Some of the ways people responded to me telling them about my cancer

I have observed that there are generally four ways in which people responded to learning about my cancer.  There are variations, and exceptions, and etc.  But these are some generalizations that seem to hold true most of the time.

1. What their mother told them to say.

which goes something like this: “I’m so sorry to hear about your diagnosis. If there is anything I can do, just let me know.”  Sometimes it includes a line about how their mother, uncle, friend has also survived some kind of cancer, though usually people tell you that in person.

I don’t hold it against them; it is a scary topic, and they are clearly scared.  they would rather that it had not entered into their circle of life, but having entered they have to acknowledge it.

People who say what their mother told them to say almost never visit, almost never offer any real help, and never really talk about it again.

2. Honest speechlessness

The most honest responses have been the ones where people say that they don’t know what to say.  Something like this: “i don’t know what to say. i’ve been thinking about you a lot this weekend, and i have no idea how to go about this, or what to say so i dont sound insensitive or cliche or weird. so i just wanted to tell you, “i’ve been thinking about you a lot this weekend”

3. The Medical Professional

This has only happened once or twice, but it comes exclusively from trained medical professionals, and it goes something like this: “Your experience with this disease is unique, and only you can know what this period of suffering has been like, but I wanted to reach out to you to express my respect and support for you.”

4. The Pragmatist

The pragmatist says one thing: “When can I come over and what can I bring.”

Chemo day 6

Chemo today was easy.  And i’m doing okay w/ side effects.  (None so far besides fatigue)  I didn’t get as tired as I have been.  Many yawns, but that is it.  I find that eating helps me stay awake, and I have found a few things I can reliably eat.  Salad, pasta salad, water, bread.

I’m getting good at showing up, getting plugged in, and then falling asleep while the IV fluids and Interferon drip into me.  It does not scare me anymore.

They drew my blood and did the tests on it.  My liver function is high, and my white blood cells are low, but this is expected.  I’ve got 20% more to go before they have to cut the dose.  But my immune system is close to being compromised.  They used the word Neutropenic (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neutropenia).  I’m not there yet, but that is the risk.

I kind of have a little crush on the nurse that does my chemo.  Not a real crush.  More like a nurse crush.  Like a “You just stuck a needle in my arm” crush.  Its tiny, and by saying it, I either risk killing it all together, or getting it blown out of proportion!  LOL.