"Have the hens started laying again?" (What to say when!)

Dusty is a near octogenarian who lives in a caravan near us in the summer and returns to his daughter in the UK for the winter. He usually buys half a dozen free range eggs from us once a week, though shortly before he left for the winter our egg supply was running thin. He rang for a chat the other day, and asked me how I was. I have always been an honest and open person, so I told him outright, "The cancer's back". "Oh dear," says he, "and have the hens started laying again?"! And so I told him they had picked up a bit, and we got into our usual banter about how we should shoot our too many cockerels who hatched here from eggs and any hens that weren't laying, and how nice it had been to receive a birthday card from him .... . And I finished our chat feeling pleased I had managed to break the news I was dreading telling him, and bemused that he had had so little to say on the subject! When I was first diagnosed with vaginal cancer in November 2004, I only told my mother and sisters, one email copied to all, with the subject heading "At least I'll get some time off work!". At the time, that was my initial reaction to the news, as I had been struggling with 8 hour shifts at a mobile phone factory which necessitated me rising at 3.30am each morning every other week. I didn't tell my daughter until she actually asked, "It's not cancer, is it, Mum?", and friends only got to know when they received the annual letter in with my Christmas card, where the announcement that I was having radio and chemo therapy was slipped in amongst animal births and deaths and the veg plot harvest. Most of my family replied saying that of course I could beat this thing, and was there anything they could do to help. One sister was brave enough already to contemplate the possibility of my death. I needed both responses. Many friends rang me for the first time in years to say how sorry they were to hear the news and ask how I was - that was lovely. Many said they would pray for me - that was also lovely, although I had this nagging feeling that there were more serious problems in the world for prayers to be offered for than my little cancer. Two couples actually made the effort to come and stay with me here in France for the first time, which I very much appreciated. When I had the first recurrence in July 2005, I did write to most people who receive The Christmas Epistle. I wanted to let them know that I hadn't yet popped my clogs, as I felt it unfair to keep them waiting in suspense until the following Christmas, but also to warn them that I wasn't yet out of the woods, just in case things didn't go too well - I didn't want the following Christmas to bring too much of a shock. Then when Christmas came, I was once again awaiting the results of an MRI scan, so had to leave them in suspense in that year's Epistle. I must confess, I didn't then write to tell them I had had successful surgery - I hoped they would assume no news was good news. Now, exactly 4 years after my initial diagnosis, here I am again with cancer, only this time the prognosis is not so good. But I am not going to tell anyone yet, except my family, who have been kept up to date throughout. And except people who ask me how I am! As I say, I have always been honest and open, and if people ask me how I am right now, I have to tell them I'm not too bad, but the cancer has come back. Everyone else will again, I'm afraid, find the news in the Christmas Epistle, slipped in between my daughter getting the Apprentice of the Year Award and the arrival of the new kittens. I realise it will come as a shock, and it's not one hopes to read over the breakfast table as one opens Santa and snow covered greetings cards. We all thought I'd put the disease behind me. And yet .... with cancer there is always the possibility of a recurrence, we all know that, so it won't be totally unexpected. There is no "right" response to such news. One friend who rang recently to see how I was, on hearing I had cancer again, immediately ask me to let her know if there was anything she could do, like petsitting if I didn't feel up to it or taking on our poultry and goats; that was comforting. Another friend told me about a friend of hers whose secondary lung cancer was respoding well to chemo and asked if I wanted her contact details; that was thoughtful. And asking me whether the hens were laying yet? Well, that reminded me that cancer is only one tiny part of my life here, and everything that has been happening around me over the past 7 years here is still going on and hasn't changed. So, although I was initially taken a little aback, I am grateful to Dusty for putting things into perspective and not giving me his grief to deal with. He lost his beloved wife to cancer very quickly, so it is a crueller word to him than to many. But it was great for me to be able to tell him that the hens were laying a little more prolifically, and chat about other things. Because cancer does tend to throw ones life and thoughts into great upheaval, particularly when it is making its 4th appearance, and sometimes we need the mundaine to keep us grounded and appreciate all that hasn't changed.