Five Ways to Handle a Cancer Diagnosis

Here are a few things you can do to help navigate a devastating diagnosis:

Don't get mired in "Why me?"

It's OK to be angry and feel sorry for yourself. For a while. But focusing on the "Why me?" question will drive you crazy and get you stuck in misery. There is no good answer to this. So don't blame God or yourself. I even suggested this to a friend diagnosed with lung cancer. She was a lifelong smoker who felt completely responsible for her disease. But lots of heavy smokers never get lung cancer and other folks who have never smoked get it. It doesn't make sense and it isn't fair. While you are dealing with a life-changing event, it isn't worth the energy to ask why.

Say yes to help.

People don't know what to do when they hear about your diagnosis. But let them do something. You or someone close to you can help guide them. When I was at my lowest I really didn't want to chat with everyone I knew. But I loved getting cards and offers of help. I learned to be specific: when a friend offered to do my family's laundry, I told her we were OK with the laundry but what we could really use were meals. And I asked her to spread the word.

Say yes to emotional help, too.

One of my hospital roommates with a similar diagnosis as mine (non-Hodgkins lymphoma) was exceedingly depressed. Married with teenage children, she was angry and hopeless. But she declined when nurses or doctors suggested she see a therapist or try an antidepressant. I  told her to accept their offers. It might help and it certainly can't hurt, I told her. I, too, have a husband and children. I cried in the hospital every day, but not all the time. I would weep through grueling physical therapy sessions.  But I was open to any kind of suggestion to alleviate my emotional pain.  I said yes to antidepressants, counselors, any volunteer who would hold my hand and a visit from any denomination of clergy. They all helped me get through my darkest times.

Don't be a defeatist.

Your life is not over, it's just different. It really annoys me when people will bring up their illness or age to qualify whether they will be alive at any day in the future. An older relative was hesitant to commit to a wedding a year away. I, on the other hand, said I would definitely be there (and I was). Another friend who is a cancer survivor routinely qualifies her plans with "I don't know what my future holds." News flash: Nobody does.

Focus on the good things day to day.

When I was released to my home after spending nearly five months in a hospital bed, I remember being moved to tears at the colors and beauty around me. The decor of my house, the backyard flowers, the chirping of birds: All were extra sweet to me. I still try to pay closer attention to such things as I experience them. We spend so much time griping. Really take the time to recognize the happy moments. Comment on them out loud so others can join in your reverie.

How to Guide Your Family Through Tough Times after the Bombshell of a Cancer Diagnosis

I am publishing a post from a guest blogger: Cameron Von St. James. He tells an inspirational story of dealing with his wife's grim cancer diagnosis, learning to become a caregiver and keeping up the fight. Because my blog is designed to inspire and educate people, I welcome his contribution.

There are some dates in your life that are burned into your memory forever. Some of these dates, like my wedding date and my daughter's birthday, are happy memories. However, I will also never forget November 21, 2005 for different reasons. On that memorable date, my wife Heather and I were informed that she was suffering from malignant pleural mesothelioma.  As soon as she became a cancer patient, I became a caregiver to her.

Right before we received the diagnosis, we were planning ways to make the holidays special for our daughter, Lily. She was only 3 months old, and we were looking forward to spending our first Christmas together in Minnesota as a family of three. Once the doctor informed us of Heather's diagnosis, my caregiving duties  started right away. Heather's form of cancer was very serious (her life expectancy was 3 to 12 months) so we needed to immediately make some treatment decisions.  According to our doctor, we could choose to seek treatment locally, visit a regional hospital without an official mesothelioma treatment facility or make an appointment with a respected mesothelioma specialist in Boston.

I looked at Heather to get her input, and I will never forget the look on her face. She was completely in shock and disbelief. I knew that I needed to step up and make the decision when she could not. I let the doctor know that we wanted to go to Boston for treatment as soon as possible.

The important decisions did not stop once we chose a physician. It seemed like every day was filled with large and small decisions that needed to be made right away. Our lives had been scheduled and organized before the cancer diagnosis. Heather and I both worked full-time, and we would come home and spend the evenings with Lily. Mesothelioma strained our family financially because Heather had to quit her job right away. I was only able to work part time as I cared for Heather and Lily. Since we had decided to seek treatment in Boston, my days were spent trying to work, take care of Lily, handle the household duties and making travel plans to support my wife.

Although the physical tasks were difficult, the emotional strain was even more overwhelming. I was terrified of the possibility of losing my wife and having to raise my daughter alone. There were some days that I would just collapse in tears on the kitchen floor. I felt a whole range of emotions from anger to devastation. Feeling these emotions was not wrong, but I had to learn how to deal with them in a constructive manner.

Heather, Lily and Cameron Von St. James

The things I was feeling were overwhelming, but I knew that I had to get it together for Heather and Lily. I refused to let myself wallow in my feelings of helplessness.

One of the things that helped me the most was the fact that Heather and I were surrounded by a wonderful support system. Our family and friends were invaluable, and there were even complete strangers who stepped up to offer assistance. People gave assistance to us in a myriad of different ways. The financial help allowed us to pay our bills during the tight months, and it was wonderful to know that Lily was being taken care of by other people who volunteered to take over some of my caregiving duties.

If you are ever called upon to be a caregiver, you will quickly find out that it is not an easy task. I do not say this to discourage people, but I want them to understand what to expect. No human being can do everything on his or her own, so do not be afraid to learn how to ask for help. When people volunteer to help your family, let them know a few specific ways that they can assist you.  Above all else, never give up hope for a better future for your family.

It took a long time for our lives to settle down. Heather's treatment plan included   mesothelioma surgery, radiation and chemotherapy. However, it is now seven years after her initial diagnosis, and I am thrilled to say that she remains cancer free.

I could never have imagined the journey that my family would be forced to endure, but we all learned so much through our situation. I have always been a stubborn person, and I learned to use this stubbornness in a positive way to advocate for my wife. I was able to change my life by going back to school for my Information Technology degree and acquiring a better job to help my family.

Heather and I also learned in a very real way how precious life is. We do not take the moments that we get to spend with each other and with Lily for granted. We know how very blessed we are, and we wish to share our story of hope with all those who are currently fighting cancer today, in the hope that it may inspire them to never give up, and to always keep fighting for the ones they love. 

News Flash: Helping Hands Abound for the Disabled

The other day someone did something nice for me. I can’t remember what it was. It must have been extra sweet, because I mentioned it to my dad. 

“Well, there are some good people left in this world,” he said.

Actually, there are plenty.

Since I’ve become handicapped, I’ve had to depend on others for lots of little things: from opening doors and reaching items to chasing after a letter as it blew away from a drive-up mailbox.

And I’ve learned this: People of all ages are more than willing to lend a hand. They are happy to do it.

Despite what I call the “hell-in-a-handbasket” view of life
 (that things are worse than ever, nobody is like they used to be in the good old days, people, particularly the young ones, are more impolite than ever) there are many, many folks who are willing, even eager, to help out a person in need.

A friend of mine -- old enough to be my mother -- suffered a stroke a few years ago and I was one of the first she called (before she called a doctor) because I had been through so much, she was inquiring about her symptoms. Days later, her husband told me that she had, in fact, had a stroke and had to be hospitalized.

She recovered well and checked in often, me recovering slowly but surely from cancer and her the stroke. The incident taught her a big lesson, she said one day: People are extremely nice.

“It restored my faith in humanity,” she said.

I observe the kindness of people daily. Any door I approach using my walker, someone is always offering to hold. One older gentleman told me proudly, “I still hold doors open for women,” suggesting chivalry is not dead.


But young boys, even when their moms aren’t prompting them, step in and hold the door for this woman.

When I am getting in or out of my car, folks offer to assist, even though it’s not necessary. It may look like I’m struggling, but it’s just awkward. 

I was opening my door and preparing to get out in an emptyish parking lot when a college-aged girl came running up to my car, bee-lining about 30 feet just to ask if I needed help.

The same goes for me getting myself into a grocery store.

Here’s my routine: I drag my walker across my driver’s seat and place it outside on the ground. Then I stand up, grab my purse and shopping bags, then I walk toward the store. There I find a cart (sometimes I need help there), place shopping bags inside, then steady myself as I fold up my walker and throw it into the basket. Then I hit the hand-wipes station and clean the handle before I head down the aisles. (As a stem cell transplant survivor, I am particularly careful about germs.)

It’s a cumbersome routine but doable. People are so willing to help that I sometimes let them. Last week as I was approaching the outside of the store, a woman insisted on helping me, getting a cart for me, throwing my bags in, then my walker. “Is that it?” she said. Well, I told her, my last step is to use a wipe. She grabbed it for me and then threw it away when I was finished.

I learned that sometimes people just want to help, period. It makes them and you feel good.

An important part of the equation is not being afraid to ask for help and learning how to ask for help. I’ve depended on the kindness of strangers to unload my grocery items onto the counter, put things in my car, grab that errant letter blowing away, go fetch a sweater that I left somewhere, go find a pillow that I left in my trunk.

A frequent request is reaching something on the top shelf of a grocery store. More times than not the specific thing I need is just inches out of my reach. (This a new challenge for me as I’ve shrunk 2 1/2 inches due to osteoporosis.) I wait until someone taller comes along or I recruit someone in another aisle. If you ask them nicely, people will help with anything. 

Once at Trader Joe’s I asked a woman if she could reach a container from the top shelf.

“OK,” she said, leaning closer to the shelf, squinting. “Fresh grated, parmesan cheese, six ounces.....”

I interrupted her. “Oh, I said reach it, not read it.”

One rainy afternoon I was picking up my pre-made Dream Dinners  at the local store.  A helper carried the packages to my back seat and then hurried inside. As I was heading toward the driver’s door, I dropped my car keys and they bounced underneath my car and landed close to the center.

This would have been a prime moment to cuss loudly or lament the fact that I found myself in this predicament, disabled and keyless in the rain. Would have been a good time to shed tears of frustration.

But I merely went inside and asked for help.

Out came two guys armed with brooms who squatted down in the puddles and retrieved my keys. 

I thanked them profusely and went on my way.