When my oncologist reassured me “Your exam is normal,” I wasn’t convinced I was okay. Neither was he. Unwilling to wait and see whether my worrisome symptoms improved with time, he handed me a requisition for a scan.
All I could do was hope for good news, a response as reflexive as squinting in blinding light. It never occurred to me to question whether “good news” was the best thing to hope for.
As it turns out, this universal hope that helped others only made me feel more vulnerable and impotent. The scans were going to show what they were going to show, no matter what I thought, felt, said or did. My efforts to envision getting good news triggered an exhausting tussle with the knowledge I might get “not good” news. Meanwhile, friends and family kept insisting I hope for good news, like it was my job—a role that made me feel somewhat responsible for the results.
In search of a better hope, my imagination veered to bad-news scenarios. Obviously, the dreaded words “It’s back” would upset me. Not as much, though, as a false negative that caused me to miss an opportunity for easier treatments or a better outcome. That realization gave me my answer.
Now while undergoing evaluations, I hope for accurate news—news that can help me most, even if it hurts when I learn it. That hope gives me a sense of purpose, motivating me to lie still in the scanner. It gives me patience. (“Take your time scrutinizing the findings…I can wait!”)
Embracing the uncertainty instead of fighting it frees energy for productive activity while waiting. By giving a nod to the possibility of unwanted news, hope for accurate news helps prepare me for any news. If the results are good, I celebrate. If what I feared, I start my new journey in a more hopeful stance, having been primed to perceive all test results as useful information. As a bonus, I can more easily dismiss the irrational voice in my head suggesting that I hadn’t hoped right.
In times of uncertainty, hope helps. During evaluations, I still hope for good news. But now I let that hope float in the background while thinking and talking about a more healing hope for this time of heightened uncertainty: Hope for accurate news.
Wendy S. Harpham
Dallas, Texas
7 thoughts on “The Worst Good News”
I appreciate your perspective on how you approach evaluations and scans. I am almost 10 years out from my breast cancer diagnosis, and after this much time, I approach my annual survivorship exam and annual mammogram and breat MRI in a matter-of-fact way. That attitude crept in slowly, and I still would never ever miss any of these exams or tests.
It is different for my 34 year old daughter who was diagnosed with Ewing’s Sarcoma 3 years ago. She was certainly not expecting or ready for a cancer diagnosis at her age, especially since she’d just been through the COVID pandemic during which her life was also turned upside down. Her treatments made mine look like a day in the park, and her scans and bloodwork occur way more frequently. At her age, she has (hopefully) a long time during which she must deal with uncertainty with her health, and all of this takes places within the backdrop of so much uncertainty in our country and world. I intend to share your piece with her so that she has an alternative way of seeing things.
Kathy, You bring up lots of issues, from the challenges of having an adult-child survivor after your own bout with cancer to dealing with the uncertainty of survivorship while in a world that feels uncertain in new and frightening ways. As I mentioned in my response to Kathy S’s comment (below), hope is personal. Great that you are supporting your daughter’s efforts to find hope that works for her. Feel free to reach out via contact page of my website if you ever want support from a co-survivor who is outside your usual circle (and who’s been around the track with cancer quite a few times).
I do not know if I will ever come close to embracing uncertainty. But I do accept uncertainty, ever since it got ripped from my hands. I do not miss my previous life of trying “to stay on top of everything.” Too exhausting. Plus, I like being free.
Thanks for posting, Kathy. Healing hope is personal. Glad you found a healing hope for you for now, one that has resulted in your liberation–i.e., being free.
Spot on, oh wise woman
Well said, Wendy. Thanks.
Beautifully done! I am at almost 4 1/2 years out from Breast cancer treatment.
Recently diagnosed with Type II Diabetes. And incidentally my IGF-1 is >300. This was found after hospitalized the second time and diagnosed by LP for HSV viral Meningitis which is now reoccurring.
Except I am Iron deficit which can account for more concentration of glucose.
I am now having Iron infusions.
I have chronic pain and radiation induced chest wall contracture with fibrosis.
And so it goes. Always hoping for accurate information.
Thanks for your encouraging posts!