Comments on: What do I say?

By: Rob

Rob — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 17:31:17 +0000

I’ll share some perspective from the other side, that of the patient and a 19 year cancer survivor. When I was diagnosed with diffuse histiocytic lymphoma, clinical stage IV, the 5 year survival rate for 19 year old male was 35%.

Simply be there, in every physical sense of the words. Listen, laugh, cry, hope, pray, share, persevere and sometimes even be silent. Provide an “anchor point” for her in what is a terrifying and out of control situation where there are very few definite answers and almost no guaranteed outcomes. But most of all just be you! Normalcy and everyday things are most appreciated by those trying to deal with the life changing diagnosis of Cancer.

By: stephanie parnell

stephanie parnell — Fri, 12 Sep 2008 12:24:04 +0000

I miss your writing. Finish that book so we can continue to occupy our time with Aunt Linda!

By: Kim

Kim — Fri, 12 Sep 2008 11:23:21 +0000

I have to agree with willikat; there are so many sub-par writers out there who blog every day, but someone with your intelligence, wit and humor are so rare to come across – I usually wait a few weeks and hope when I come back there is something new to read and I’m always excited when there are a few things to read!

By: willikat

willikat — Fri, 12 Sep 2008 03:03:55 +0000

I wish you’d blog more. That is all.

By: Mrs. Who

Mrs. Who — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 19:14:40 +0000

I think everyone has covered whatever advice I may have given, I just wanted to let you know I just now rediscovered your blog. I thought you had not been writing all this time and mentioned that to my daughter who informed me that you have, indeed, been writing!! I just had you in my Reader at the old address. Anyway, got you now. Hi!

By: "Liz"

"Liz" — Mon, 01 Sep 2008 17:51:19 +0000

Thank you everyone for the thoughtful replies to Linda’s question on my behalf. And thank you, Linda, for posting the question and thinking of me and my daughter as we try to deal with this hell that’s invaded our family. Linda hasn’t known me the whole time we’ve been dealing with my daughter’s advanced cervical cancer, but she is a welcome addition to my life and I already consider her a friend, even though we are at the beginning stages of our friendship. I am hoping it will be a long and enduring friendship.
I can only speak for me and my experience of what works best in my situation. For me, knowing I’m not alone as I face this awful fear has given me the heart to keep going. So, comments like: “I’m sorry.” and hugs and offers of prayers or healing lights or well wishes are all welcome indeed. Food? No one’s done that. Not sure that’s a good idea at this point as we eat out a lot and it might be wasted. But the thought of it is so generous. As were all of the suggestions that have been submitted. I believe any words of concern that are from the heart are welcomed.

“Liz”

By: Julie

Julie — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 01:50:44 +0000

The thing is, if you don’t really know this woman as a “friend”, then it is somewhat challenging to find the right thing to say… I totally feel your pain. Saying nothing, not so good. At least for me, I just kept thinking i should’ve said something. But then I didn’t want to intrude. So it’s a fine line when the person is not someone you have a personal realtionship with. I agree with Sciencegeek – by simply asking “how are you doing?” she’ll know to what you refer and she can be the one to decide in her response how open she might be to support in a more personal way. Good luck. I’m sure you will find the right thing to say, it’s just the act of starting that conversation which is the hardest.

By: willikat

willikat — Fri, 29 Aug 2008 03:21:12 +0000

When my dad was sick with lung cancer, the following mattered most: people asking how he was doing at appropriate moments (i.e. not in the middle of a giant group of people, like taking a needle off the record at a party)–and not just asking the day of the surgery. Most people forget two weeks after, two months after. People who still ask me, two years later…they are the ones that really think of it. Cards or emails–esp. at well timed moments (like the lunch hour, where work falls away and your thoughts invade) are really awesome.
I am not religious, but I did believe that positive thoughts, prayers–people putting energy out in the universe–helped.Just someone simply saying, I wish your dad well, worked for me.
Food. Don’t ask me what I like or what I want. I’m too fucked up to even remember. But if I could pull out something from the freezer or fridge and plop it in the microwave, awesome. Anything that feels like daily drudge — and I dont’ know how well you know this woman– but even helping straighten the house, grocery shopping, running various errands, even just once. And don’t ask. Just say, “I thought I’d stop by and bring you X. Is 5:30 ok?”
I NEVER wanted to ask for help while this was all going on. So people who “imposed”–I was so grateful to them. And the people who forgave me for being a total flake during that time–that helped, too.
Lunch, coffee, flowers, shoe shopping. Small things to take up time, offer to listen, or just to distract.
You’re awfully witty, so I imagine you are tons of fun company.
(And of course, a hug and genuine eye contact, saying, “I’m so sorry.” )

By: Jaime

Jaime — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 16:39:36 +0000

I recently had a miscarriage and all the platitudes like ‘I hear it’s very common’ or ‘my friends mother had a miscarriage fifty years ago’ were understandable but really less than helpful.

The best reaction came from a colleague at work who said, ‘I’m so sad for you and I don’t know what to say so I bought you flowers.’

By: Steve

Steve — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 00:53:18 +0000

I think everyone here is absolutely right. Every situation at any given time is different, of course, but in similar situations I have said something to the effect of “Having never been in that situation I can only imagine what it must be like. I wish you the best and if there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.” I just make sure I’m willing to do “anything to help” or I leave that part out. When my Dad died, the only comment that has really stuck with me and helped was “no one knows how it feels unless they’ve been there and I have” and then wished me well. It made me believe that someone DID understand what I was feeling. Of course, one has to have been there. I’m sure this isn’t much help but I know you and I know you will do just fine.