Broken records

Okay kids. We need to talk.

(A small disclaimer: I don't want to hurt anybody's feelings. you're all wonderful, and none of this is in any way directed at any particular individual. Think of it as a collection of vague ponderings drifting out of my brain and into yours with all the non-specific gentleness of falling snow. Happy thoughts, rainbows and kittens. Please take some love from me to you. I wish to fill all your cups with kindness. Isn't the world a beautiful place?)

(If you found all that a bit simpering, here's disclaimer v2.0: Dear Reader, if you think any of the following is specifically about you, here is a pin to aid in the deflation of your ego, and a small stepladder so you can get over yourself.)

(A second disclaimer: I am fed up because I had chemo very recently and 'tired' doesn't even begin to cover it, so sorry about the sass. I swear, it's not you, it's me.) 

We need to talk about some of the things we like to say to cancer patients.

Look, I get it. You get some bad news from someone you care about/quite like/met on a bus one time, and they are blatantly Not Okay. Something in our simple human nature wants to fix this, and although I could cynically argue that this impulse is entirely in pursuit of that warm glowy 'I did a good thing' feeling, I'd like to believe we're better than that.

So you say something. You don't think too hard about your words and their implications but it's all well-intentioned, and it comes from a place of empathy, so it must be kind of helpful, right? RIGHT!???

I'm guilty of it. We're probably all guilty of it.

But here's the thing: when we do this, we sound like broken records, and not in a good way (is there a good way one can sound like a broken record? Maybe if you're aiming for some sick dubstep (I am totes down with the kids)). When you're on the receiving end, you begin to see things a little differently. There are certain comments I have now heard and/or read so many times that I have actually considered writing them down and weaving them into a controversial and lengthy piece of slam poetry, complete with SUDDEN SHOUTING and lots of pointing for emphasis. I have therefore formulated some Official Opinions™ about them, opinions I even surprised myself a little bit by having, because I do feel a tad unkind criticising something that people only really do because they care. But I wish to be nothing if not honest, so without further ado, I would like to present my six least favourite things people like to say to cancer patients (from least to most vom-worthy):

6. "Get well soon!"

This phrase is lovely to hear when you've got a hangover or a fungal toenail infection or piles, because if you've got a hangover or a fungal toenail infection or piles, you know with near certainty that you will get well soon. I heard this most often when I was first diagnosed - when I had just been informed that my only option was, at the bare minimum, six months of systematic poisoning. I had no guarantee that I was going to get well at all, and if I did, it would not be soon. When you consider the reality of my situation, and the frankly horrid journey most cancer patients find themselves faced with, "Get well soon" seems at best platitudinous, and at worst insensitive and impatient. I appreciate that it often isn't intended as a command, but rather shorthand for 'I hope you get well soon', but it still grates somewhat because of the imperative phrasing. I'm sorry that I'm not better yet, I swear I'm trying my best! The last thing I need is for you to remind me to bloody well get on with it.

This card is my favourite because a) it is really tiny and cute; b) it has a bit to fill in yourself in the middle which is SUPER COOL (yes, I am a big nerd); and c) it actually acknowledges the absolute rubbishness of getting better. Shoutout to Gibby Gibbface for sending it to me. Mostly I got excited about the teeny envelope.

Things you could say instead:

• "I hope everything works out okay in the end!"
• "I'm rooting for/thinking of you."
• "Please enjoy this small kitten I have brought you."

5. "If there's anything you need, please ask!"

I will try every short-cut and coping strategy in the textbook, throw out the textbook, and resort to attempts at experimental voodoo magic before I directly ask you for the things I need. It's not because I don't want to accept your help, it's simply because asking makes me feel like an awkward, presumptuous six-year-old. It's a noxious cocktail of anxiety, embarrassment and - yes, okay - pride, and it totally paralyses me somehow. That's not to say that, if you are close to me, I won't discuss my struggles with you - but I would hope that if you can see that I need a hand, you will offer to help out instead of waiting for me to ask. Things can get a bit overwhelming at times, and it's much easier to say "yes please" than to psych yourself up to ask, only to risk being told that the person who promised you their help "doesn't have the time" or something.

Things you could say instead:

• "I'll try my best to help you out if I can."
• "Would you like me to [insert specific thing here]?"
• "Please enjoy this small kitten I have brought you."

4. "I'm here for you."

Okay, this one is actually fantastic but please please PLEASE don't say it unless you 103% unambiguously mean it.

Things you could say instead

• (Only after MUCH pondering) "I'm here for you."
• *demonstrates here-for-you-ness*
•  "Please enjoy this small kitten I have brought you."

3. "But it's going to make you better!" 

Normally, I hear this one after I've been having a bit of a vent about how crappy chemo is and I understand that it is supposed to point out the silver lining. The problem is that a) I am now an expert silver-lining spotter, and have sought out and committed to memory all the silver linings there are to find; b) you are telling me nothing that I haven't told myself about four hundred times every day since I started chemo anyway; and c) the more silver linings you find, the more likely you are to notice just how big the cloud is. I am an advocate for positivity but you sometimes find this idea knocking about that positivity is the only way forward, and any negative thoughts at all are simply there because you're not trying hard enough. It feels like a moral judgement: 'how dare you not be happy about this long and painful process with possibly catastrophic and definitely inconvenient side effects - you should be thankful and only thankful that it's going to make you better!" Of course I am thankful that effective treatments exist, but that doesn't mean I am not also allowed to be legitimately upset and frustrated that my entire life has been turned upside-down. Some feelings cannot be brushed off, they have to be explored and rationalised and worked through first. I find the insistence on relentless positivity something of an insult to the complexity and range of human emotion.

(Image credit: The Fault In Our Stars Quotes)

Things you could say instead:

• "Would you like to talk about it?"
• "It's perfectly okay that you feel this way, chemo clearly sucks."
• "Are you in the mood for positivity right now or do I just need to let you feel sad for a bit?"
• "Here are hugs."
• "Please enjoy this small kitten I have brought you."

2. "Cheer up you only have [insert number] sessions of chemo left now!"
Imagine that, for the past five months, it has been sub-zero and your perilously steep driveway has been covered from top to bottom with black ice for the duration. You've tried gritting it, you've tried special boots, you've tried going down in all the creative ways you can think of, but still, every day without fail, you slip and fall on your arse, quite hard. You have kept a very close watch on the weather forecast and are counting down the days until the heatwave which should be arriving in a month's time to melt the ice and give your artistic-looking backside the reprieve it so desperately needs. You go to a friend and you tell them just how much your bottom hurts, and just how frustrated you are that even after five months, you still have to go on bruising it every single day, and what do they say to you? "Cheer up, it's only a month until the heatwave!!!! :) :) :) :)"

You probably want to punch them, right? Haven't you suffered enough? Haven't you earned your frustration? Does your friend really think they're going to help by telling you something you know better than anyone else? 

Honestly, if you want to cheer me up, bring me ice cream and movies or something. If you're not going to let me talk it out and validate my feelings, at least distract me so I don't have to think about how I still have to go through this ordeal x more times.

Things you can say instead:

• "I'm sorry you're still having to suffer through this."
• "Do you wanna watch the extended editions of all the Hobbit movies AND THEN all the Lord of the Rings movies IN A ROW WITHOUT SLEEPING!!!!???"
• "Please enjoy this small kitten I have brought you."

"Do you wanna watch the extended editions of all the Hobbit movies AND THEN all the Lord of the Rings movies IN A ROW WITHOUT SLEEPING!!!!???" (Image Credit: I have seen this one all over the internet too many times to find a reliable original source. I'm pretty sure it's from Saturday Night Live but it could be Who's Line Is It Anyway?. If that's wrong please feel free to correct me, and if you have the original source then I will gladly add it or remove the image.)

1. "Stay strong!"
Every time I see/hear these words, I kind of want to vomit. They go hand-in-hand with the simpers of 'Oh you're so brave!' and hackneyed talks of 'battles' and such other rubbish. I am not your symbol of hope, I am not your inspirational role model, I am an ordinary human surviving something in the only way I know how. It's not brave and it's not strong, it is necessary. Sometimes I struggle with the enormity of it all. Sometimes I feel like a tiny child with none of the tools I need to cope with something like this. Sometimes the last thing I feel like being is 'strong', and I'm not going to deny my real feelings so you can put me on some pedestal and tell everyone how remarkably I am coping. I think our society has a real problem with romanticising disease and disability. Paralysed children do not exist to be inspiration porn for able-bodied adults, and neither do I. I'm only a person - the very same person I have always been.

Things you can say instead:

• "Please enjoy this small kitten I have brought you." (Are you getting the hint?)

Honestly, I don't really take offence at these things when people say them to me, because I know they are delivered with the best of intentions and it would be ungracious to respond directly with the comments I have made here (so I'm doing it indirectly in a blog post instead, which is obviously so much better, ha). I appreciate the efforts people go to to make things better for me, but sometimes it just doesn't work, and sometimes it's actually counter productive (we're all only human after all - and that includes me!). I think all that is needed is a little more consideration of wording and implications, and a little more sensitivity towards somebody's unique situation. 

Often I wonder if our impulse to respond to bad news is sometimes somewhat misplaced. When we see tragedy and loss, our instinct is to declare to the world exactly how terrible it is, and precisely how sad we find it (and doesn't our horror at this horrible thing demonstrate our impeccable moral character?) but I think it's always worth asking yourself just what your voice is adding to the discourse. Are your words doing anything positive to contribute, or are they drowning out the voices we need to be hearing? Do you even need to say anything at all?

When it comes down to it, it's a simple matter of 'think before you speak'.

(A final disclaimer: you're all very lovely and kind, and if you have ever said any of the above to me, I promise you I harbour precisely no hard feelings. Maybe we could just stop saying them now?)