Whom to tell, how to tell them, and some poor examples of both.

Those of you who know me will be well aware that ‘keeping in touch’ is not my forte. This is somewhat ironic given my ability to talk; the only method of shutting me up is to take my beer away from me, especially if I end up on one of my rants. It is apparent in these entries that I like the sound of my own voice, internal or otherwise, but when it comes down to communication on actual matters and goings on, well you can just forget about it. There are people I consider very close friends, yet I haven’t contacted them in over a year.  This shortcoming is not restricted to friends; family get the same level of slackness. My parents are probably feeling quite smothered given the abundance of skype calls they have received lately.

My local friends I work with; they had been watching my health deteriorate over the months so the diagnosis was less of a shock for them. Still, the news was not put to them very eloquently. I was interested in their thoughts whilst I bumblefucked my way around informing people. In hindsight this was probably something I should have read about prior to undertaking, but as it was I only read one post about a guy with Hodgkin's Lymphoma who didn’t tell anyone, not even his fiancée. Subsequently, his entire life fell apart. The take home message – some people do need to be informed. 

Due to some freak arrangement in the planets and their moons (clearly the only reason), I had mentioned to my parents in November that I’d been feeling unwell for a wee while and had an unresolving chest infection. Another astrological intervention led to a WhatsApp message to my Dad the morning of my hospital admission, in which I remarked that I was feeling particularly ‘poorly’ (for any British readers out there – I can’t have it all being Kiwi lingo). From this point they were updated regularly, thanks to some gentle prodding from my husband, and were pretty much left to deal with the fallout in NZ. But, and here lies the first of many mistakes, I had instructed my folks not to tell my sisters. One sister is aware that I have been unwell but will worry if she knows; the other is on her honeymoon en route to New Zealand so there is no need to bother her. Although the diagnosis was not official until a week or so after I was discharged, five days into my hospital stay it was pretty much confirmed as they had moved me to the cancer ward. Anyway, I digress, back to the story.

Essentially one sister was phoned out of blue to say that I was in hospital and I probably had cancer. I didn't make the call. The second sister and her husband turned up at the Picton ferry terminal, 6am in the morning, three days before Christmas having not seen my parents in over 18 months, and at some point, during the two hour car journey that followed, was informed of the news. Regular contact does not necessarily mean communication because she and I talk often and I had never mentioned that I was feeling unwell.

Having successfully dampened my family’s Christmas, my husband and I set about ruining that of my in-laws. In an attempt not to destroy their Christmas, we had decided not to tell his siblings until Boxing Day. Withholding information worked so well the first time around, let’s do it again! Unfortunately, due to time zones (another astrological event!) it was Christmas morning in New Zealand, Christmas Eve in the UK, so I had just been discharged from hospital. What followed was a skype call that belonged in Curb Your Enthusiasm. Awkward. I kind of hope the government was spying on it, just for the comical value. Perfectly reasonable questions from my husband’s family - “Where is your drink guys, it's Christmas Eve?” “Ah urm…..” silence, “Are you going away for the Christmas break?” (We’d just cancelled our Boxing Day trip to Amsterdam) “Ah…. Liv has to work” which, as we know, was a flat out lie. Throughout the conversation I am trying hide the oversized white bandage on my neck that is covering my biopsy site. Yay for video calls! Ten minutes after the call ended my husband gets a text from his brother. Obviously our act had not been convincing. Oh well, now they know. I guess what I am trying to say, in my longwinded style, is that if you’re lying in hospital with a possible cancer diagnosis hanging over your head, tell your immediate family. At least it is a warning for them. I did my sisters a great disservice by not informing them sooner.

So we move to friends and colleagues.  I was in a pickle. As I mentioned, the diagnosis was a forgone conclusion; the chances I didn’t have lymphoma were exceptionally low. But I didn’t want to say to everyone “I’ve got cancer” and then turn around and say “oh no wait I don’t. Sorry guys, my bad.” I mean what a dick. [My internal dialogue has accentuated the kiwi accent on the word ‘dick’ and I would appreciate if everyone else would also do so. It is one of the few words that is best said with a New Zealand accent.] I am not at all implying that anyone who has done this is a dick, because that is not at all the case. I am just trying to convey my thought process at the time. And, for another matter, if you know of someone who has done this, please understand what they were going through. It is very difficult. Oh, I believe that was my first lecture!

Another digression, I apologise, back to my pickle. I needed to make sure I wasn’t expected at work any time soon. A select few in the lab had been updated on the probable diagnosis. They all found out via text. Maybe one face to face. It was all very blurted and blunt. The phone call to my senior goes something like this “Hi it’s Liv, am I on the rota next week?..... Ok that’s good, well just to update you, I am still in hospital, I am under a haematology consultant, they think I have lymphoma - which, well makes sense really, and I guess at my age it’s probably Hodgkin’s, but I don’t know when I will be at work next.” Apparently he was mouthing ‘holy fuck’ to my friend sitting beside him. 

Other failures include a WhatsApp message to my mate in Australia: “Thanks for the Christmas card it lit up my day. Unfortunately I have ended up in hospital so the card has brightened up my bed area. You’ll be pleased to know my nutritionist is Australian.” (I can’t believe I used the word ‘brightened’. Yuck.) This message, at the time, made perfect sense to me. But you see my friend is pregnant and I had deliberately avoided telling her how crap I had been feeling, so it probably came as a shock to her. I was narcissistically assuming that everyone was aware that I had been unwell. Another fine botched example: on New Year’s Eve I got a text from a workmate “How the hell are you?” Well I am not going to lie, that backfired on Christmas Eve, I responded “Ermmmmm…..Still drinking, but it’s probably Hodgkin’s lymphoma” Thought process:

• Ermmm – she is Scottish and I thought it was appropriate    

• Still drinking – it is New Year’s Eve and she is Scottish so, you know, it’s relevant
• Hodgkin’s Lymphoma – well it was and, as I said, I wasn’t going to lie

Maybe it could have been put more delicately, and quite possibly not on New Year’s Eve. Are you cringing yet? I have more. A phone conversation, which I had actually planned, was the quite possibly the worst way to tell someone that you have cancer. I started “How was your Christmas?” “Cool, and your trip went well? Did you get some snow?” Then, wham, out left field she asks me a question “How was your New Year’s Liv?” Wow, wow, wow. This is NOT part of the script. I am not prepared for questions. The true answer is we went to the Komedia to see Zoe Lyons, where I nursed one pint over two hours and played pathetic cancer patient number 1 because it actually hurt to laugh. My response was “Ahh errr well I have cancer.” We’ve laughed about it since. Next time I will write notes. I started warning people at the beginning of my messages that there was a shock to come. But I am 29 and I have been married for five years; they all think I am pregnant. I am still trying to decide if pregnancy would be worse or not.  

All these examples were either pre-diagnosis or necessary notifications. Now, nearly a month later, whom do I tell? What am I trying to achieve? Are people going to be upset if they find out after the fact? Because essentially I am going to come out of nowhere with an email that says “Hi, I know I have been really slack and we haven’t, like, spoken or anything for over a year, but well, as it turns out I have cancer. Oh, don’t worry it is totally curable and I will be fine in six months. In fact, you’d probably be none the wiser had I not told you.” Is that not just asking for pity and attention? People with chronic diseases don’t send global emails and they have to manage their illness for the rest of their lives. It’s not as though I am dying. I suspect my rationale for wanting (Is it want? Is that the Freudian slip I have been waiting for?) to inform others is entirely selfish, which may be why I am delaying it. Delay. Another Freudian slip?