Thanks to Simon Jenkins for his thoughtful article on the language of cancer (Let King Charles’ illness finally change the way we talk about cancer: it’s not about ‘winning’ or ‘losing’ a ‘war’, 16 February). When I was diagnosed with prostate cancer, my wife and I experienced a brief feeling of numbness. The counselor was reassuring and told us he wanted to heal me. I was cured thanks to a proactive GP and an incredible medical team at NHS Cymru.
My wife and I told everyone and gave them the complete picture. We still do this to increase awareness. Once the ice is broken, even the most reserved friends ask the inevitable questions about sex, continence and the exam. Some then get tested. If this saves one life, it’s worth it. We use simple language. I had prostate cancer. I have undergone surgery. I was healed. We never saw this as a struggle and this freed us from muted discussions and the use of euphemisms. It was liberating and comforting.
I understand and respect that people should respond to a diagnosis in the way that is best for them. But a debate about the language of cancer can help people with a diagnosis and their loved ones better understand the implications and allow us to move away from language based on violence.
John Williams
Aberystwyth, Ceredigion
How vindicated I felt when I read Simon Jenkins. I have come to despise this hateful ‘fight talk’. I was diagnosed with a rare blood cancer almost 16 years ago, but I am so lucky that it has remained indolent. I have few bothersome symptoms, have not needed treatment and have a good quality of life. So I was stunned to hear from friends who attribute this longevity to the fact that I’m “fighting it.”
I assure them that I have done no such thing – merely tried to optimize my overall health with diet, lifestyle and exercise. I’m not a ‘brave soldier’ either. I’m all too willing to be scared and angry at times, and the pandemic has sent my anxiety levels through the roof, as have all of us who have poor immune systems.
I have warned family and friends that if, when I die, any of them dare to say that “she fought bravely but lost the battle,” I will do my utmost to haunt them!
Chrissy Dugmore
Leigh-on-Sea, Essex
I was recently diagnosed essential thrombocythemia, a bone marrow disorder that causes excessive production of platelets, leading to complications caused by unwarranted clot formation. It cannot be cured, but it can be managed well enough to allow you to have a near-normal life (and life expectancy). When the doctor told me this, I didn’t know what it was, so I had to listen objectively to their explanation of the condition, prognosis and treatment options. It wasn’t until I started reading about it that I realized it was a blood cancer, but by then I had already developed an understanding of the situation.
As a member of the tactless group that identified Simon Jenkins, when I told my partner I simply blurted out the incurable diagnosis of blood cancer; she burst into tears. On reflection, I see how the biases associated with the term “cancer” can undermine effective medical discussion and make social communication more traumatic. I don’t know if the way it was communicated to me is NHS policy or just my consultant’s approach, but it certainly softened the blow and gave me time to process the real information before I had to deal with the hype .
Ian Appleby
Newcastle upon Tyne