Ugh. Gmail seems to be holding my mail hostage. Grrrrrrrrrr...

She was in her late 80s at the time, and this was back in 1984 or so, and it was a country hospital with a long-time family doctor. Everyone really believed that if she knew she had cancer she would just give up.

There's a certain charm to this story, and I can certainly understand the motivations of everyone involved. I think it has something to do with the long-time family doctor aspect -- I mean, I had the same pediatrician growing up, but since adulthood I haven't really formed a relationship with a doctor that involves complete trust.

And, I have to say, for all my interest in what my doctors might be up to, I in no way want to see pictures of what my dentist is up to or hear the blow-by-blow. I still want to make the decisions, but after that I just to know what drugs I can have and when it's all over. Hee!

Like, say, around the year 1900, if someone had cancer, their relatives would sometimes keep them up in the attic and keep it a secret.

Back when I was writing newspaper obits in the '70s, many people didn't want cancer mentioned. "After a long illness" was code for cancer.

Very cool. I do realize that pictures aren't for everyone, but grilling the doctor about what is going on is second nature to me. I'm the suspicious type

yeah, I was mad that my doctor didn't keep my fibroids for me to look at.

Back when I was getting iron treatments and had to get lab work drawn every week, I ran into this situation. Unsurprisingly my doctor's handwriting is horrid. One of the fields on the lab slip is "diagnosis". I overhead the lab tech calling my doctor's office to dicypher his writing instead of asking me. I questioned the gal, saying it would be easier to ask me cause I know why I was there. She said that since my lab slip came from the infusion center that mainly handles cancer patients, it is their standard practice to call the clinic instead of ask the patient.

I guess if you had untreatable, terminal cancer it might be more blissfull not to know...but how can someone going through treatment and lab tests not know what is going on with their body. It boggles my mind.

There's a certain charm to this story, and I can certainly understand the motivations of everyone involved.

One day, I want to write about her. She had a fascinating life (to me, child of 70s suburbia). Lived in a house with no indoor bathroom until my father, her first grandchild, was in high school. Had six children with her first husband, who died, and married a widower with six children. They went on to have three more kids. Her youngest child is only three years older than my dad.

Cooked on a wood stove, and farmed, and all that. I never saw her without her apron except at church. She was fantastic. Lizzy, everyone called her. I was her first great-grandchild, and my middle name, Elizabeth, is in honor of her.

One day, I want to write about her. She had a fascinating life

I'd read about her.

thanks again 'fistas! At the potentially horrible training meeting today, spork was present, but - after the first five minutes when we were all elbows - unnecessary. Many times, I employed the good advice and wisdom that I found here - plus I was laughing to myself the whole time. y'all rock.

oh, and I spiked her coffee. {well, I thought about it, at least}

I spiked her coffee

Should have spiked your own.

Ya gotta do what works with some people. I'm just saying.