Fighting Cancer with a Non-Positive Attitude! Part 3

In my last posting I talked about how the original concept of having positive expectations had morphed into the oppressive version of "positive attitude" we live with today. This fundamental misunderstanding of what a "positive attitude" really is has become gospel in the public mind as necessary for successfully fighting cancer.

Enter the second reason the "positive attitude" in fighting illness has become a national credo. We don’t like feelings. We just don’t like them. They’re messy, sometimes embarrassing when we show them to others. "Men don’t cry." "There’s nothing worse than an angry woman!" "Aren’t you over that yet?" And on and on. So when the "positive attitude" literature began to appear, we just took it and ran with it—in the wrong direction.

As far as I can tell, having a "positive attitude" is displaying a demeanor that makes the fewest people uncomfortable. Since most people are uncomfortable with any overt expression of emotion, the less you show, the more positive your attitude! And, by the way, the more kudos you get for your courage. Add to that the fear that many people have that expressing so-called "negative" emotions causes cancer to grow, and you don’t stand a chance!

Terry just melted when she found out her breast cancer had recurred. " I took to my bed crying for three days! I just couldn’t do anything else. I’m such a coward!" She was dumbfounded when I told her that her response was a normal reaction to an abnormal event. Her family had been distraught because they thought it meant she had given up. Not so! She just needed time to come to grips with the terrible news before she could get up and do what she needed to do.

Not everyone will react the way that Terry did, but many do. Others bury their feelings and try to carry on as usual. But suppressing honest emotion behind a false "positive" front is one of the surest set-ups for depression, inappropriate expression of anger (hurting self, others or property), hopelessness, anxiety attacks and isolation. Other than that, it’s fine!

I remember Jean, who had panic attacks and screaming outbursts for months after her diagnosis of stage 4 colon cancer. Her husband, sons and doctors kept telling her she was going to be fine, and she needed to get control of herself. Her therapist told her she had to get a better attitude or "the cancer will win." As things continued to get worse, her husband finally called me in desperation to "do something with her."

What I did was get copies of her records and test results. Then Jean and I went over them carefully. She asked pointed, intelligent questions and I told her the truth as I understood it. We cried together a little, and talked a long time. She called her oncologist and set up an appointment to talk about treatment options vs palliative care.

Even though she finally knew that she was probably not going to survive this cancer, Jean said she felt calm for the first time in nearly a year. "I knew it was bad all along, but no one would tell me the truth. I felt like I was going crazy, and I was terrified all the time. I can deal with dying. I couldn’t deal with not being able to talk about it."

Jean did not have a single panic attack or screaming outburst from then until her death 16 months later. She had times that she was terribly afraid, she cried to be sure, and she expressed her anger at her life being cut unfairly short. But she never again felt or acted "crazy". Her quality of life improved dramatically as she delved into the meaning of living and dying. Jean spent meaningful time with her friends, her husband and her children. She outlived her doctors’ prognosis by eight months, dying peacefully surrounded by her family.

This scenario happens to a less dramatic degree to thousands of cancer patients and their families every year. But, as Jean's story shows, being able to express your true feelings in a safe and healthy way lessens stress and fear, and increases your overall quality of life. Talking about what’s important with loved ones draws you closer together. It’s not always easy, but it’s enormously meaningful to all. This is what takes real courage, not maintaining a false courage to the world.

There’s one more segment to this chapter. It’s about the "d" word. Why talking about dying is good for your living.

All the best,
Judith Frost, MSW
The Cancer Coach
http://www.cancer-coach.com