What's Wrong With Me?

You're not the first person to be diagnosed, to go through the treatments, or to live with cancer. In this month's column, Myles Beskind talks about the day you're diagnosed - and the first of many laughable moments on your journey with cancer.

Those 3 Little Words

Let's go back to the day this all started. Most of you had some unexplained pain, weight loss, bleeding, or other symptoms that could have been anything. The family doctor prescribed pills that didn't work, so you eventually saw a specialist, who tried a few more things before deciding to do a biopsy or a scan or some other more definitive test. That's when you had The Meeting. There's an 80% chance the doctor said, "You have cancer." Around 20% of you heard various things from doctors who don't have the guts to just SAY IT - things like, "Mr. Beskind, you know how Lance Armstrong won all those Tours after he had cancer, well..."

No matter how it was said, those 3 or more little words made everything stop in your world. Your mani/pedi that afternoon, the ballgame that night, and even the flashmob dance you'd planned to do at the mall were all less important. You probably managed to hear about a quarter of what the doctor said next. Something about more tests, survival rates improving, and mayonnaise - or was it Mayo Clinic?

The Dark Side of the Web

In the 21st century, when faced with important questions like "what's the capital of Djibouti?" (answer: Djibouti) or "am I going to die from this cancer I just learned I have?" we inevitably search the web. Upon doing so, you probably read enough in the first 30 minutes to make you cry, freak out, and/or dry-heave. Dizzying details of mortality rates, treatment options, side effects fill your browser and overload your brain. Now on top of everything else you have a headache.

Stop. Deep breath.

Being an educated patient is a good thing. Staying awake all night curled up in the fetal position with your iPad frozen on page 43 of the "Natural cures for breast cancer" search results is not.

So let's focus that energy on something more productive.

Gathering Intel

You are now a secret agent and your target is the cancer in your body. The next few days or weeks your mission involves running from one appointment to the next, getting scanned, blood-let, and analyzed by radiologists, oncologists, surgeons, and the occasional shaman. The goal is to gather as much detail about your cancer - where is it, where it came from, how big it is, what does it like to eat - so you and your doctors can agree on a plan of attack. By the way, now is the time to adopt a certain attitude about your medical team. Decide what you want - no-nonsense clinicians armed with the latest drug trial data or the friendly, caring type who asks about your kids every time you see him? Both can help, but you're going to like one better than the other. Find your type and stick with them. You're going to depend on this person, perhaps even trusting them with your life. You're Donald Trump and this is your boardroom - if somebody's not right for you, fire them!

There Are Stupid Questions

As you begin to tell family and friends about your diagnosis, you'll likely be amazed by the outpouring of love, concern, and, above all, stupid questions. Examples, and suggested responses follow:

Q. Do you think you'll lose your hair?
A. Hopefully just my back hair, but I appreciate your focus on what really matters.

Q. What stage is it?
A. Right now, it's the OMG stage. I'm hoping to get to the WTF stage soon.

Q. Is it genetic?
A. They're not sure. It might be airborne. Achoo!

Q. You're so healthy, are you sure it's cancer?
A. I know, right? That's what I kept saying, but they were all, "see here's the tumor, blah, blah, blah..."

Remember, it's about laughing, especially if you can laugh at well-meaning yet naive loved ones.

Check back next month for A Peak Under the Hood, when we'll discuss diagnostic scans, and answer the burning question "can I have sex the night before my PET scan?"