When You’re at a Loss for Words with a Loved One Facing Cancer, Just Be Present

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“Hello?” Her voice rang out on the line, while I struggled to swallow the lump in my throat.

“Hello,” she repeated, and I fumbled for something—anything—to steer the conversation away from the devastating news I had just heard. I wanted to rewind time to before she said the words, “It’s cancer.”

At just 35, she was a vibrant mother of three young girls, an active wife, and my older sister. When she first mentioned a lump a few weeks earlier, it barely registered amid our chatter about assembling cribs, planning for Mom’s visit, and the weather. But now, the same topic loomed heavy again.

Finally, I managed to ask, “What did the doctor say?”

“It’s cancer.”

“Wait, how? What?” That was all I could muster. As a writer and an English teacher, I had always relied on words to express my feelings. But in that moment, they felt like they had vanished, leaving me speechless. After we hung up, I returned to chopping potatoes, my pregnant belly making travel impossible. She was in the Deep South, while I was on the Oregon Coast. Life had taken us far from our childhood in Chicago, where we shared everything, including a basement bedroom.

For days, I kept the news to myself. I couldn’t bear to repeat it or confront the reality that lay ahead. Night after night, I woke, her words echoing in my mind, haunting me with worry for her little girls, all under five. I searched for words of hope to share with them, but found none.

The next day, when I called her again, I was still lost for words. She needed reassurance, but I was consumed by questions and fears that I swallowed in silence. She urged us all to research diets, vitamins, and treatments. We complied, but nothing we found felt adequate.

In the months that followed, our conversations shifted to the details of her lumpectomy and radiation treatments. Her husband and daughters would accompany her to the hospital, where the girls would draw pictures in a waiting room adorned with dusty faux flowers. Meanwhile, I nursed my newborn son back home.

After her treatments, she was declared cancer-free, but the threat of recurrence loomed large. She eliminated sugar from her diet, embarked on an intense exercise regimen, and lost a significant amount of weight. She frequented breast cancer message boards, sharing horror stories of other young mothers whose cancer returned. I despised those forums; they only fueled my fears.

Then came another call: “I’m getting a double mastectomy.” I was horrified. Words failed me again as I imagined the thought of losing the very breasts that had nurtured my child. I didn’t want to look at the information she sent me, but I knew she needed support. We spent hours on the phone, both scrolling through images of reconstructed breasts. Though I found it unsettling, I understood her need to take control.

She consulted several specialists, weighed her options, and ultimately made her choice. For three weeks, she moved away for recovery, while our mother stayed with her. I sent magazines and a card, but struggled to find the right words to say.

In the days following her surgery, she was in excruciating pain. She couldn’t lift her arms, wash her hair, or hug her daughters without discomfort. Even years later, she still experiences pain but has stopped fixating on survivor websites. Though she’ll always be labeled a survivor, she has learned to navigate life beyond the shadow of cancer.

Those initial words, “It’s cancer,” left us all grappling with fear and uncertainty. We didn’t know survival was possible; all we associated with cancer was death. At my first mammogram, the nurse asked if my sister had passed away. I felt the sickening rise of panic, but thankfully, I was able to say, “No, she’s alive and thriving.”

She guided us through a nightmare where words fell short. I wish I could say that the right words were always there to provide comfort, but they often seemed inadequate.

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Summary

This article poignantly captures the struggles of providing support to a loved one facing cancer. It explores the challenges of finding the right words, the importance of simply being present, and the journey of navigating fear and hope in the face of illness.