How to help a friend with cancer

5. Don't ever feel guilty for enjoying life. When you find yourself having a great time, and I happen to cross your mind, don't feel bad for even a microsecond. Life is short. For all of us, whether we live to be 10 or 105. Enjoy the hell out of it. I would if I were in your shoes. Heck, I do now. My favourite cliché du jour: Your life is a bag of coins to be spent any way you choose. But you can only spend it once. (Spend it wisely, my friends.)

6. Don't be afraid to be afraid. If you are just semi-paralyzed with fear (and believe me, I have been there -- as has my family!) it's okay to tell me that you are afraid that I am going to die. I am too. Sharing that fear really does in some way make it easier to handle. Denying it seems very, very false. I need real. I have no use for false. Once we have shared the fear, amazingly enough, we can set it in back of us again and move on. If we don't do that, it will block our paths at every turn.

7. Chances are that my bills are a pile of unorganized paperwork in a box somewhere. Cancer is an incredibly overwhelmingly expensive proposition. All the charges are mind-boggling, and intricate. Insurance companies (in my experience) are incompetent and potentially fraudulent bozos who screw up all the time. I don't know if they could really be that incompetent, or if they are encouraged to be so, hoping that you will throw up your hands in confusion and pay some of the things that they "forgot" to pay. At any rate, I would be enormously grateful if you would come by some day, without judgment as to what kind of a mess I have made of the pile, and help me straighten it out. Maybe make a few phone calls. Maybe write a few letters. You wouldn't believe what a difference it would make.

8. Say "I love you" a lot. Depending on who you are, that may come out as "You are the funniest person I have ever met," or "In the history of mankind, there will never be another person as ________ as you," or simply, "I love you." But this is your chance. Don't blow it. After a certain point, there is no going back for makeup credits.

9. Be very conservative in what perfumes/colognes you wear. Chemotherapy often makes for incredibly sensitive olfactory senses. Perfumes can be overwhelming and nauseating. I can't even sit next to my daughter when she eats a cold sandwich. (No, not egg salad or tuna either.) And by the same token, be especially sensitive if you are a smoker. (Unless the patient is a smoker -- I wouldn't know about that situation.) If you do have to smoke, please go outside. Even if they say it is okay. And hang out outside for an extra five or ten minutes to air out. You wouldn't believe how much vile aroma clings to you.

10. Make plans, not offers. Instead of asking if I want to do lunch sometime, ask me if next Tuesday is free. Then tell me, "Great! I will be by to pick you up at eleven so we can go out to lunch. Maybe we could do a little window shopping if you are up to it." Of course, you will have to be flexible, in case Tuesday is one of those days that I feel like I have been run over by a Peterbilt...

11. When you ask me how I am, please remember that I am much more than my disease. I know that people ask out of concern, but I get a little tired of reciting disease progression/recession, treatment updates, symptom itemization, etc, Remember that we really did have things we used to talk about before I got whacked. Those things are still important to me.

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