America is a nation that tries really hard to be sensitive when discussing race and gender—or even the disabled. We approach these subjects with restraint, choosing our words carefully for fear of insulting others. But when it comes to life-threatening diseases, that reserve seems to get tossed aside by even the most meticulous minds.
Since my diagnosis, a few friends, some extended family members, and random acquaintances have said some downright peculiar things to me. They range from the bizarrely sympathetic: “I couldn’t bring myself to call you, but I cried like a baby when I found out you were sick,” a family friend told me. I actually felt bad for upsetting her. To the straight-up indifferent: “We’re all going to die,” wrote one guy in response to my first post. Uh, thanks, I guess.
Although slightly inelegant, shall we say, such comments are really just people’s way of showing they care. And while I appreciate the effort, it’s clear that it’s time for a cancer etiquette intervention.
Consider this list of dos and don’ts as a crash course to navigating your next cancer survivor encounter. Only the basics are covered here. Of course, there are some gray areas (is it okay to be mean to a crabby cancer patient?), mitigating circumstances (should you tell a friend that her drawn-on eyebrows aren’t in the right shade or shape?), and times when you just have to make fun of people, cancer or not. In those cases, my advice is do what you have to do. This is simply a primer, a blueprint to ensure that you stay within the bounds of appropriateness. It’s not hard. When in doubt, remember flattery is always your ace.
1. DON’T say I’m sorry. We know you mean well, but opt for something a bit more uplifting such as, “Let me buy you a drink for your bravery on the battlefield.”
2. DON’T send sappy or generic get-well cards. Is there anything more depressing than the Hallmark sympathy section? Ugh. A good sense of humor is crucial to conquering the cancer beast. Send messages filled with sarcasm and humor worthy of our valor.
3. DON’T say it’s only hair. We know it will grow back, but being bald with no eyebrows makes even the prettiest woman look like a Cabbage Patch Preemie. Refer to rule number 6 for more guidance here.
4. DON’T talk to us about survival rates. If I had a cash payout every time someone told me they had a friend whose outlook wasn’t so bright but went on to live for many years, I could cover my hospital bills. People battling cancer want to focus on living, period.
5. DON’T spout trite expressions like, “God won’t give you anything you can’t handle.” Trust me, that’s one we’ve figured out already. When overcome with the urge to utter said cliche, refer to rule number 10.
6. DO tell us how our real our wig looks. Good ones aren’t cheap. We’ll play along. If the cancer patient in your life prefers a bald head, tell her how nicely shaped it is.
7. DO invite us on a trip and foot the bill. It’s been a rough journey; sympathy vacations are always welcome.
8. DO expect us to play the “cancer card.” It’s the only good thing to come out of all this. We reserve the right to use it whenever it gives us an advantage with a cop, a bill collector…you get the idea.
9. DO throw parties in our honor. For mine, please extend an invitation to my gay boyfriend, my Hollywood crush, a certain phenomenal band that I liked way before everyone else, and my soon-to-be BFF. And somebody bring some Pabst Blue Ribbon.
10. DO tell us how fabulous we are. Going from sickly to simply fabulous is a lot of work. Feel free to compliment us regularly.
Now that you know the basics, charge forth with confidence. Tell a friend, tell a friend of a friend, and let’s put those awkward civilian-survivor moments behind us forever.
15 Comments
April 23, 2009 at 5:43 pm
Um, Pabst? Really?? Is there something about this beer that I’m missing?
April 23, 2009 at 5:53 pm
Thanks for the advice. I could imagine saying number 1 and 5 very easily. I probably did knowing my ass. Love you girl. Keep them coming!!!
April 23, 2009 at 5:56 pm
Cabbage Patch Preemie! You crack me up, gyrl.
I loved this column and will pass it on.
April 23, 2009 at 6:19 pm
i was with you until you asked for Pabst…are you sure you went to Howard? We’re a Heineken school.
April 23, 2009 at 6:47 pm
Chana, what can I say? Brillant! Libby told me that a doctor said, in the midst of her ovca diagnosis consult, “Well you know, I could get hit by a bus tomorrow!” Call me old fashion, but I think the doc needed to work on the people skills.
Best, Paul
April 23, 2009 at 8:32 pm
Why Pabst? And in a can, too? Gyrl we’ve gone out drinking better than that! I love everything you write, even I’ll admit the Geo W thing. Any way, your right, most of us don’t now what to say when dealing with bad news. And, yes, we echo the most inappropriate, trite phrases to people (especially those we know well) undergoing long-term illness/recovery.
I’m really guilty of tongue block when death has occurred in a friend’s family. I can’t think of the appropriate thing to say. I ponder to hug or not to hug? What should be the topic of conversation? Don’t stare I tell myself. I end up like a bundle of twisted cables and then I can’t wait to get away.
I attribute these poor displays of etiquette in the face of sadness to undeveloped western social skills. I do the same thing when I’ve heard someone’s been fired. So, Chana you hit it square on the head. I’ll keep these suggestions in my wallet whenever I get stuck in an awkward moment. However, I’m leaving out the Pabst.
You know I love Ya. We still need to go for that cocktail (on me). How’s next week?
April 23, 2009 at 8:46 pm
i feel compelled to enter a few notes, relating to the list of rules above.
1. i WAS sorry, then i was lonely on my barstool… now angry.
2. This card’s for you.
6. We won’t have a problem if you just cover it with a scarf every now and then… how do you expect ME to get any attention if you’re waving that big ol’ cancer dome in everybody’s face.
7. I’m totally taking you on a trip to the botanical gardens in the bronx… but only on the day when it’s free… but don’t worry, i’ll cover the subway fare.
8. I thought your people liked dominoes, not cards.
9. I better be the gay boyfriend… or the person bringing PBR.
10. darlin, you’re nothign BUT fabulous… me… i’ve got the fabulous BUTT. just keeping us all honest.
June 24, 2009 at 10:56 pm
Too funny for words but so true. I was dxed with Thyroid Cancer. My daughter was dxed with Hodgkins and she is 9 now and in remission. She lost all her hair and refused to wear a wig and was the most divaess person you can meet. I started chemo and complained about being sick and tired. We haven’t told her, but she looked me right in the eyes and said “whatcha complaining about throw-up and keep going!” So thats my take on things. She was 7 when she was dxed and went through it like it was nothing, so my fight is so easy after seeing her do it.
April 23, 2009 at 10:02 pm
Hey Slayer. Great post. You do look fabulous! I needed this advice when my mother passed. I will share this great advice on to others. Thanks
April 24, 2009 at 10:42 am
I’m glad you’ve made this post. I’ve learned that I have to be careful with my compliments, but I actually think you’re a beautiful woman.
When I have the opportunity to visit NY or you TN lunch or dinner is on me. Now I don’t know about the Pabst Blue Ribbon, but if that’s whatcha like it’s cool with me.
April 24, 2009 at 9:48 pm
You are FUNNY! Number 7 is me and Coz to you. Sorry Hawaii didn’t work out but we will absolutely go somewhere fabulos this year we just have to work on dates!!
April 27, 2009 at 11:05 am
ha ha ha ha.
you have done a vital public service, Chana!
If we knew better we’d do better. And now we do (:
May 12, 2009 at 8:36 pm
LOL I just feel like you’re truly speaking my heart with this one. You name it, I’ve heard it….but I’m sure you haven’t heard this one.
I don’t know whether being a regular church member was a good thing or bad thing, and I’m being honest about that. I ususally tried to nod and smile at the 50 billion times I heard the “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle” thought I was gonna hurl if I heard it one more time. I had had it, but then I got the kicker “Girl don’t worry cause God’s gonna restore you…he’s gonna restore all your female organs too!” uh yeah, wth???
June 4, 2009 at 9:02 am
I am so glad you listened to your body. As a note of encouragement my mother had ovarian cancer, Stage 3-4. She lived almost 20 years, but passed away from another illness.
I appreciate your enthusiasm re: Obama’s health plan, however, under his plan you would not have seen a doctor as quickly as you did. In Canada, where they practice universal health policies, you would have had a very long wait to see a doctor, much less get treatment. Canadians come to the US for critical care.
Also, Obama is the most aggressive pro-abortion president of our time. The vast majority of abortions are performed on women of color, in poor black neighborhoods. Your race is going through an abortive holocaust and no one sees it.
My best to you and your health.
July 10, 2009 at 8:27 am
Just wanted to tell you all know how much I appreciate your postings guys.
Found you though google!