Texts I Got After Telling People I Had Cancer
There’s nothing quite like getting diagnosed with cancer to bring out the very worst in other people’s texting etiquette. Some folks go effusive—typing long, meandering paragraphs full of emojis and exclamation marks like they’re narrating a soap opera. Others swing the opposite way and channel a cold Soviet apparatchik: dry, detached, emotionally stunted. Then there are the ones who vanish entirely, like grief is contagious and I'm patient zero.
This post is a lovingly curated museum of the most horrible, rude, and weird-as-hell text messages I’ve received since telling people I have cancer. A vernal explosion of awkward humanity. Springtime for bad manners. I didn’t make these up. I didn’t have to. Reality, as always, outpaces fiction—especially when the word tumor is involved.
Some made me laugh. Some made me want to walk into the sea. All of them made me realize that “How are you?” was still code for “Are you still alive?”
So come take a little stroll through this emotionally radioactive garden. Just watch your step. Some of these texts still reek of well-meaning spiritual bypassing.
If you’re reading this and thinking Oh god… have I sent one of these?—you probably have. And that’s okay. You’re human. Humans panic. We say dumb things. We treat vulnerability like a ticking bomb and throw words at it like they’re water balloons.
Here’s how to do better:
Say something. Say anything real. Don’t disappear like a cowardly magician in a puff of avoidance. Don’t hit me with “You’ve got this!” unless you’re also showing up with soup, cash, or cannabis. Ask questions you’re ready to sit with. Not solve.
Try this instead:
“I’m here.”
“I don’t know what to say, but I’m not going anywhere.”
“Do you want company, distraction, or space today?”
“What do you need? No judgment, no pressure.”
“Can I take something off your plate?”
“Do you want to talk about it? Or want to pretend it’s not happening for an hour?”
“If you can’t respond, no worries. I’ll keep checking in anyway.”
“What day is trash day again?”
“Can I bring you something weird and delightful?”
“Do you want to go outside and scream?”
“No need to respond—I just wanted you to know I love you.”
“You don’t owe anyone updates. But I’ll always want to hear yours.”
There it is. Not complicated. Just honest. Just human.
And if all else fails, text me a single word:
“Beef Jerky?”
I’ll know exactly what it means.
A blog post by Rachel Smak on grief, loss, and lessons from stage 3C rectal cancer
