How would you react if you received a phone call and found out that your father, sister, or friend had cancer? Would you stop for even a split second to consider how tough it is for that person to share her horrible news? How since she learned of her illness, she has become an instant master at juggling other people’s anger, denial, and sadness every time she talks about her new role as a cancer patient?

How she had to listen to her son rail at the unfairness of the situation and argue that it should have been him that got sick; how her best friend became mute with shock and immediately found an excuse to get off the phone; or how her grown daughter launched into jagged sobs and needed consoling.

I am sure it will come as no surprise to some of you, when faced with news about my Dad’s cancer diagnosis, I immediately slipped into a state of hysteria.

It was a balmy summer evening in 2009. After working late to find the perfect candidate for a new role with a major insurance company, I opened my sunroof to catch the evening heat and cursed every red light that got between me and my Kitsilano neighbourhood. As soon as I got home, I threw on my ipod, laced up my running shoes, and pounded along the sea wall to the sound of The Black Eyed Peas, “I Gotta Feeling” and the scent of grilling hot dogs. I ended my run at Whole Foods and stopped, in all of my red faced sweaty glory, to pick up dinner and then walked home across sidewalks still glimmering with the heat of the day. Life was good. I had a tan. My jeans fit. One of my best friend’s was about to get married and my summer was packed with weekends away, barbecues, and beach days. Nothing could go wrong.

Less than twenty minutes later, I answered the phone and immediately heard the tremble in my Mom’s voice. The rest of our conversation passed in a blur until my Dad came on the line and confirmed that yes, he had cancer. No, he didn’t know how serious it was yet. But, he would find out more when he met the surgeon in a couple of weeks. He said confident things about how early the doctor’s had caught it and the success rate of curing this type of cancer.

I didn’t pay attention. From the moment my Mom mentioned the word cancer, my face scrunched in fear and hot tears ricocheted down my cheeks. I tried to swallow, but couldn’t get any moisture into my mouth. Instead of calmly listening to the facts and reacting accordingly, I immediately jumped into my row boat of catastrophic thoughts and paddled out into my worst fears. What if he wouldn’t be around to walk me down the aisle one day? What if he never bounced my kids on his knee while he sang silly songs to them?

In my hysterical state, I didn’t think to ask him how he felt. I didn’t offer any comfort. Instead I allowed him to reassure me and then said goodbye and cranked the volume on my sobs (as if the louder I cried, the more relief might come).

Less than three months later, I finally understood how it felt to tell people that you had cancer and then stand back to catch their emotions. Acquaintances cried. Siblings railed. Friends murmured “Oh My God” repeatedly into the phone.  But, I am one of the lucky ones. I continue to have a phenomenal support network of people who have somehow known intuitively how to give me exactly what I need. Who never let cancer become my whole story and who drew close with the “minimum amount of fuss”.

I love this passage from, “Eating Pomegranates: A Memoir of Mothers, Daughters, and the Breast Cancer Gene” by Sarah Gabriel. If you find yourself in a situation where you receive bad news from a friend, Sarah’s advice might help…

“Other people’s reactions. There’s not a person who has cancer who doesn’t have to deal with them. Sometimes they can be as overwhelming as the cancer itself. What you crave is a kind hand, a kindly voice, simple understanding. You crave those close to you to draw closer with the minimum of fuss. It seems so simple: to hold your hand; to permit your grief; to share your hope. What you often get is other people’s fear.”