Chapter 1: The Waiting Room Experience

As I sat in the examination room, my gaze shifted from a painting on the wall to the light streaming under the door. I was anxiously awaiting news from my doctor, feeling the weight of the forty-minute wait. An assistant had contacted me just the day before, asking if I could come in to discuss my test results, which was surprising since the doctor had mentioned that results typically take weeks. This early call felt like a glimmer of hope.

My thoughts drifted back to our initial consultation, when the doctor had examined my neck and indicated that he needed to take a biopsy to determine if the lump was cancerous.

"Relax," he said, casting a glance at my husband, almost as if he expected him to interject with a supportive response. "There's a greater than 98% chance it’s benign."

"Easy for you to say," I thought to myself. "It’s not your neck."

He noticed my anxiety and, despite his packed schedule, managed to fit me in for the biopsy first thing the following week. Now, here I was again, waiting.

During this anxious moment, I noticed my husband nervously fiddling with his thumbs. It was a sweet gesture that provided a brief respite from the otherwise overwhelming situation we found ourselves in.

The notion of labeling cancer as "good cancer" can confuse patients, leading them to doubt their own fears.

Suddenly, shadows appeared under the door, and I heard the rustle of papers as the doctor approached. He knocked once and entered briskly, taking a seat and quickly flipping through my results.

"I asked you to come in today because..." he paused, marking something on the page. "Your lab results indicate cancerous cells."

My heart sank as I felt my husband's hand grasp mine.

"But I thought you said it was probably benign?" I stammered, struggling to process the news.

The doctor stood up, looked me in the eyes, and insisted, "Really, it's going to be okay. After all, this is the 'good cancer!'"

His tone was oddly cheerful, as if reassuring me that I should feel fortunate. As if "good cancer" even existed.

Alongside the nausea, I felt a wave of anger rise within me.

He must have sensed my frustration because he continued to dig himself deeper. "It's good because it's easily treatable," he explained. "We just remove the tumor—sometimes the entire thyroid or part of it." He pointed to his neck as if to illustrate.

"And how do you know if the lymph nodes are affected?" I asked.

"We’ll check during surgery," he replied casually.

Looking over at my husband, I noticed the color drain from his face.

The doctor handed me the notes he had been reviewing. "I'll walk you out," he said as he opened the door. "You can schedule the surgery with the front desk. You’ll see, it will all be fine."

I clutched the papers tightly as I walked past reception and out to the car, knowing our day would be drastically different from what we had anticipated.

A couple of months later, I received a call from the doctor’s office.

"The doctor wants to discuss some lab results with you," the assistant said. "He'll call you at 10:20 tomorrow. Is that alright?"

When I answered the phone the next day, the doctor’s tone was abrupt.

"I want to share some new information from a lab report we just received," he said before changing the subject to ask about my surgery.

"Who performed the procedure?" he inquired.

When I mentioned the name of my highly regarded surgeon, he abruptly ended the call.

My surgeon had sent me for a second biopsy before the operation. The initial doctor I saw focused solely on one suspicious lump without checking for others, despite the presence of multiple nodules that warranted testing. The surgeon later provided a detailed account of my extensive surgery.

It struck both my husband and me that we waited for forty minutes because the doctor was in surgery. What had happened to the previous patient? Did they also have this "good cancer"? If it was such a straightforward procedure, why was he late?

It goes without saying, but downplaying a patient’s concerns is not a suitable approach. The genetic testing results that prompted the doctor’s follow-up call were grave.

Years have passed since my surgery, and I’ve come to understand that this so-called "good cancer" lingers. It remains an ever-present specter. My checkups transitioned from every six months to annually, and then changed again. I’ve undergone additional biopsies, CT scans, and PET scans, all while consuming radioactive iodine under the watchful eyes of medical residents.

Labeling a cancer as "good" undermines patients' fears. Because of that one insensitive remark, I sometimes feel guilty for fearing the disease that lies within me. A close friend bravely fought a rare blood cancer in 2019, and when he asked about my experience, I felt embarrassed to share my story, as it seemed trivial compared to his battle. How could I judge the severity of my situation? After all, my doctor had labeled it as "good."

Here are my recommendations for delivering a cancer diagnosis to a patient:

1. Maintain Eye Contact: Don’t avoid looking at the patient; they deserve your full attention and respect.
2. Be Timely: Avoid making patients wait for extended periods, especially if they are called in last minute.
3. Be Prepared: Familiarize yourself with the patient’s file before meeting with them. If the news is new to you, it becomes more challenging to provide compassionate support.
4. Acknowledge Their Fears: Minimizing their concerns in an attempt to reassure them can lead to long-term emotional turmoil. Phrases like “good cancer” can have lasting impacts. While you may intend to ease their worries, it could lead to years of mental strife for them, especially if their situation is more complex than you realize.

By avoiding these pitfalls, you can spare yourself from becoming a subject of disdain among patients like me long after you deliver difficult news.

Chapter 2: Communicating with Compassion

In this video titled "Do's and Don'ts - Talking to a Cancer Patient," you will discover essential guidelines for communicating effectively with those facing a cancer diagnosis, emphasizing compassion and understanding.

The second video, "What to Say (and Not to Say) to a Friend with Cancer," offers valuable insights on how to provide support and understanding to friends battling cancer.