Tag Archives: death

[Cancer Knowledge Network] Talking to your Child about Death and More

This article is also available at the Cancer Knowledge Network.

“What is cancer?”

“Something you can die from,” an adolescent in remission once told me.

He later described his treatment to me, saying, “if it weren’t for the treatment, I would’ve been….” His voice trailed off as he swiped a finger across his neck and made a krrr sound. “It’s true,” he concluded, nodding.

This teen, in this moment, chose to express himself outside of words. He had been comfortable defining cancer explicitly in relation to “death” before, so why did his words falter now? I remember being taken aback by this symbolic beheading, an action fraught with connotations of cancer as both violent but also punitive. I wondered how many other children associated cancer with death, how many felt as though they were receiving a death sentence when diagnosed.

In a world where cancer is one of the leading causes of death for adults, it’s no wonder why many people instinctively associate cancer with dying. With cancer as a disease commonly in the spotlight in society—with Cancer Moonshot and other awareness efforts towards prevention, treatment, and cure ever-present in the media—I worry that many kids have fears of death earlier on that often go unaddressed. A fear of death can be held by any young person with cancer, even those with highly treatable forms.

With these high cure rates for some childhood cancers, I can understand why discussions about dying may not immediately enter into the picture. I feel like conversations about death and dying often happen late in the course of treatment, sometimes as they should. That being said, I think it’s important for children to feel comfortable voicing any concerns that they may have about what it means to have cancer as a young person.

This conversation illustrated to me the importance of understanding a child’s fears upon diagnosis and throughout the course of treatment. Another teen I spoke with defined cancer as “[s]omething… that… makes you special…” I asked her how, and she proceeded to explain “cause…I don’t know. Cause, you get to meet a lot of people with that and not a lot of people are able to do that.” To her, cancer was something that she valued. She appreciated the people that she was able to meet because of her cancer. Her perspective on cancer was less antagonistic and more thankful for the good that had come out of her diagnosis.

This, to me, is one of the reasons that palliative care and child life support early in a child’s cancer diagnosis can be especially instrumental. These specialists devote a great deal of attention to a patient’s understanding and ability to cope with a cancer diagnosis. Since cancer can mean something entirely different to each and every individual, taking the time to focus on a patient’s perspective on cancer can improve a young person’s quality of life and enhance healing.

Simply asking can make all the difference: What does having cancer mean to you? How do you feel about your cancer treatments? What worries you about the future? From open-ended discussions to coping activities, palliative care and child life specialists are equipped with tools to delve into the psychosocial complexities of a cancer diagnosis, be it a fear of death or a new perspective on life. But these are questions any provider can ask; anyone can express an interest in the many ways cancer permeates into one’s life. By asking, we can show youth that we care.

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Filed under Chronicling Childhood Cancer: Illuminating the Illness Experience through Narrative, Uncategorized

[Pulse] On Earth As It Is in Heaven

I don’t know what prompted me to take this picture. In retrospect, I imagine this is what death looks like, or feels like. On death’s door, the vast promise of something more (perhaps heaven) lies ahead–pure and natural, mysterious in its perfection. But there are things that hold us back, stopping us like a red light. Eventually, something’s got to give.

on earth as it is in heaven

This photograph was featured in Pulse–Voices from the Heart of Medicine.

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Filed under Miscellaneous Musings, Uncategorized, Visualizing Illness

Tweeting and Grieving

140 characters has never sounded like enough to me.

But for Scott Simon, Twitter has become a concise space for reflection and reverence of his mother’s last hours in the ICU.

When I first heard about this spectacle, I was slightly appalled about the idea of invading the intimate and private space of the ICU with social media. But this article approached these tweets from a different perspective, suggesting instead that this embodies a more modern form of mourning. “The brevity and sequentiality of Twitter eerily evokes the reality of time, allowing us to witness an event” (O’Rourke).

As fascinating as this correlation between time and social media is, I believe that this statement is more eery to me than what it proposes. Perhaps it is my personal aversion from Twitter, but I disagree:  Twitter may give us a peek, but it does not enable our entire observation.

These tweets do not allow us to observe her death and its surroundings. We do not hear her breaths cease while the ICU continues to beep. We do not watch  stillness set in.

What I found to be unsettling was not the tweets themselves but rather the act of tweeting. It seems as though Twitter served as an outlet and a means of communication for Simon during his mother’s time in the ICU, a coping mechanism of sorts. I respect Simon’s choice to share his ICU experiences through Twitter. But even in 30 minutes after his mother’s death, Simon sent 3 tweets. Which means that he spent some time, maybe just a minute or so, looking at a screen and typing rather than being totally present with the loved ones around him.

It is inevitable that social media has become a space to share not only the joys and triumphs of life but also its trials and fumblings. But I wonder if this is the inherent trap to social media that we must recognize- it can become an obligation to others that draws us from the people physically around us. And with all the publicity that this happening has attracted, I was surprised to see how much of the attention has been centered around Scott Simon.

I guess I just wish that at the moment of her death, there had been more attention drawn to the person at the center of these tweets: his mother, Patricia Lyon Simon Newman.

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Filed under Literary Narratives, Miscellaneous Musings, Voice