something wrong or do something to make it worse. They don’t know how to handle what they see as devastating news about their friend.

You are more than just cancer

Their love for us hasn’t changed, only the dynamic between us. We need to help them feel comfortable. It’s our responsibility to make the first move.

Let them know you are still you. That you are more than just cancer. If appropriate, tell them specifically what you need from them. They want to have a purpose, a way in, a way to help. They just don't know how or where to start.

Cancer can be a very isolating thing, but only if you let it. If you are brave enough to reach out, your friends will be emboldened to reach back.

You’ll discover the friendship was always there, just hidden behind the fog of cancer.