What Words Comforted You When You Were Diagnosed?

My doctor told me that "the glass is half full". I had Stage 1 cancer, so that is what he meant. I did not understand it so much at the time --but hearing that statement registered in my mind that there was hope and I clung to that hope during those first days in the hospital!

— Suzanne

I remember when my doctor told me I had cancer. It was two days after my discharge from the hospital (four days post-op). He called me at home and said, "I've got good news and bad news. I received your pathology report. Thd good news is that you don't need further surgery. The bad news is that you have Stage IA Uterine Cancer and Stage IC Ovarian Cancer." I was in shock because I had no idea there was a problem with my ovaries. I had gone in for surgery because of possible Uterine Cancer due to hyperplasia. He quickly referred me to a Gyn-Oncologist. When I had my first post-op appointment with my Gyn (surgeon), he told me that only 25% of women with Ovarian Cancer were diagnosed at the early stages. From that point on, I decided that I had to help spread the word. I received some symptom/risk cards from an Ovarian Cancer Survivor and gave them out to my friends and family, the bus, at the food court when I had lunch during the week. I made a lot of acquaintances and some women told me, "I had a hysterectomy years ago!" I told them that, even though the incidence is low after a hysterectomy, it was still possible because of cells still in the body after the surgery. They were surprised.
My cousin and first best friend (only two months apart) died in 2009 of Primary Peritoneal Ovarian Cancer. She had a hysterectomy in June 2007 and had continuous treatment until she died. The only time she didn't have treatment was when her blood counts were low.
One thing that surprises me is that so many people don't want to know their prognosis. I would want to know so that I could decide if I wanted to spend the rest of my time in treatment or enjoying my family. Are there any doctors who discourage patients from avoiding reports of treatment (i.e., chemo working, etc.) and leaving a family member in charge of hearing the status of their care?

— Linda Piche

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer the first time in 1988, things were very different than they are now. No internet and women didn't talk about breast cancer. I received my diagnosis on a Friday and couldn't see the oncologist till Monday. That weekend was the worst time of my life. I thought that I had received a death sentence in my 30s. The first thing that the new doctor said was "What do you want to know" and I replied "Am I going to die?". He said "No". That was all I needed to know to go on fairly cheerfully. I would just tell myself that "This too shall pass" and "It could be worse". At this point, I have been with my oncologist longer than his wife, hell - longer than both of his wives together!

— Didi

My teacher told me that from the moment I had told him I had cancer he knew I'd get through it and be OK. He said it with such conviction. He said he felt it in his gut and he really knew. He's been one of the most supportive people in my life throughout this fight. Another friend simply said "Cancer. That sucks," and that's all I needed. He spent a lot of time making cancer jokes during rehearsals for our play & it actually cheered me up. We both have a sick sense of humour. My brother & sister flew across the country to help me & that meant so much even without words. And my best friend far away not only said roughly the same thing as my teacher had, about knowing I'll be OK, but he also sat there for over an hour and let me cry and cry and cry. His saying nothing meant more to me than anything else.

— Marie Farrell