We all talk and write and text and communicate in so many ways (en clichés, aussi!)
Sometimes people hold back so much emotion. In doing so, they hide their best and most lovable attributes.
Stifling human traits in communication: Is that lying? Is it from fear? Is it a dated pride of 'stiff upper lip'? Is it some weird survival skill? How do our closest friends perceive our holding back?
Personally, I like to think that emotional discretion falls into a polite "not wanting to overly burden others" category. But holding back emotion has its own effect.
Happy Cancer People cannot help our Worriers get a little relief until you let us know what you're worried about. You can actually be our "good deed for the day" if you're honest about your emotions--we can set you straight to ease your fears.
Your Happy Cancer Person is dying to get you to where you need to be emotionally with everything you're worried about, so jump in, dump in, let's go for honesty and openness. Talk. Ask away. To heck with discretion, we don't have time for that anymore. Be Blunt and Open. For many of us, "Later" is a fictitious idea. Now's your moment, go on, be brave.
Many times I have started to reply simply to an e-mail, then started having fun with creative writing, getting really into it, and finished by hitting the SEND button in an emotionally triumphant moment YES! Although we all know this is not a good thing to do. Ever.
Especially after a night at the pub or, in rural USA, a evening at a friend's home with a good fire and a nice bottle of wine. I wake up to a crumpled morning of unfolding sobriety and it takes an hour of red-eyed confusion before my mad dash to the "sent mail" box to assess any damage from the night before. Aaaagh!
But afterwards, too, I wonder whether these messages are probably more deeply honest (and much more interesting) than every other message that ever flies, from any of us.
We all need to Rethink Regret. Propriety can be a little dehumanizing.
There is no excuse for bad behavior, so nastygrams are ALWAYS inappropriate (Not Guilty!).
Some messages are like puppies who pee on the carpet while they're happily asking you to play and love them. Oops! It's OK (mostly OK). But most anything beats silence. Silence will come soon enough.
One of my sisters came to visit. (nothing to do with puppies peeing, and we weren't silent either).
My sisters are all perfect sisters, they really are.
As my sister and I were chatting, tears filled her beautiful eyes for awhile. She didn't break down into tears, she just kept up with the conversation while her eyes got really, really wet. Maybe a tear slid down her cheek but I don't think so. No hiding the wellspring of tears, though.
My husband and I do that a lot. Sometimes we just hang out on the bed for an afternoon nap and hold hands, and look at each other, and we're both thinking the same thoughts, and tears well up, and often stream down our cheeks with no words.
It's not really sadness. It's more just pure, overwhelming feeling.
My sister loves me. My husband wants me to stay, and not die.
The tears are a beautiful and subtle manifestation of the emotional honesty that comes with cancer. Beat That. New words that defy speaking.
Some of us still fight to find any words at all to express our emotions in the difficult situations we face and need to share. We need words to help ease us through it, and to find others who can relate. When it comes to verbalizing cancer, everything is 'Well Spoken'. A few words from shy strangers can add so much calm or beauty (or humor) to someone's last experiences.
So, in the spirit of "whatever you say is OK and we forgive you if you totally screw up," can anyone suggest a good response to someone who says that they have terminal cancer?
Readers, please provide me with better responses to these. . .
"Oh," (seeing my bald head) "are you a Survivor?"
"Um, no," I say, " I would be, but I'm Terminal."
(By golly, is that depressing or what? We can do better than this! )
Here is a frequent scenario:
"My drop-dead date is summer 2017."
"You mean, that's the last day they start treatment?"
"No, that's the day I drop dead."
"You mean, that's when they decide to stop treatment?"
Bless their hearts, it hurts to clarify to them. . .
"No, it's when all treatments have stopped working, and I die."
"Oh."
Oh. Heck, what are they supposed to say?
We have LOADS of cancer classes in my area--food, yoga, estate planning, caregivers, health, you name it. But "conversation with cancer patients" isn't there. It's a HUGE area where tact and wit (I think it should be more heavy on the wit) is needed. HELP!
When I left the cancer center a month ago, there was a woman by the door that I talked to briefly. She was fairly old, and really nice. She was having blood treatments to keep her alive for awhile, but she was terminal. I didn't know that day that I was also terminal. But then you can get into the "How Terminal are You?" competitions and I always lose, but with this lady I was not even within her competitive league. She probably had weeks to live.
I wished her the best, but thought that I sounded sweet but trite. What was I supposed to say?
"Have a good weekend"?
"I hope you have a nice rest-of-the-day"?
"Keep dry today"?
These all sound silly if it's the last thing you say to someone before they die, yeah?
"God Bless You" is good. But is there something we could add to that to give terminal cancer patients a little more of our God-given humor or insightfulness? I am one, and I'm stumped.
Reader suggestions are most welcome.
This is where all of you who offered to help with anything I needed get to show your stuff.
C'mon, let's play cancer. Let's risk saying the wrong thing for the right reasons, let's all read comments in the spirit of things with no offense intended.
And here's a fun song by Lauren Hill "Nothing Even Matters"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ISgz5-XFklY
PS-comments to Laurie's fabulous facebook page might not make it here at all so please post your responses to this actual blog (stage4ovarian.blogspot.com). If you sign up to it, the responses to your comment will come to you. Should be safe, it's google-based.
Sometimes people hold back so much emotion. In doing so, they hide their best and most lovable attributes.
Stifling human traits in communication: Is that lying? Is it from fear? Is it a dated pride of 'stiff upper lip'? Is it some weird survival skill? How do our closest friends perceive our holding back?
Personally, I like to think that emotional discretion falls into a polite "not wanting to overly burden others" category. But holding back emotion has its own effect.
Happy Cancer People cannot help our Worriers get a little relief until you let us know what you're worried about. You can actually be our "good deed for the day" if you're honest about your emotions--we can set you straight to ease your fears.
Your Happy Cancer Person is dying to get you to where you need to be emotionally with everything you're worried about, so jump in, dump in, let's go for honesty and openness. Talk. Ask away. To heck with discretion, we don't have time for that anymore. Be Blunt and Open. For many of us, "Later" is a fictitious idea. Now's your moment, go on, be brave.
Many times I have started to reply simply to an e-mail, then started having fun with creative writing, getting really into it, and finished by hitting the SEND button in an emotionally triumphant moment YES! Although we all know this is not a good thing to do. Ever.
Especially after a night at the pub or, in rural USA, a evening at a friend's home with a good fire and a nice bottle of wine. I wake up to a crumpled morning of unfolding sobriety and it takes an hour of red-eyed confusion before my mad dash to the "sent mail" box to assess any damage from the night before. Aaaagh!
But afterwards, too, I wonder whether these messages are probably more deeply honest (and much more interesting) than every other message that ever flies, from any of us.
We all need to Rethink Regret. Propriety can be a little dehumanizing.
There is no excuse for bad behavior, so nastygrams are ALWAYS inappropriate (Not Guilty!).
Some messages are like puppies who pee on the carpet while they're happily asking you to play and love them. Oops! It's OK (mostly OK). But most anything beats silence. Silence will come soon enough.
One of my sisters came to visit. (nothing to do with puppies peeing, and we weren't silent either).
My sisters are all perfect sisters, they really are.
As my sister and I were chatting, tears filled her beautiful eyes for awhile. She didn't break down into tears, she just kept up with the conversation while her eyes got really, really wet. Maybe a tear slid down her cheek but I don't think so. No hiding the wellspring of tears, though.
My husband and I do that a lot. Sometimes we just hang out on the bed for an afternoon nap and hold hands, and look at each other, and we're both thinking the same thoughts, and tears well up, and often stream down our cheeks with no words.
It's not really sadness. It's more just pure, overwhelming feeling.
My sister loves me. My husband wants me to stay, and not die.
The tears are a beautiful and subtle manifestation of the emotional honesty that comes with cancer. Beat That. New words that defy speaking.
Some of us still fight to find any words at all to express our emotions in the difficult situations we face and need to share. We need words to help ease us through it, and to find others who can relate. When it comes to verbalizing cancer, everything is 'Well Spoken'. A few words from shy strangers can add so much calm or beauty (or humor) to someone's last experiences.
So, in the spirit of "whatever you say is OK and we forgive you if you totally screw up," can anyone suggest a good response to someone who says that they have terminal cancer?
Readers, please provide me with better responses to these. . .
"Oh," (seeing my bald head) "are you a Survivor?"
"Um, no," I say, " I would be, but I'm Terminal."
(By golly, is that depressing or what? We can do better than this! )
Here is a frequent scenario:
"My drop-dead date is summer 2017."
"You mean, that's the last day they start treatment?"
"No, that's the day I drop dead."
"You mean, that's when they decide to stop treatment?"
Bless their hearts, it hurts to clarify to them. . .
"No, it's when all treatments have stopped working, and I die."
"Oh."
Oh. Heck, what are they supposed to say?
We have LOADS of cancer classes in my area--food, yoga, estate planning, caregivers, health, you name it. But "conversation with cancer patients" isn't there. It's a HUGE area where tact and wit (I think it should be more heavy on the wit) is needed. HELP!
When I left the cancer center a month ago, there was a woman by the door that I talked to briefly. She was fairly old, and really nice. She was having blood treatments to keep her alive for awhile, but she was terminal. I didn't know that day that I was also terminal. But then you can get into the "How Terminal are You?" competitions and I always lose, but with this lady I was not even within her competitive league. She probably had weeks to live.
I wished her the best, but thought that I sounded sweet but trite. What was I supposed to say?
"Have a good weekend"?
"I hope you have a nice rest-of-the-day"?
"Keep dry today"?
These all sound silly if it's the last thing you say to someone before they die, yeah?
"God Bless You" is good. But is there something we could add to that to give terminal cancer patients a little more of our God-given humor or insightfulness? I am one, and I'm stumped.
Reader suggestions are most welcome.
This is where all of you who offered to help with anything I needed get to show your stuff.
C'mon, let's play cancer. Let's risk saying the wrong thing for the right reasons, let's all read comments in the spirit of things with no offense intended.
And here's a fun song by Lauren Hill "Nothing Even Matters"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ISgz5-XFklY
PS-comments to Laurie's fabulous facebook page might not make it here at all so please post your responses to this actual blog (stage4ovarian.blogspot.com). If you sign up to it, the responses to your comment will come to you. Should be safe, it's google-based.
Wow...you hit the nail square on the head with no bloody thumb to show for it...I STRUGGLE with this all the time..when I send hats to the treatment centers my angel pin says "Nobody fights alone..made with caring thoughts for your improving health" But I know that is not always true...so excuse me I don't know what else to say...some will get a little better...some won't I'll ask you the same thing...what should I say to the people at the cancer center as I sit here with 12 crocheted caps/beanies, etc to deliver on this cold blustery day...Tears do run down my face..no shame..just helplessness and despair that the medical system or mine can't fix it or even make it more comfortable....you have discovered a beautiful talent and are sharing it with us..thank you..love
ReplyDeleteSharon, you have no idea how many times your "nobody fights alone" slogan has gone through my head. The hats and the shawl and the pin are constant reminders. If I ever felt like I needed a buddy, I would not hesitate to call you. I can only imagine the dozens or hundreds of people who face cancer from a position of strength because they know that they have you as a safety net. You're already saying the right stuff, don't change!
Deletehow about this one - "wow you are amazing!"
ReplyDeletep.s. the how terminal are you competition really cracked me up x big hugs x
I dreamt about mayonnaise last night.
DeleteGlad you liked it! I heard a lovely comment today: "I hope you feel as good as you look!"
DeletePS-I really think that whatever Mike and Laurie and mayonnaise have in common is something that might stay just between them . . .
DeleteI am trying to be the most emotionless person in the world - to an extent. I need to this. I need to be sunny and happy and positive and helpful. Sometimes sympathetic, always there. You see I think my Dad is dying. Paul, my husband's Dad is dying too. Bit of a race really to see which one goes first. I could decide to fall in a wailing heap on the floor but I don't want to do that. Plenty of time to do that…..after. Your blog hits a good nerve in me. Your strength makes me strong. For however long our Dads are with us, we will make the most of every day. If my Dad wasn't so friggin stubborn he could probably squeeze out a couple more years. Who knows? Doesn't matter. Here's a big beaming smile to you. Carry on the wonderful writing xx
ReplyDeleteSally, go ahead and fall in a wailing heap on the floor as planned! It's so healthy! I'll be right beside you in spirit, and once the crying dies down a little we can discuss the sticky bits in your linoleum/wood/carpet that can only be seen from that particular angle.
DeleteAnd when you get up, your Dads will STILL be dying so then you'll have THREE things to look after. But at least if you're busy enjoying your Dads you're excused from doing your floors.
"Stubborn" is relative. If 'stubborn' is your Dad's strength, it's OK if he dies strong. You're right, the 'two years' becomes less relevant the more you think about it. You and your Dads matter. Your love for each other matters. Life can be short or drag on, but it's not a longevity competition at all. It's tough stuff, but probably tougher for you than for your Dads. You're being SO STRONG but maybe they could help you stay strong if they knew you were worried? If your Dad gets opinionated, maybe he has something to say about how he thinks you're supposed to handle his demise? Is this all as tough on them as it is on you, or do you know?
We're all here for you, Sally!
Blimey. Only a bit late in replying. Thak you very much for your words. Just off to pick up my hubby who is returning from seeing his 'skin and bones' Dad in Sweden. I have a big steak, french fries and Cotes du Rhone for him and a shoulder if he needs it. My Dad's OK for now. I'm internalising and my neck pinches with the stress but a new job tomorrow will keep my mind busy. Seeing a good friend on Friday who is donating stem cells for her sick sister. She's lost three stone and stopped drinking. Wadda gal! I'll save my wailing for after, a few small sniffles along the way will do. Looks like he'll make it to his 80th birthday the day after mine in March and that is a huge thing. His three brothers have all gone. Mum's 80 too. What's in the number? It's what you do in all the years you have that counts. Sending a hug xx
DeleteOK, Sally, name one thing this week that you have done FOR YOU. I know that you are happy helping other people (and rightfully worried about other people) and that is good for you, but name one thing that is good for Only Sally. One thing that has made you happy that is totally independent from your worrisome family. A Sally-centered thing. Am I right to guess that there isn't one?
DeleteI am quite good at doing lovely things to keep me sane. I'm a humanist and nature is my passion. On Saturday I took our two boys Hugo 15 and Henry 13 to a see tropical butterflies in a huge glass hot house and the winged beauties were flying all around us - heaven. My other favourite thing is swimming once a week with my very good friend Ruth. We've been swimming together for about 7 years. I am part dolphin (not because I'm a good swimmer, just that I squeak and smile a lot) xxx
DeleteLoVE you, my friend! xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
ReplyDeleteNo words necessary!
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
xox
Delete(practicing shorter notes here to fit into carrier pigeons' leg-note-holders)
You write so beautifully, DPT. But not everyone is in your league. Maybe for some, the response is better in the form of an action or actions, instead of words. It's only fair to grant that leeway, right? So someone may hug you instead. Or someone may hug you instead AND cop a feel of that Barbie ass. And it wouldn't be seemly to stem their freedom of creative expression, in my view. (And I owe you an ass grope, sis xxx)
ReplyDeletethese days you'll need both hands .. :)
DeleteCheryl, I TOTALLY agree with the actions part! A woman at the Safeway the other day put the most beautiful and heartfelt kiss on my bald head. It was the same feeling as when a butterfly lands on you and stays there. Scoff not, it's true and was a precious moment for both of us.
DeleteAs for the possible extents of creative expression, I think Laurie answered that best! However, I think that Safeway's pomelos are offering some stiff competition.
Seven years ago I went through chemo for lymphoma. That's when I started asking for copies of all my tests and blood work, including image CDs. Dave found a program for me to view the CDs on my own computer. What I had built up was a copy of my own medical file, which I still maintain. During the six years of followup I would hear the oncologist make a comment like: "Good! Your LDH has not gone up, see you next year". So now, when I get a copy of my blood work the first thing I look at is the LDH. And if my family doctor does not check off LDH on the lab requisition, I tell her to do it.
ReplyDeleteIn other words be involved in your care, I saw a CBC item in which a panel of doctors said it was helpful to both them and the patient if the patient is involved.
Personally I like the term "cancer survivor". Sometimes I see store clerks who remember how I looked back then and why, then they give their special smile with happy eyes. But on the other hand I have a daughter who is also a cancer survivor and she hates the term.
Margaret, you did such a fantastic job of surviving cancer, and supporting the rest of us. I put my hubby in charge of a lot of the medical details, as, (no offense intended to any readers), I think all of this medical stuff is REALLY BORING! Maybe if I was a science major or something I could get into it, but I can't, I just CAN'T! Blah!
DeleteWhen I was young I was always hit with "doesn't apply herself" on report cards. Seems that I was awaiting a selfie application. I was ahead of my time. (Still am. Get it?)
I'm skipping cancer science as an avenue of learning, but am enjoying sliding into cancer as a venue for writing.
Your cancer was painful. Sorry. You were so brave!
I get and love the happy smiles, too. They really are lovely, and heard. But you deserve them most!
P.S. You are a class act ❤️
ReplyDeleteIt's genetic, Auntie!
DeleteWOW...I guess the serious side of me would say ..."I wish you peace on your journey" but then the other side of me would break out and follow that with " now pop the top on that vino and Laissez le bon temps roule girlfriend!" 317 Irishman
ReplyDeleteHah!
DeleteHi, I'm a friend of Megs. First off, big bad bummer about your diax. Your blog is great, and will be a lasting legacy of your humor in the face of tragedy. Your attitude is full of courage and curiosity, a real testament to you!
ReplyDeleteAs to your question: how close I am to a person with cancer is the primary factor in how we talk about them and their illness. I've had many friends with cancer, a number of whom did not survive.
There are several approaches when I am 'sort of friendly' with someone. I talk about other stuff. Movies or books, mutual friends, house renos; people with cancer are still people! If I am able/wanting, I ask if I can help: rides for them, rides for kids, food, can I share my audible account with them? Do they want me to grocery shop or pick up prescriptions (kind of redundant with all the shop4you and free delivery available, but still, worth asking). I can dog walk, babysit, get the oil changed in their car. If they are terminal and want to talk about it, talk about it. Ask questions and LISTEN. Sometimes not such tight friends don't want to talk about that part of their experience, but for some, it's easier to talk with someone less emotional, detached and somewhat objective. I asked one fellow with terminal lung what he wanted on his tombstone and we ended up laughing about all the crazy shit people put on their headstones!
Close friends is different. For me it's harder. I try to do all the above plus in-home movie night, hospital visits, intense/funny/bawling conversations about hospice, whether I can get their kid(s) or spouse or mom or sister a gift or card next Christmas and send it for them. What they want to be buried or cremated in. I try to find one light thing to end our conversations with, a joke one of the kids shared or some stupid internet video.
Short version: it IS a bummer to die young, but there's living to do while you are still alive. It is more intense and hedged in by doctors, exhaustion, pain meds, and of course knowing that death date. But it isn't stopping you, and that's what I'd say to anyone who you feel stuck with. "So want to go to a movie?"
Andy! Megs is so lucky to have you as a friend.
DeleteFrom what you're saying, I think we all need an Andy!
I think you're right that sometimes it's easier for Cancer People to talk to strangers, because sometimes 'strangers' like you can actually laugh about tombstones and such, whereas that doesn't happen as much with the closer 'family'.
And so I'm wondering: is that because few people have fun with cancer, but people like you are comfortable talking to them all, so your chances of meeting a Cancer Person who can laugh a lot about all of this are increased?
Or are our Closer Cancer People being over-solicitous of our feelings because we're being so solicitous of theirs, so neither party feels free to have a bit of fun with this?
You sound like an excellent caregiver. Megs has always held out for positive.
Well, I have had a near death myself; my take on death is not about dying (which I think is fine, really). It's about those being left behind. It's about quality of life while we're alive.
ReplyDeleteMaybe I am reasonably comfortable with death, but no one I know is 'comfortable' with illness. It sucks. Birthday and christmas and vacations are all suckified because of illness. Still, better to have them than not have them, right?! I may be fine with actual adios, but I am NOT okay with sick, pain, or sad. So I do what I can.
My mom, bless her infuriating soul (not that she's dead, but, you know...), had a bestie growing up who got AIDS when I was about 14; he was about 40. We visited him more often after his diax, and it was really normal. Uncle Bill had a great apt on the edge of Prospect Park (far side from where Meg and Tim lived) papered with maps and posters of musicals, rooftop garden, and a great dog named Ariel. He died 4 yrs later, and until the bitter end, my mom was there. She brought him Cleveland-style chicken soup (not a real thing) and read him the Times book reviews. So maybe it's genetic, or maybe I learned being normal with someone with a terminal diax from her. No way to know. But your ability to laugh at yourself, your kids, basically at everyone, it pushes illness onto the back burner, even if just for a little while.
I know that looking out for the people we love is a real thing, and it can be a huge burden on sick parents, spouses, etc. There's no real answer, not a fix for everyone, but if you have one or two friends (or aquaintences) who can giggle with you at silly, laugh with you at disgusting, get all intellectual with you about the news or poetry, it's enough.
And I think the most important thing is that you are here.
BTW - I just finished The Martian (book club choice - not mine!), not worth the read. But watched Star Wars TFA twice with my 10yo and THAT was awesome. Flying that freak flag, booh yeah!
Andy, you're SO GOOD at this.
DeleteThe thing about my cancer, so far, is that it doesn't hurt. And the chemo slows me down, but they have really effective anti-nausea drugs so I don't feel sick. And maybe I'm just "slower" because I get to nap often (yay!), and surgical menopause has me gaining weight rather like a neutered cat (who tend to hang out by the fire and get fat, yeah?).
Cancer has made my family decide to visit more often. My friends realize it's now-or-never, so we grasp at lunch dates (I shall increase in girth until the end!)
Given these factors and a few others, my quality of life might be hitting an all-time high.
But still. . . there is that part reaching out for support. My kids will see their mother die before they're grown.
But at least I won't have wasted my time reading "The Martian"!
Try John Irving, "The Tale of Owen Meany." or "Widow for a Year"
And for movies, rent "Om Shanti Om" (it's Bollywood at it best)
Wow, given your description, that is one sneaky-ass bastard of a cancer. I'm really glad you are not in pain and are really enjoying everything you can!!
ReplyDeleteI've read the Irving books (love some, didn't love them all), and found that the Jojo Moyes books are as good or better. Me Before You may touch a nerve for you, it's about assisted suicide of a quadriplegic man, but there are other books by her tht are also wonderful. Also love Geraldine Brooks.
Going to look for Om Shanti!
How old is (are) your kid(s)? Orin here is almost 11 and we are reading some interesting stuff together (ie: I read to my reluctant reader). David Eddings, Choose your own history adventure (he died twice on Westward Expansion but has now lived twice on the Orphan train- making better choices!). We read Where the Red Fern Grows and were both a sobbing mess, but it was good for us to get through some grief issues together. I don't have a death date, but I want him to 'get' that death is part of life. I did so with my older girl (now 17 god help me), and she has handled what loss has come our way really well (maybe that will change, but I think she gets it really well).
I'm a writer btw - last edits going into a novel, then must muster some chutzpa and shop it to editors. Eep!
I heard a perfect one today: "I hope you feel as good as you look." Beautifully said!
ReplyDeleteOh YES! I love it. Friend of mine posted these today: 4th graders are pretty much just awesome.
ReplyDeleteProverbs as finished by 4th grade class:
There is nothing new... under a rock.
A journey of a thousand miles begins with... a private jet.
If you can't stand the heat... try Antarctica.
Better late than... absent.
Laugh and the world laughs with you, cry and... then blow your nose.
A penny saved is ... not a lot.
and my fave:
A miss is as good as... a mister.
Keep smiling!
Keep on track, Andy, this is an ovarian cancer blog.
Delete:)
*Sigh*. Back to the original blog. Though I'm comfortable saying things directly to you, I' m really scared that an "outsider" will look at my comment and get bent out of shape. (That happened when I posted an "unlike" to a never-seen family connection in Norway. She showed herself and her daughter who was in casts from a serious car accident. Someone else blasted me for "unliking" a picture of two beautiful women. *shrivel*.
ReplyDeleteThen there's the quality of comment. You get some really good lines here, and funny, and encouraging, and smart, and entertaining comments. Anything I have to say seems mundane in comparison.
Then there were all the reminders to "be positive! Don't talk about illness! Be cheerful!" Everyone's cancer is different. I think it takes you telling us it's okay to be direct for us to be so.
So I've just made this all about me. Anyhow, possibly some people feel comfortable with straight talk or jokes with you, but not with others around you reading them. Words without intonation are slippery and easy to misinterpret. (See blog)
And maybe that's why you get so many great lines from conversations when you go for treatment 😉.
Anyhow, lovin'you, Sweetie. Smoochies.
Montymiff! You are NEVER mundane. You are witty as heck (I would have said ". . as a kitty" but managed to stop myself in time. Phew!).
DeleteAs for the shriveling comment that was directed toward you in a (not-MY-blog) commentary--I'm sure that writer will recover. Nastygrams/Nastyposts are NEVER acceptable. And if someone messes up, they probably toss and turn A LOT over it. And need us all, as a general audience, to encourage them to move on to more positive stuff: Forgive 'em, we all screw up, and there's no "Unsend" button!
But as you say, words without intonation can be tricky. . . not everyone writes as they sound, and many people write sweetly but read menacingly. Benefit of the doubt needed.
It's hard to be frank when a world of strangers is reading (unless it's a weird compulsion like mine where I feel I need to write frankly to a general audience and so started a blog even though I didn't know squat about blogs (still don't). And your wit is SO welcome. Bring out the frankness, too. We're all too old to wait.
I think you're SO right about the (mandated?) "be positive" angles. Yes, the positive angles are sweet and kind, but, as you have so gently suggested, it can also be confining (I would put forth 'suffocating') for their authors.
I think it's generally proscribed behavior to be "dismayed and sullened yet with a hopeful outlook" when it comes to dealing with cancer people.
BUT WHAT IF YOU'RE NOT?
What if the Cancer People make you laugh and you don't feel sullen at all?
What if you don't think that there's any hope that they'll survive, because they've told you they're terminal?
What if you see all the good that comes from their cancer, like they do, and there's nothing dismaying about it. There's a storm of good coming from it. In fact. . .is it a GOOD thing they're dying of cancer? Could it be? YES! It COULD Be!
Maybe that's a topic for another blog. . .but hopefully I've broken ground to encourage people to follow my lead and not be scared about getting vociferous in honesty.
I come from a long line of box-think-jumpers, and my friends live the same way. You're safe here, Montymiff!
I think that acknowledging discomfort or imminent death is just as positive as hoping for the opposite.
And there's no reason why people can't do both.
And there's ABSOLUTELY no reason why we can't enjoy doing both. Meaning 'smile.' And, hopefully, 'bust a gut.' (figuratively, of course! gotta make that clear in these cancer circles).
Love you, too!
So you ask us what to say when you meet someone with terminal cancer? I say, "that sucks and I hope you kick its ass'!
ReplyDeleteI love your blog and I truly do hope you kick its ass! Yup, blunt and to the point. In the meantime, live, love, laugh!
Each day is a blessing for all of us and we need to make the most of it. You never know when that big bus may hit you when you are crossing the street so LIVE, LOVE, LAUGH!!! Cancer or no cancer we ALL need to learn to live each day to the fullest!
Big hugs! It's supposed to snow today. Put your beautiful face up to the sky and feel the gentle snow flakes kissing your face and beautiful bald head! There is nothing like it so may all of you enjoy snowflake kisses!
Vee!
DeleteYou are fantastic. I agree with your "Big Bus Theory." For years (way before cancer), every time I say goodbye to anyone, I check myself, and imagine it could be the last time I see them, or that they see me. Did I let them know that they were good to me? Do they know how they made my life better? I LOVE the "hit by a bus today" approach! It keeps you current, and if anyone "falls out of the picture", no regrets!
Love you, but no way will I let snowflakes hit my bald head. Brrr. Will stick out tongue in traditional Charlie Brown's Christmas way (note all cast members are wearing hats as they do this).
But yeah, I totally get the 'kisses' part of snowflakes.
Just Not on my Head. Yet.
There are snow flurries today. Let them kiss your beautiful face.
DeleteHello Leslie, this is Fiona Sabine. You are a truly wonderful person!! You make me feel humble and very sad but also bring me joy through your creative writing with your wit, observations and thoughts.
ReplyDeleteHow lucky I was to have you as such a true and loyal friend as you in our teens. I missed you so much when you moved to America. Looking back we were a bit troubled and I guess we found comfort, acceptance and great fun from each other. We laughed so much and I was always getting you into trouble!
I do not have the volcablary to describe how sorry I am that you of all people should be suffering in this way. I know you are not a part of my every day life and I haven't seen you in about 30 years but I hate the thought of you going through this and facing death so young.
Keep writing my lovely...I'm here following you.
Lots and lots of love Fuffy xxxx
By golly, Fuffy, when did you get good at writing? Love it! You write so well now.
DeleteYes, you're right, it's a shame that we're waiting so long to get back into communique, but really, can't Persia last for all time? hehehhe!
We can't hitchhike to eternity, but if we could, I'd choose you as a partner.
Young death, old death, it's all really the same.
And as much as you experienced, in all the extremes, I think maybe I understand that a little bit now.
You felt pain, wistfulness, worry, despair, when nobody else knew that. And your peers were too inexperienced to understand what you were going though.
I am not suffering at all. Ovarian cancer doesn't hurt.
Fuffy, I'm sorry that years ago I just didn't "get it" for what you went through with your ex. I'm guessing you went through it alone, and I'm so sorry. We were all young and stupid.
Here, in the USA, I can speak for all women in that we're ALL supportive of other women in need.
love you!
L