Hello, and welcome to my blog.
I want to begin by telling you my name but I don’t think that would be a great idea. I’m going to share with you some of the most wonderful and funny moments of my life, but also some of the saddest and most painful. You may cry with laughter, you may cry because you can relate.
For now, let’s call me Rose.
Last Thursday, I sat on a squishy sofa examining a wall display crammed with old cancer information leaflets, in a clinically white room, as a nurse explained to us that my mum is probably going to die. She told us that my mum has secondary small cell lung cancer that has spread to the lymph glands under her right arm, and there’s a possibility it has spread to her bones. They can control it, but they cannot cure it.
I have some amazing friends who, after hearing the news, are trying their best to support me and I love them dearly for that. However, I see some of them struggle to understand what’s going on for me, how I feel, what helps and what doesn’t help. It made me want to write a blog.
A couple of years ago, before my mum’s first cancer diagnosis, the father of a lady I worked with was given a terminal diagnosis. I had no idea what to do with her, I had so many questions. Should I ask her how she is doing? Should I ask how her father is doing? Would that make her cry? Would making her cry be a bad thing? What would I do if she cried? Would it be better if I just ignored the whole subject? I was clueless.
Everybody’s different and everybody will react differently to a family member receiving a terminal cancer diagnosis. This blog won’t tell you what your friend is thinking, but it may give you an idea as to some of the feelings, thoughts and situations that your friend may encounter and hopefully some ideas and tips in how to help and support them.
If you’re parent or family member is facing a terminal diagnosis, know that you’re not alone.
A terminal diagnosis may determine the end destination, but we get to choose the journey. Come travel with me.