From: nichols@ccu.umanitoba.ca (Pat Nichols)
Subject: Re: loss of friends
Organization: University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, Canada
Date: Thu, 16 Apr 1992 15:56:56 GMT

I guess in terms of friends, I have been very lucky.  I was very open
about my cancer, and I found my friends went out of their way to treat
me like a princess.  On New Years eve, 1991, I was between chemo
sessions, so I was well enough to be bundled to a friend's cabin in the
Canadian Shield and spend New Years with some wonderful people.  I had
no hair, and a lovely green complexion, and enough stamina to walk
around the cabin.  At midnight, on New Year's eve, they made a large
bonfire on the lake.  It was very cold and I could hardly breathe
outside.  I couldn't manage the walk down the hill to the lake, so I
was picked up at the cabin by snowmobile and driven to the fire.  It
was wonderful!  It was a full moon, (actually the second one in the
month, known as a blue moon).  We waited until midnight and popped the
cork on the champagne.  It came out much like a slurpee because it was
so cold.  We all jumped up and down to keep warm and sang a few songs
off key.  Then, the princess was whisked back to the cabin in her magic
coach.

Pretty much everyone I have talked to who has had cancer has lost close
friends when they told them.  I really count my blessings because I
found it was just the opposite.  I have never felt so lucky and loved
in my life.  Most of my friendships are deeper and stronger than ever
before.

I did have a small problem at the beginning though.  After I was
diagnosed, and had told my family and friends, it seemed like everyone
was too cheerful.  They were all talking like no one except me was
worried about it and that it was no more serious than a hangnail.  No
one ever expressed any doubt that I would get better.  Then, I started
to notice that when I made a flippant remark, like "I'll just die if I
lose my hair", I would see a look of panic in their eyes and they would
vehemently deny that it was possible for me to die.

At that point I realized that they were scared too, and strangely, I
felt lots better.  I figured out that they were trying to protect me by
keeping things light and optimistic, and I was doing the same thing to
protect them.  I bridged the topic with them and we had a running joke
about my not having "real" cancer, I had "light cancer".  "All the
taste but none of the calories."  Once we got to the point where we
could be honest with one another that we were scared, we could stop
tip-toeing around the topic and treat it like any other normal part of
life.  I was the delighted brunt of many hair and vomitting jokes.  I
was suddenly a real person again.

Now that I am feeling relatively healthy, I still get an immense amount
of emotional support from them.  I have many people who will allow me
to talk about my fears and doubts without trying to make me be happy
all of the time.  And I am glad that they feel comfortable enough with
me to tell me when they are worried about me too.

I think I am a much better person now than before I had cancer.  I have
re-evaluated what I want out of life, and talking with my friends,
playing with my puppies and napping in sunbeams have risen to the top
the scale.  In spite of the fact that I can no longer go as fast, I am
glad that I am at least going in the right direction.  It doesn't
matter how fast I was going when I wasn't heading where I wanted to
be.
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