I know lots of folks have been passing through since seeing me on a Better TV segment yesterday about life, work and cancer. Until the segment is posted online, I thought I’d repost this piece for those of you looking for more about me and about parenting with cancer:
What do you say to a 40-year-old mom with cancer?” an old friend asked me in an e-mail message the other day. I know she’s had trouble dealing with my recent diagnosis of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, but I was disheartened to find out that she’s too scared to even talk to me. After all, I’m still the same old Jen, just bald. Worse though, I feel guilty that I’ve made her heartsick when even I don’t feel that way most of the time.
Her husband, on the other hand, isn’t having the same problem. That’s why he’s one of a dozen contestants in my Wacky Wig Contest, a competition to see who can make me, as he put it, “look as ridiculous as possible during your greatest time of need.”
I realize that most people don’t normally deal with cancer by taking pictures of themselves in blue Marge Simpson wigs and posting them on the Internet for public viewing, let alone voting, but that’s how I’ve chosen to deal with this tough time. I want to keep as much fun and joy in my life as possible, but how can I give my friend permission to join me when she doesn’t even know how to talk to me anymore?
Perhaps she’s afraid she’ll say something stupid. Take heart, buddy: Someone has beaten you to it. A phlebotomist, who was using a tiny infant needle to draw my blood because that’s all that would work on my chemo-battered veins, actually said to me through her chewing gum, “Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma? That’s the bad cancer, right?”
You mean there’s a “good cancer?” Can I change my order? Oh, that’s right, I didn’t sign up for this. That’s got to be why my old friend has so much anxiety about what to say to me now. Neither of us saw this coming.
It’s not normal to be slapped in the face with mortality just months after reaching the unofficial start of middle age. Forty is supposed to be the new 20, not 80. When I got my diagnosis, I didn’t know what to say, either. Mostly, I just cried and held my husband’s hand.
But since then, I’ve learned to find the funny and the wonderful in my life’s most harrowing time, and I’d like to share that with as many people as possible. I want to make people happy, not heartsick, because, really, that’s how I feel most of the time.
So, what do you say to a 40-year-old mom with cancer, dear old friend? The same thing you said when my first baby was born prematurely. Or when I had to put down my sweet 14-year-old cat. Or when I endured several surgeries for endometriosis. Or when my beloved grandmother passed away just shy of her 95th birthday.
You simply say, “I’m here for you.” That’s all. And the wig? That’s optional.
UPDATE: If you’re new to MommaSaid, please know that I have been in remission for more than three years. And I have hair!
Terrific post, Jen. For me, the wig was not a happy subject. But being there (by phone or email), and asking if I could use a hand – even though I didn’t – was just right.
Got pointed here by Redneck Mommy. Bravo, well said. I’m going to have to catch up on your blog. You are a feisty lady, I think I like you
Oh, and I’m here for you, even though you don’t know me 
What a great post! When I broke the news to a friend that I was just diagnosed with breast cancer, he told me, “That’s a good cancer to get!” He meant that it was curable — but my doctor has never told me I’m “cured”. I forgave him…he was too nice of a guy to stay mad at!
BTW…LOVE the blue wig!
My family and I can relate. When my two and a half year old daughter was diagnosed with ALL, we actually lost friends over it. Some folks simply didn’t know what to say, so they said nothing, and outright avoided us in some cases.
Bottom line is that you’re right. True friends are there for the good and for the bad. Your friend will come around. Give her time. You know all too well, the shock can be overwhelming.
You rock the wig, Jen! Love, strength and healing to you.
Beautiful. The post, the attitude, you, the whole package. Beautiful.
Love this post. Great attitude you Rock!!!
Jen – Love your great spirit and sense of humor! I haven’t been to your website since Nicholas was in my class. I’ve moved to NC and still in 2nd grade. Best of everything to you and your family
Enjoy your boys…
New here to your blog, too.
Keep laughing – it’s healthy for the mind and body, and releases good endorphins that can help with discomfort. And I adore the wig.
I was diagnosed 2008 with stage 2 breast cancer~Had to go though all the treatments~Before I lost my hair it was my illness~I did not wear wigs, so if going out in public hats and scarfs were my cover-up~Some how this seemed to give permission to some people to come up to me and ask questions or make statements about my illness such as “you know you got cancer because of all the bad things you have done in your life”. Don’t you just ignorant people~
Love your spirit, wish I had found one of those wigs!!
Susan