Just listen

It's devastating to hear that someone you care for has cancer.

Telling your family and friends that you have cancer has to be excruciating.

In October, a dear friend, someone I have known for over 30 years, sent an email telling me that she had just been diagnosed with cancer. The email went to three of us, women who had been dining together monthly for the past 20 years. We were all caught by surprise. Within minutes of receiving the email the three of us were on the phone talking and crying with each other.

Emails are often considered impersonal and imperfect methods of communication. In many cases this is true, but for us receiving this dreadful news via email was a gift. We had time to let the news sink in. It was alright to focus on ourselves first. And we need to do that. We could cry, be angry, engage in denial and swear a blue streak--all in the privacy of our own homes. We could do all of these things without pulling our friend into our despair. I think this is what the fight attendant is talking about when she or he says, "In the event of an emergency, oxygen masks will drop down. Secure your own mask before assisting others." The reasoning behind this is sound; you really aren't in a strong position to help any one else until you take care of yourself.

Our friend allowed us to take care of ourselves. She knew that we would be shattered by her diagnosis. Her email covered all the points we needed to know. The information was right there in black and white for us to read, review, print out and share. She told us about the treatment plans that were available to her and what wasn't and why. She talked about the physician she was working with and even attached a newspaper article about the doctor and her unique practice. She provide the facts, told us how she was handling the situation, gave us an idea of what we could do to help and let us know how important we were to her.

The four of us were scheduled to meet for dinner a few days after we received the email. We decided that we needed to take dinner to her house--none of us could imagine going to a restaurant.

It turned out to be a good evening. The credit, of course, goes to our friend. The way she delivered the news of her diagnosis set a tone that we followed. At dinner that night we were still profoundly sad and deeply worried, but I like to think that we were able to focus on her needs.

It is difficult and painful to hear that someone you love has cancer--but in order to be able to comfort and help, you have to listen to whatever it is that they want to say. All that you need to do at that moment is listen. Let them talk. Don't be afraid of silence. You don't have to provide stories of relatives who faced the same thing, you don't have to list doctors or clinics and you don't have to know every detail of their diagnosis. Just be there.