Tokens of Support

There were two very different comments that friends posted in response to my last blog entry, and I want to respond to each separately since they are so different....

One of the comments was from my friend Cathy Youngling (aka, Tamwitch). She wrote:

Asking for some prayers. Glenn's Mom has just been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. They say it's inoperable, but they may still be doing some chemo. Ideas to help support her are welcome. Email cyoungling@pacunion.com.

When I read Cathy's posting, my heart sank. Before being diagnosed with cancer myself, I naively thought that all cancers were the same, kind of like all cases of chicken pox are the same. But one of the things that I have learned through this whole process is that each type of cancer is very different depending on where it originates and that each cancer involves unique treatment protocols and very different prognoses. Despite these difference, though, a few commonalities remain: chemo is still chemo and there is no getting around the fact that it sucks. And, regardless of the type of cancer, every cancer patient will, at some point, find themselves standing on the edge of the precipice staring mortality in the face, trying to make sense of death, and assessing their own life. And lastly, I have come to learn that cancer is a family disease. Yes, the cancer patient endures the brunt of the physical treatment, but the emotional aspects of cancer reach every member of a family in some way or another. And so, while I might not be able to relate to the actual treatment protocal that Cathy's mother-in-law will be prescribed, I know all to well the physical and emotional pain that her entire family is about to endure and it brings me to tears.

One statistic that I read early on is that 1 out of every 3 women and 1 out of every 2 men will be diagnosed with cancer in their lifetime (you can see the break-down by type of cancer by clicking here.) The best I can figure, there must be more than 500 people who have visited my blog since I started writing in early March and so I always suspected that someone I knew (either directly or indirectly) would end up being diagnosed with cancer during the course of my treatment. As it has turned out, there are four people whom I have learned of -- including Cathy's mother-in-law and my own mother's best friend, Joanie -- who have received the horrible diagnosis of cancer and, unfortunately, I am sure that these won't be the last. For whatever reason -- or probably for a multitude of reasons -- cancer is a reality in our society.

I called Cathy today to offer my condolences. I also shared with her a few things that have provided me the most comfort in these past 8+ months in the hopes that these might be of comfort to her mother-in-law as well. I decided to share my thoughts here as well, though, in the event that anyone else reading my blog finds themselves struggling to know how to comfort a loved one who faces a similar diagnosis:

1) Every time I go in for a chemo appointment, I bring my own blanket from home. Chemo appointments can last up to 8+ hours (mine are generally 3-4 hours) and so having a cozy, clean blanket to snuggle under can make the experience more manageable. As I mentioned before, there is a wonderful company called Kimbelina (www.kimbelina.com) which sells beautiful, soft blankets with angels embroidered on every corner. The owners of the company sent me and my family each a beautiful gift when they learned of my diagnosis and sometimes I take the blanket that they sent and sometimes I take a Land's End blanket that my good friend Rick sent me which has "BitchKilla" embroidered on the corner. Either way, I can't help but smile as I cozy up in the chemo chair every other week.

2) The single best book that I found about life, death and dying is "Kitchen Table Wisdom" by Rachel Naomi Remen. The other book which I found extremely helpful was "Fighting Cancer From Within," by Martin Rossman. If you have been reading my blog from the beginning, you have undoubtedly heard me quote from both of these books numerous times and have, perhaps, also been touched by the wisdom of these two authors.

3) The dinners that friends have provided each week have been invaluable. When you are going through treatment and feel completely crummy, there is nothing better than having someone else in charge of making sure that a healthy dinner is on the table, especially when there are other family members who need to be fed. When in doubt as to what the patient can/cannot eat, stick with vegetarian dishes -- you can't go wrong getting more healthy veggies into a chemo-filled body!

4) Just send a card or a quick email letting your friend know that you are thinking of them. I am sure that many people don't know what to say or are afraid that they will say the wrong thing in situations like this, but I can tell you there are a number of friends who write to me regularly and simply say "I'm thinking of you. I'm glad to hear that you're feeling better this week. Know that you are in my thoughts and prayers." And I can tell you that these small gestures mean the world to me!

There are many other, very meaningful gifts which friends and family have sent me -- stuffed animals, small dolls, boxing gloves, other books, inspirational pictures and magnets, etc -- but they are all very personal to me. By comparison, I think that the things I mentioned above are fairly universal; I cannot imagine any cancer patient who wouldn't appreciate receiving one of these tokens of comfort and support.