Talking to someone with cancer is an exercise in presence, honesty and restraint and not grand speeches, dramatic optimism or rushed solutions. One simply tries to show up with humanizing words, and sometimes, with none at all.
The moment cancer enters a conversation, words are suddenly weighted things. In Kenya, where cultural norms dictate silence around illness and medical terminology are uninvited foreign guests, making an effort to navigate such conversations is an art form few have mastered.
This isn’t merely advice. I don’t pretend to have any. I, however, hope it is a map drawn from the terrain I’ve walked.
Talking to someone with cancer is an exercise in presence, honesty and restraint and not grand speeches, dramatic optimism or rushed solutions. One simply tries to show up with humanizing words, and sometimes, with none at all.
1. Do Say: “I’m Here.”
These two words hold more care than any elaborate sentiment. They do not force hope, nor do they demand emotional labor from the person with cancer. They simply affirm presence. Show up, even in small ways. Check in. Be consistent. A present-silent company is a lifeline when medical jargon has depleted our capacity for conversation.
Find Alternatives to: “Let me know if you need anything.”
Usually, this places the burden on the person with cancer to ask for help. Instead, try take the initiative of sending food, visiting them, offering a ride to an appointment, making a call or going for a walk if possible. Being specific about how you can help goes along way.
2. Do Say: “This is difficult. I Don’t Know What to Say, But I’m Listening.”
Cancer is an ongoing reality. There are no perfect words, really. Acknowledging that is more comforting than forced positivity or unsolicited advice. Listening is also more valuable than speaking mindlessly or eventering yourself in their story. Honesty creates space for authentic connection.
🚫 Avoid: “Everything happens for a reason.”
Illness does not need justification. Let it exist without dressing it in cosmic rationalizations. Your admission of helplessness paradoxically helps because it shows you understand the magnitude without pretending to comprehend its fullness. You are also a human being who doesn’t rush for conclusions most of us go for when confronted with difficult circumstances.
3. Do Say: “How’s now/today?”
A simple way to ask about the present moment without making the person relive their entire medical history or anticipate the journey ahead. It allows them to share, or not, without pressure of guilt or comparison.
🚫 Don’t Say: “How’s the battle going?”
Cancer is not always a battle, nor does everyone see themselves as a warrior. Avoid language that frames their experience in ways they may not relate to.
4. Do Say: “I Love You” (If True).
If you love them, tell them. If you care, show them. Cancer (and life with chronic illness) erases the luxury of assumed affections.
🚫 Don’t Say:
“You’ll Beat This!”
Optimism is not a cure. Not everyone “beats” cancer. Some live with it, some die from it. Be hopeful, but don’t minimize, trivialize or erase lived reality.
5. Do Say: Nothing (When Necessary).
Sometimes, present-silence is the most profound response. Sit beside them. Hold their hand. Let them exist without the pressure to comfort you or manage your fears.
🚫 Don’t Say:
Anything That Turns It Into Your Story.
“This reminds me of when my aunt had cancer…” is, seemingly harmless, unhelpful. Centering someone else’s illness experience in a conversation about theirs can be alienating.
6. “May I help with ( )?”
Specify something concrete. With urban isolation, an offer to meal prep or visit is golden. In rural areas, help harvesting crops when strength fails is invaluable. Be specific about what you can do, rather than “anything you need” that places the burden of asking on already overwhelmed shoulders.
7. “I remember when you…”
Share memories that affirm their identity beyond “cancer patient.” Remind us of our expertise, humor, contributions or gifts. Cancer threatens to erase everything but itself. Your stories help preserve who we are and can be again.
8. “I’ve been reading about your diagnosis.”
Show that you’ve educated yourself. Cancer knowledge remains limited, your willingness to understand the specific case demonstrates great respect. Just be careful not to position yourself as an expert overnight 😂
Allow me to add this part because I feel it is relevant.
1. “God has a plan” or “It’s God’s will”
Faith runs deep in Kenyan society but theology delivered as easy answers diminishes life. It is usually what most people resort to. Your well-intentioned spiritual platitudes may collide with our own spiritual wrestling. Instead, offer to pray with us if that’s our practice or simply acknowledge the mystery of suffering.
2. “My cousin’s neighbor had that cancer and died.”
Death narratives haunt cancer conversations. Each diagnosis is unique, each person responds differently. Yes, cancer mortality rates are high due to late detection and limited treatment options but we are already intimately aware of the statistics. Don’t make us live your fear alongside our own.
3. “You look good for someone with cancer!”
Backhanded compliments emphasize the cancer and not the person. Physical appearance and strength are highly valued, so comments on how we look do bear unintended judgment. Instead, simply tell us we look beautiful or strong today, without the cancer as a qualifier.
4. “Have you tried this herbal cure?”
Our relationship with traditional and modern medicine means cancer patients navigate conflicting advice. Unless specifically asked, avoid suggesting alternative treatments. Trust that we are making informed decisions with our medical team.
5. “Be positive! You’ll beat this!”
Forced optimism denies the legitimate grief and fear that accompanies diagnosis and the illness experience. In a society that already values silence and stoicism, creating space for the full range of emotions is revolutionary. Let us express despair without rushing to cover it with positivity.
Cancer changes conversations.
It brings forth actual human honesty and strips away social niceties and demands a deeper compassion and mindfulness.
If you don’t know what to say, lead with kindness and thoughtfulness and when in doubt, just be there. You can also admit that you are scared or feel helpless. It humanizes you, us and our experiences.
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I have a book out, Precursor, a bold and introspective meditation of a life becoming. The personal narrative turns my journey with cancer and metamorphosis into a language of grace. A memoir that emboldened with storytelling, insight and inspiration, you can get a copy from Nuria Kenya today.
