Thanks to Simon Jenkins for his thoughtful article on the language of cancer (Let King Charles’s illness finally change how we speak about cancer: it’s not about ‘winning’ or ‘losing’ a ‘war’, 16 February). On getting my diagnosis of prostate cancer, my wife and I experienced a momentary sense of numbness. The consultant was reassuring, telling us he aimed to cure me. I was cured thanks to a proactive GP and an incredible NHS Cymru medical team.
My wife and I told anybody and everybody, and gave them the complete picture. We still do this to raise awareness. Once the ice is broken, even the most reserved of friends ask the inevitable questions about sex, continence and the examination. Some then get tested. If this saves one life, it is worthwhile. We use simple language. I had prostate cancer. I had surgery. I was cured. We never saw this as a battle, and this freed us from hushed-tone discussions and the use of euphemisms. It was liberating and reassuring.
I understand and respect that people must respond to a diagnosis in whatever way is best for them. But a debate on the language of cancer may help those with diagnoses and their loved ones to understand the implications better and enable us to move away from language based on violence.
John Williams
Aberystwyth, Ceredigion
• How vindicated I felt to read Simon Jenkins. I have come to loathe this hateful “fighting talk”. I was diagnosed with a rare blood cancer nearly 16 years ago, but am so fortunate that it has remained indolent. I have few bothersome symptoms, I’ve needed no treatment and have a great quality of life. So I have been dismayed to hear from friends that they attribute this longevity to me “fighting it”.
I assure them that I have been doing no such thing – just trying to optimise my general health with diet, lifestyle and exercise. Neither am I a “brave soldier”. I’m only too ready to be fearful and angry at times, and the pandemic raised my anxiety levels through the roof, in common with all of us who have deficient immune systems.
I have warned family and friends that if any of them dare say, when I die, that “she fought bravely but lost the battle”, I shall darn well do my utmost to haunt them!
Chrissy Dugmore
Leigh-on-Sea, Essex
• I was recently diagnosed with essential thrombocythaemia, a bone marrow condition that causes excess platelet production, leading to complications caused by unwarranted clot formation. It can’t be cured, but can be managed sufficiently well to have a pretty much normal life (and life expectancy). When the doctor told me this, I didn’t know what it was, so had to listen objectively to their explanation of the condition, prognosis and treatment options. Only once I started reading about it did I realise it’s a blood cancer, but by that time, I’d already developed an understanding of the situation.
As one of the tactless group that Simon Jenkins identified, when I told my partner, I just blurted out the incurable blood cancer diagnosis; she broke down in tears. On reflection, I can see how the preconceptions 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 the approach taken by my consultant, but it certainly softened the blow and allowed me time to process the real information before encountering the hype.
Ian Appleby
Newcastle upon Tyne
• Simon Jenkins is absolutely right about the inappropriateness of pugnacious language when referring to the journey for those with cancer. My husband, who had surgery for oesophageal cancer six years ago, dislikes cancer being “the big enemy”. He thinks you have cancer. Then, if like him surgery is successful, you have had cancer. You never feel the same, but you haven’t won a battle. You just feel enormously indebted to the surgeons and team that treated you (in his case at Royal Stoke university hospital).
Annie Coombs
Nantwich, Cheshire
