People have a lot of suggestions when you have cancer. What you should eat, what you should stop eating, how you should think, what you should try. Sometimes you can mention that you’re tired and somehow end up in a conversation about sugar with someone who was asking you for restaurant recommendations ten minutes ago.
I know most of it comes from wanting to help. It’s hard to watch someone you care about go through something you can’t fix. Having a suggestion probably feels better than having nothing to offer.
But receiving all those suggestions gets exhausting. I already have appointments, medications, side effects, and a body that requires far more attention than I would like. I don’t always have room for homework from everyone else.
One piece of advice I’m glad I haven’t built my life around is that I need to stay positive.
I can be hopeful. I can laugh through some genuinely awful shit. I can also cry, complain, get angry, and have a day where I don’t feel like finding the good in anything. Sometimes I need to say that something sucks and have the person listening let it suck.
Being told to stay positive in that moment makes me wish I hadn’t brought it up. Now I’m sick and apparently making the conversation uncomfortable.
There’s enough pressure in cancer without feeling responsible for keeping everyone encouraged about it.
Then there’s the food advice. Everybody has heard about something you absolutely should or absolutely shouldn’t eat.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to find something that doesn’t smell horrible, taste like metal, or make my stomach turn. What sounds good when I order it might be completely unbearable by the time it gets here. If I finally find something I can eat, I would really love to finish it without a discussion about whether I should have chosen something else.
I can take questions about nutrition to the people involved in my care. I don’t need to defend my lunch.
I’m also glad I haven’t bought into the idea that every good day needs to be used to its fullest potential. That sounds lovely until you’re living with cancer and start feeling guilty for spending a decent afternoon on the couch.
Sometimes I feel well enough to do something, and I still don’t want to get dressed and leave the house. Sometimes I want to watch something stupid with Pete, hang out with Mojo, and order food. I don’t want to get to bedtime and grade myself on how well I used the hours when I felt okay.
I love the things I’m building through Mojo & The Mess. Writing matters to me. Bringing people together matters to me. But I want to be able to enjoy an ordinary day without needing to turn it into a memory, a milestone, or something worth posting.
“Keep busy” is another one that depends heavily on the day.
Having something to work on can help me. It gives me somewhere to put my thoughts and something to look forward to. But I’m perfectly capable of being busy and still knowing I have cancer. There are also days when continuing to work just means I’m tired, nauseous, and answering messages.
I’m still learning when I need to stop. Encouragement to push through isn’t always helpful when I’m already pretty good at asking too much of myself.
And I don’t believe everything needs to become a lesson. There are things I’ve learned through being sick because I had to learn them. There are people I’m incredibly grateful to know. I can write about those things when I have something to say.
Other experiences are still painful, and I don’t have a thoughtful ending for them. I’d like to be able to talk about those, too.
The advice I actually appreciate usually starts with someone listening long enough to understand what I’m dealing with. Ask what I can eat before suggesting dinner. Ask if I want company. Let me tell you I’m scared without immediately explaining why I shouldn’t be.
Sometimes I’ll want your opinion. Sometimes I’ll need help figuring something out. And sometimes I’m telling you because we’re close and this is what’s happening in my life.
You can say, “That sounds really fucking hard.”
There’s a good chance that’s exactly what I needed to hear.
If you’re reading this and thinking about a conversation you’ve had with someone you love, you don’t need to panic about finding the perfect thing to say next time. You can ask, “Do you want suggestions, or do you just need me to listen?” That question leaves room for an honest answer.
And if you’re the one with cancer, you’re allowed to say what would help. Even if what would help is changing the subject and eating your lunch in peace.
Thank you for being here and giving me somewhere to say these things.
Love,
Izzy & Mojo 🐾
There’s more at Mojo & The Mess, including the blog and a resource page for patients, caregivers, and loved ones looking for information and support.
You can find my books, Life’s a Mess and Before the Flowers Die, through all my links here. If you’d like to help keep this space going, you can visit Keep Mojo & The Mess Going. Thank you to everyone who reads, shares, and supports what I’m building.
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