What To Do When Your Friend Gets Diagnosed with Cancer
When I was first diagnosed, one of the hardest parts was navigating who to tell and how. Part of me wanted to scream it from the rooftops and have everyone share my anger and disbelief. Another huge part of me wanted to hide away, tell no one, and get through this shitty phase alone.
Unsurprisingly, my answer fell somewhere in the middle, and I told people as I felt I needed to and did my best to let my gut guide the way. During all that, I started to make a mental list of how people responded. For the most part, every person was warm, supportive and understanding. But there were a few reactions I got that actually made things harder on me.
Considering all that, I decided to write a post that other people might eventually find in their own journey dealing with this awful disease. The following is that list. It wasn’t really intended as a guide to help people help me, but a resource for other people who hear this news and want to meaningfully help a friend who needs it.
If you’re reading this and think “SHIT! I didn’t exactly that/the opposite of that!” Please don’t. Nothing here is reflected directly from any single experience. In fact, a lot of it is just stuff I wished I’d known myself in the past. But alas, being thrust directly into the action gives you some perspective.
Read it if you like. :)
What To Do When Your Friend Gets Diagnosed with Cancer
Hello, it’s me, your friend with cancer! I’m sorry to see you here reading this. Maybe I’m a best friend. Maybe I’m a coworker, perhaps a pal in the inner circle. Maybe I’m a friend’s significant other, or someone else altogether. Whoever I am to you, you’re probably here because you’ve just been hit with the blow that is the news of my diagnosis, and you’re wondering what to do next.
There’s no denying it: this is hard for me. Excruciating, really. Most days, it feels impossible to swallow the fact that I won’t be waking up from this nightmare. It’s difficult to wrap my brain around the implications my diagnosis has on my life in the immediate future, but even more so in the long run.
This cruel disease doesn’t only wreak havoc on its host; its victims are affected in a far-reaching ripple. But lucky for me, I’ve got a support network of incredible people like you. People who love me, have the best intentions and want to meaningfully support me through this. Of course – hopefully – this is the first time you’ve dealt with something like this, so you haven’t got the slightest clue how to navigate this mess called cancer. What do I say? How do I act? How do I help?
Well, I’ve got the do’s and I’ve got the don’ts. Keep in mind, these guidelines are based on the insights of a single cancer patient, but I know many of these experiences and feelings are shared by other young people with cancer. Of course, every single individual, diagnosis, and relationship is different, so remember to do your best to be flexible and understanding as you try to follow these steps.
The DOs:
DO something! I shared this news with you because I value our friendship, and frankly, if it were you, I’d want to know. You don’t have to talk about it nonstop, but ignoring it altogether or making it taboo makes this feel so much worse. Forget the “I don’t know what to say” excuse. I don’t know what to say either! And there’s definitely no “right” thing to say. I’m no more an expert in this realm than you are. I need your friendship and camaraderie much more than I need another expert opinion on anything.
DO flex your empathy. One of the hardest parts of my disease is the isolation it causes. It’s a loneliness like nothing else to suddenly be robbed of your health while everyone else goes about living life normally. I’m disconnected from so much of my life before, especially things like social events where I might feel weird attending, or simply not good enough for. Please keep inviting me to do fun things, but please understand when I have to say no. If I’m not in a good position for socializing, consider planning a Saturday night in with me. I miss having fun with my friends. The privilege of your company on a weekend – where I know you could be out being a normal, healthy person – means so much more to me than you throwing me the bone of hanging out with me at a random time when it’s convenient because you’ve got nothing better to do.
DO take action. Saying “let me know if you need anything” is nice. Saying “can I bring you dinner on Tuesday?” or “can I drive you to an appointment?” is nicer. I am humbled by your willingness to help, but sorting out what to ask for from who is another stress for me to juggle. If you truly want to help, tell me how you can do so and I will be eternally grateful.
DO laugh with me. Humor is one of the only things that helps me get through the day. While you likely already know my sense of humor, tread carefully at first to gauge my level of comfort. Some topics might be off-limits – perhaps joking about my bald head hits a sore spot – but others might help me feel lighter. Finding my boundaries is important, but don’t be afraid to laugh with me when you do.
The Don’ts.
DON’T gossip about me. It’s interesting, it’s tragic, and it’s a huge deal. No one knows this better than me. But if I’ve asked for your confidentiality after telling you, don’t betray my trust and tell other people before I’m ready to. Even if you think it’s safe to tell just one person, they might catalyze a chain of gossip that has no end. If there were ever anything to respect my privacy about, this is it. Please don’t make an incredibly painful situation hurt even more.
DON’T avoid me. I know that being around me right now might feel scary or uncomfortable. But every day is scary and uncomfortable for me right now, and I still need you. Probably more than ever. Please don’t feel like you need to act a certain way, feign happiness or be brave in order to be around me. The most important thing you can do for me is be present and attentive, even if it has to be via the phone or internet. This is the most direct and important way for you to help me. Emily Mcdowell Studio has some incredible cards (like the one at the top of this page) and gifts for situations like this, so looking at some of those, plus her blog, may be helpful!
DON’T treat me like I’m broken. Yes, I’ve got this scary thing growing inside me, trying to eat me alive in fact, but I’m still a whole person. You can trust me to let you know about any physical limitations I run into, but even when that happens, please don’t make it a bigger deal than it has to be. Normalcy is important to me during this process, and it’s something you can help me with simply by treating me like regular old me. Don’t fake laugh at my jokes, don’t insist on carrying out every tiny task for me, and definitely don’t insist on eating the rest of my pizza for me!
DON’T make this about you. I know you’re worried about me. I know you love me. I treasure our friendship and I appreciate how much you care, but please don’t force me to be the one to comfort you constantly. Also, please don’t Google my disease, come to your own conclusions, or speak on my behalf. This is the most personal, vulnerable experience of my life, and I need your support, not your medical opinions.
The bottom line: be present, be aware, and be respectful. If some of this sounds confusing or hypocritical, there’s a reason: it is. Having cancer doesn’t make sense in the first place. Its very existence is an exception, so it makes sense that the ripple of pain it causes doesn’t always follow a reasonable pattern.
People like you are a huge part of what will help me get to the other side of this thing. Thank you for being my friend, thank you for loving me, and thank you for trying.
