The Pros and CONS of Cancer

     If you know me, this post is going to completely blow my anonymity.  But I'm pretty sure that even without this post, if you read this blog, you'll either ask right away if it's me or tell me I should totally meet the author, because her story is just like mine.  And in case you missed my excited earlier post, I'm going to be on Stupid Cancer's podcast in July, which isn't going to help with the anonymity either.

     When I was a teenager, I had to go to Boston Children's Hospital.  I wore Converse sneakers because it was the early nineties, and like I said, I was a teenager.  Both a doctor and an orderly commented something like, "Nice sneaks".  My dad and I have often reminisced about this.  So when at thirty five I was diagnosed with stomach cancer and the decision was made to go to Dana Farber, I thought, "Well I know how to get special attention at fancy Boston hospitals" and I wore Converse.

     My friend who came with us to that first appointment caught on and we were talking about it in front of my sister, who said, "Well, I'll just wear my Cons on your treatment days" (she already has enough pairs to wear an appropriately different pair each day of Spirit Week at the school where she teaches).  Another friend overheard all this and started a Facebook campaign so that on my first treatment day my homepage was flooded with people wearing Chucks.  Within a few weeks, there were over 100 people wearing Converse sneakers for me on the days I had treatment or tests.  Now, I think it's closer to 200.  These include friends, family, my coworkers, my students, my camp counselor from when I was eight, people from church, and the friends and family of all those listed above.  Complete strangers are wearing Chucks for me. People have posted pictures from South Africa, Costa Rica, Australia, Paris, London, Jerusalem, the press room of the White House as well as the State of the Union address, and the Great Wall of China.  I've put many of these pictures into a book I made on Blurb.  The week after I finished the book, my cousin posted a picture of her snorkeling in Hawaii with her Cons, so I had to start making another book.

     On the day of my second treatment, my oncologist walked in and commented on my Chucks, "Orange today".  So I explained my theory about getting special attention at fancy Boston hospitals.  He replied, "Well its the first thing I noticed about you today and commented on, so it seems perfectly logical to me".

     Sometimes it's overwhelming, all of this love and support, but I know I couldn't do this without them.

Comfort in, Dump Out

Although this has been a minimal problem for me, I can see it looming on the horizon and am sure it is a big problem for many patients and their immediate families. Below is a diagram depicting the "Comfort in, Dump out" theory. The idea is that the patient is at the center and is surrounded by concentric circles. Her immediate family members or supports are in the next closest ring. As the circle expand, so do the relationships. I, as the patient, can dump as much frustration and pain "out wards" as I want. People in the outer circles can also dump OUTWARDS; they can only provide comfort INWARDS. So my husband can say to my best friend, "I can't bear to see her like this." But a colleague can't say to my husband, "I can't bear to see her like this."

 Here is a diagram to illustrate this idea.

This idea is not my own. It was forwarded to me from two friends who learned about it from the following blog and LA Times article.

How Not to Say the Wrong Thing (LA Times)
How To Respond to a Friend in Crisis (Shasta's Friendship Blog)

People want to help, they want to be supportive. Many have no idea what to say, others have no clue that what they think is supportive, really isn't.  I really like that this diagram and these articles include immediate family, they too need support. I'd like to restate something I said in an earlier post, if you must say something, "I'm sorry you have cancer" is a good one. Likewise, "I'm sorry your wife, husband, mother, sister, girlfriend, whoever, has cancer" will do. Either of these can be followed with "Here's a gift card for a day of housecleaning from a service" or "Here's a gift card for groceries to be delivered".

On a more personal note, my most recent ct scan this week showed no change. Everything is stable. Considering that my last scan showed my lymph nodes were as small as they can get and since they can't measure the diffuse cancer in the lining of my stomach, this really is the best news we could get. For now, treatment continues status quo.