It’s an interesting phenomenon: some of our closest friends are the most reluctant to introduce the subject of cancer, while virtual strangers (and estranged friends) seem perfectly comfortable – and in some cases morbidly eager – to probe for as many details as possible.
To some degree, this might be a generational quirk. My husband is older and comes from a generation that avoided raising unpleasant topics that might create a moment or two of social discomfort. Cancer was alluded to as the “C” word; the fact that you might be living with it made you, by association, an Unmetionable. As my husband observes, “they don’t know what to say, so they say nothing.”
Some folks, by comparison, could use better filters. It takes me aback when someone I barely know probes beyond the basic facts, asking the most intimate details about symptoms, treatments, the reactions of family and friends, and life expectancy. (I’ll write about the later in a separate entry!) Even more off-putting is the “friend” or relative who could not be bothered to stay in touch for years and suddenly wants to make a sweeping – and inconvenient – reappearance in your life, circling round your loved one’s cancer like a bird of prey. It gives me the creeps.
You know who your close friends are – the people who “need to know,” versus “want to know.” And it’s true that some of your closest friends may not be the people in your day-to-day life, but you’ve sensed their continued love and support over the years. They are genuinely concerned and their questions are almost certainly meant to be supportive as well as reassuring. We’ve chosen to extend our circle of information to include these people. Long-distance love is still love and we value it.
Family and friends whom we see regularly, whom we consider confidants, and who can provide genuine comfort and assistance were the first to hear our news, though we’ve tweaked the script from time to time, depending on the audience. All appreciated being included in the “inner circle,” but several are uncomfortable discussing my husband’s illness in front of us. By raising the topic ourselves – a brief but candid comment usually suffices – we give our friends permission to have a conversation about something that’s weighing on their minds as well ours. Sometimes when you live with cancer in your life, you find yourself in the role of the comforter. In appropriate measure that’s perfectly OK.
As for the Bad News Birds, I feel no obligation to share intimate details or to make room in our busy lives for their presence. I try to shield my husband, children, and friends from these predators. I give the barest, unembellished details and change the topic decisively. I am getting much better at saying, “We’d really rather not discuss it right now.”
There is another category of confidants in my life, small but essential. They are new friends that I’ve made as I stand…or stood…by my other friends with cancer. We may not be very “best friends,” our paths may cross only occasionally, but we have formed a bond because we’ve walked the cancer path together. They will be wonderful, seasoned traveling companions on the road that lies ahead.
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