“That's not something we're doing right now.”

After three harrowing weeks of scans, bloodwork, a repeat colonoscopy, and several appointments, Duncan was diagnosed with stage 3C rectal cancer. We were told it was still “curable,” but he needed to start treatment as soon as the insurance company would approve it, which meant canceling our spring break trip and beginning treatment the week before we had been set to depart.

During this time, our heads were spinning. We learned more about his cancer, while also avoiding “Dr. Google.” However, as much as we tried to avoid going down potentially terrifying rabbit holes online, it proved much harder to avoid the advice others felt we needed to hear. In just that first month, we fielded messages asking why we weren’t going to a cancer research center, suggesting we speak to specific doctors halfway across the country, directing us to check that his doctors were board certified, recommending how we should spend our time before treatment began, telling us what Duncan should and should not be eating, and advising what we should tell our kids about the situation.

Though these messages were meant to be helpful, they often caused more stress during an already incredibly stressful time because they put us in a position to question and justify the carefully considered decisions we were making while in the midst of addressing the crisis that was happening to us.


Ideas to consider: