Since my diagnosis I’ve discovered that cancer doesn’t just come with side effects. It also comes with a script. Almost everyone reaches for the same handful of phrases. They’re not meant to hurt. They’re usually an attempt to fill an awkward silence, offer comfort, or make sense of something that feels really frightening.
Sometimes, though, they do the exact opposite.
Not because the words are unkind, but because they can carry underlying meanings that were never intended.
“But you look so well…”
Looking well and feeling well are not always on speaking terms.
“At least they caught it early.”
So it isn’t THAT bad.
“You’ve got to stay positive.”
Please don’t tell me you’re frightened, because I don’t know what to do with that.
“Everything happens for a reason.”
I need to believe there’s an explanation, because randomness scares me.
“My aunt had that…”
I want you to know you’re not alone… even if the comparison isn’t actually helpful.
Another, of course, is the “battle” metaphor – so deeply embedded into our language that we hardly realise it:
“She’s fighting cancer”
“Keep fighting”
“Cancer warrior”
“She’s an inspiration”
The problem is that it quietly suggests the outcome depends on effort or determination.
It doesn’t.
Cancer isn’t a boxing match where the person who trains hardest wins. You can do everything you’re asked to do – turn up for every appointment, endure chemotherapy, surgery, radiotherapy, hormone therapy, take every tablet on time, stay as active as you can, eat well, remain hopeful – and the disease may still progress. Equally, someone can feel utterly terrified, have days where they don’t feel positive at all, and still respond brilliantly to treatment.
I think that’s why I am not comfortable with the battle language. If someone dies, phrases like “they lost their fight” can unintentionally imply they somehow didn’t fight hard enough. Of course they did. They simply ran out of treatment options that worked.
If in doubt, remember this simple rule. If you’re about to begin a sentence with “My friend’s cousin’s dog walker had…”, maybe pause. Put the anecdote back in the cupboard. Offer a cup of tea instead. Or simply say, “I’m really sorry. How are you today?”
Sometimes there isn’t a perfect thing to say. Often, just knowing someone is there – whether that’s sitting beside you, at the end of a phone, or sending a message to say “I’m thinking of you” – is enough.
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