Today I got news that a former teacher in our school district has died of breast cancer. I did not know her. She was first diagnosed 9 years ago with early stage breast cancer. She underwent surgery and chemotherapy, but had a metastatic recurrence about 5 years later. She is the second person in my community (that I know of) to die of breast cancer in as many years.
Two years ago, a mother of children in my kids' elementary school died at age 43, the same age I am now. I did not know her, either. I do know many people who knew her well, and I heard only that she had a very aggressive form of breast cancer.
Generally speaking, 5-year relative survival rates for breast cancer are very encouraging; on average, the 5-year relative survival rate is 90%. Farther out, the 10-year relative survival rate drops to 83%. My cancer was localized, so the statistics look especially good for me. But the fact is, statistics aren't predictions; they only give an idea of possibilities.
(Frankly, any of us could get hit by a bus at any time, so there's that perspective to keep in mind, too...)
While I appreciate optimism - indeed, having a positive attitude is essential to good health and recovery - I also think it's important to be realistic. The way some people responded to my diagnosis, it's like they thought it was No Big Deal because breast cancer has such an encouraging survival rate. But cancer is cancer, and there is no cure for breast cancer.
I know it can be difficult to figure out what to say to someone with cancer, and I know everyone means well, but these kinds of comments I do not find to be helpful:
"I know 2 other women who had breast cancer and beat it. You will, too!"
"Breast cancer is very treatable now, there are lots of new therapies. You will be fine!"
"This is just a temporary phase of your life. You will go through treatment and come out stronger!"
While it is inspiring to hear about women who are thriving after breast cancer, the truth is, there are different kinds of breast cancer, different stages and different grades. Each patient lives a unique life, with different habits of exercise and nutrition, and their own genetic history. My cancer and my prognosis can't be compared to anyone else's story based solely on the fact that we both had "breast cancer".
There is no way to know if I will ever have a recurrence, so reassuring me that I won't does not help. In fact, it minimizes the fear and anxiety of living with a constant threat of recurrence.
I think more compassionate comments might sound like:
"I know a few other women who have been through breast cancer. I don't know how their diagnoses compare to yours, but would you be interested in talking with them?"
"I'm so sorry you are going through this. It's a hard path, and it sounds like some days are a real struggle. Do you want to vent? I'm here to listen."
"I know I can't really understand what you're going through. I'm cheering for you, and I'm proud of you for facing the challenges of each day. I hope it gets better soon."
11/22/19 Update: A couple days after I posted this entry, a friend on Facebook posted this related article, which speaks to the difference between the two types of comments above.
Mum hasn't read your blog yet, but she's going to. She's just not ready yet, after fighting her own battle, but she wants you to know how much she loves you and is thinking of you.
ReplyDeleteI’m sorry to hear about both the death of the former teacher and the mom in your community. They are definitely not the cancer stories one wants to hear. But you’re right, the reality is, cancer kills and it just goes to show how much more research and funding we need to better understand the disease, develop more effective treatments and perhaps one day find a cure. I’m always thinking of you and you know I’m always here to listen. <3
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