It’s Alive!

Like most sciency types I know, I love talking about my research. The slightest provocation can launch me into a coma inducing rant about the minutia of my field (which has successfully terminated my chances of picking up non-sciency girls on a number of occasions). The normal responses to this rant (when the listener is still conscious) can be grouped into two categories.

The first response is the good one. It’s the one where my head grows to about 10 times its size as the listener goes on to commend the noble nature of my research and how the world needs more people like me interested in making a difference and not caring about money (one of which is true, one of which is not. I’ll leave you to decide). This comment is especially good to receive in front of any girls I may be trying to impress because then I can start acting all modest, yet still maintaining an air of selflessness about what I do. Chicks love that stuff.

Unfortunately, this response is usually followed by a second. The “I feel your work is important because my mum/dad/brother/sister/best-friend-forever died of cancer recently” response. I’ve had this said to me a number of times and never know how to reply, so an excruciatingly awkward moment of silence always ensues. This one is particularly bad to receive in front of any girls I may be trying to impress because it shows how I am both insensitive and slightly awkward.

I’m one of the fortunate few who hasn’t had cancer affect anybody I’m particularly close with (knock on wood) and thus haven’t had to deal with the raft of emotions that people go through when the disease makes an appearance in their or their loved one’s lives. Aside from my general awkwardness, I think the fact that I haven’t had intimate dealings with cancer is partly responsible for my inability to talk about it at a personal or caring-and-sharing level. But it’s not the only reason.

This is exemplified by something that happened to me yesterday. A colleague from uni back in NZ was recently diagnosed with cancer, so myself and another expat living here in the UK decided to send her a card, and this is where I hit a brick wall. What do you actually say to someone who has cancer?

Sorry you’re dying? Get well soon? Hope you like wearing hats?

Turns out I’m not alone here. Talking about cancer, even for doctors who have been doing it for longer than they care to remember, is not easy. At the end of the day, I think this really comes down to confidence and sensitivity. Talking about death is something people usually tip-toe around, and is definitely the sort of thing I try to avoid, but in order to get at the crux of why I research what I research I think I need to pluck up the courage to change this. While the charities that fund cancer research publicise the importance of this research at length, I think it is much more important for the people like me who actually do the research are able to discuss its practical and individual relevance.