Now pretty much everyone who gets told they have cancer, has that very personal decision of who to tell, when to tell, and who to miss out on telling.
Of course, cancer is not the only illness which presents that set of decisions, but given its potential awfulness it does rank on the topics of conversation not easily had at a friend’s wedding, let alone a funeral.
Last time round, just a year ago we choose to keep it to family and close friends, and given that one of our sons was in the Far East away from even basic internet the news was broken only when he returned.
In doing so it was not because of some desire to keep it secret, rather to spare a lot of people that awkward moment, where at a loss to know what to say, they fall back on, “it will be alright”, backed up with a plethora of statistics on recovery rates.
Both of which are fully understandable and a response I have done in the past.
You smile, feel embarrassed that they feel embarrassed, mumble “yes”, while quietly thinking, no it won’t be alright, it’s cancer.
That said, recovery rates for some cancers range from good to very good, so it’s all down to hoping for "the right type of cancer”, along with speedy and effective health care.
All of which I had with the first cancer last year and so far have been experiencing with the second.
The two are unrelated, other than both starting with c, and I joke that I am making a bid for the Guinness Book of Records under the heading of “The man who is going for the record of how many cancers you can have in one year”.
All of which leaves me as it did last time looking positive, and praising the wonderful NHS, with a promise of a note to who ever that small band of Tories choose as PM and another to the President of the USA, that I don’t want my National Health Service sold to anyone, and reasserting that simple idea that it should always remain free to everyone at the point of need.*
Pictures; Be Happy, Manchester, 1978, Swiss Train, 2015, from the collection of Andrew Simpson
*Travels with my cancer, https://chorltonhistory.blogspot.com/2018/10/travels-with-my-cancer-in-praise-of-nhs.html
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| Be Happy, 1978 |
Last time round, just a year ago we choose to keep it to family and close friends, and given that one of our sons was in the Far East away from even basic internet the news was broken only when he returned.
In doing so it was not because of some desire to keep it secret, rather to spare a lot of people that awkward moment, where at a loss to know what to say, they fall back on, “it will be alright”, backed up with a plethora of statistics on recovery rates.
Both of which are fully understandable and a response I have done in the past.
You smile, feel embarrassed that they feel embarrassed, mumble “yes”, while quietly thinking, no it won’t be alright, it’s cancer.
 |
| Be Happy, 2015 |
All of which I had with the first cancer last year and so far have been experiencing with the second.
The two are unrelated, other than both starting with c, and I joke that I am making a bid for the Guinness Book of Records under the heading of “The man who is going for the record of how many cancers you can have in one year”.
All of which leaves me as it did last time looking positive, and praising the wonderful NHS, with a promise of a note to who ever that small band of Tories choose as PM and another to the President of the USA, that I don’t want my National Health Service sold to anyone, and reasserting that simple idea that it should always remain free to everyone at the point of need.*
Pictures; Be Happy, Manchester, 1978, Swiss Train, 2015, from the collection of Andrew Simpson
*Travels with my cancer, https://chorltonhistory.blogspot.com/2018/10/travels-with-my-cancer-in-praise-of-nhs.html
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