URevolution editorial note: If you have just found out your dad has cancer, you do not need to know how to react yet. This article preserves Ashley Arcel’s account of being 21 when her father was diagnosed with throat cancer, with current editorial context added around communication, practical support and finding help for yourself.
My dad has cancer. What am I supposed to do?
There is no perfect response to a parent’s cancer diagnosis. Start with what your dad actually wants: what he wants other people to know, how much he wants to talk about cancer, and whether he wants you involved in appointments or medical information. Offer concrete help rather than assuming what he needs. Keep talking about ordinary life too. And make room for your own fear and support needs, because being someone’s son or daughter does not stop when cancer enters the family.
The American Cancer Society’s guidance for family and friends recommends listening, respecting the person’s privacy and letting them guide how much they want to talk. It also suggests practical help such as meals or rides when that help is wanted.
“Being told my dad has cancer was like a freight train had run directly into my life at full speed.”
Photo credit: Laura Lachman / Behance, as credited in the original article.
When I found out my dad had cancer
The moment I heard the words “your dad has cancer,” my world spun out of its axis. I was left grappling with a myriad of questions. How would I navigate this storm? What could I possibly do to support him?
At 21, I was immersed in the vibrant, optimistic world of Montana State University. I was living that quintessential college dream where, even on a meager $400 monthly budget, you feel like you’re on top of the world. That was until the day cancer invaded our lives.
Despite my lean budget, I felt rich. I was in love with my cozy little house, my roommates were my closest allies, and I was surrounded by a sprawling network of friends. Our days were filled with impromptu barbecues, university events and vibrant nights in the city’s “Bermuda Triangle,” a trio of bars clustered on a single city block. As the school year began, I even found myself falling for a boy.
Then, like a freight train hurtling off its tracks, the news of my dad’s cancer crashed into my life. I remember waking up each day feeling like I was on an island of pain that no one else could possibly comprehend. How could anyone who hadn’t seen their dad grapple with cancer truly understand my turmoil?
“My Dad has cancer, and I’m struggling to keep it together.”
My dad’s throat cancer diagnosis
It came as a surprise. My dad initially had no idea he had throat cancer. He went to an ENT (ear, nose and throat specialist) because his throat was persistently dry. The ENT found that one of his vocal cords was not functioning and referred him to a specialist for further investigation. A biopsy later confirmed stage III throat cancer.
Within a week, my dad was undergoing a battery of tests. He had PET-CT scans, MRIs and other testing to find out whether the cancer had spread. We were told the scans did not show cancer in his bones.
That was good news, but it was still cancer. While everyone assured us that the surgery would be relatively simple, nobody slept for weeks.
Surgery was not the end of it. Radiation and chemotherapy followed. Watching his strength dwindle was heart-wrenching. Some days I was profoundly sad; on others, I focused mechanically on tasks because keeping busy was easier than sitting with what was happening.
My dad has cancer and I’m scared
I can still recall the sterile hospital smell, the anxiety of waiting, the hushed voices of physicians and the crushing realization that my dad had cancer. My mind swung between hope and despair. Will he be okay? was the question that haunted me during those long hours, days and weeks.
Fear does not tell you what your dad’s prognosis will be, and neither can an article like this. Cancer type, stage, treatment and outlook are individual medical questions. If your dad wants you involved, his cancer care team is the right source for information about his diagnosis and treatment. You do not need to understand every clinical detail on the first day.
The National Cancer Institute’s guide for family members and caregivers covers coping with your own feelings, asking for help and talking with the person who has cancer. It is useful even if you do not identify as a caregiver.
You do not have to react perfectly
There were days when I could not imagine how anyone else could understand what was happening. Other days, normal life kept happening around me. Both could be true at once.
A cancer diagnosis can bring fear, sadness, anger, numbness or simply the need to get through the next ordinary task. People react differently. You do not need to perform calmness for everyone else, and you do not have to become “the strong one” by default.
For me, support came from close friends, family and a personal therapist. I also found comfort in cancer support groups and organizations. Talking to people about what I was going through, or simply having someone listen, mattered.
Ask your dad what he wants
Cancer can quickly become family news, but it is still your dad’s health information. Ask what he wants shared, with whom and how much detail he wants other people to know. The American Cancer Society advises that people with cancer should be able to decide how much they share and who they tell.
It is also worth asking how much he wants to talk about cancer with you. Some people want to discuss appointments and treatment. Others sometimes want a conversation in which cancer does not appear at all. If you are struggling to find the words, URevolution’s guide to talking with someone who has cancer has practical communication advice.
I learned that being honest with my dad about my feelings could open space for him to talk about his too. We did not have to make every conversation a medical briefing.
Practical help can be small
If your dad wants practical help, specific offers are often easier to act on than “let me know if you need anything.” A meal, a lift, an errand, help with paperwork or company at an appointment can all be useful. The right help depends on what he wants and what you can realistically do.
Being his child does not automatically make you his caregiver. If your family roles are changing, talk about them rather than assuming who will do what. The NCI notes that cancer can change family routines and responsibilities, and that family members may need support themselves.
If you are taking on a lot of day-to-day support, you may also find our article on supporting a family member with chronic illness useful.
Keep being his daughter, too
We had open conversations about fears, hopes and feelings. We also spent ordinary time together: watching movies, sharing meals, talking about everything. That mattered to me because my dad was still my dad. Cancer did not need to become the subject of every minute we spent together.
The American Cancer Society makes a similar point in its current guidance: a person with cancer may sometimes want to talk about work, television or ordinary life rather than cancer. Let them take the lead.
What not to say when someone’s dad has cancer
The moment I first uttered the words “my dad has cancer” is forever imprinted in my memory. I was in our split-level home, having just ended a distressing phone call with my mom, tears streaming down my face. Almost in sync with my hanging up, there was a knock at the door. It was the girl from the apartment downstairs, unsuspectingly armed with a pile of mail and some inquiries about bills. The sight of me must have taken her aback, because she gasped when she saw me.
Red-faced and embarrassed, I felt compelled to justify my tears. I was afraid she would think I was overly emotional or foolish for crying so hard. “My dad has cancer. He was just diagnosed,” I blurted out, and I saw her flinch.
“Cancer? What kind?” she asked.
I shared the scant details I knew about his diagnosis and his prognosis, which was thankfully positive. She gave a small shake of her head, awkwardly hugged me and then left. “Well,” I thought, “the cat’s out of the bag now.”
Her reaction, while gentle and compassionate, made the reality of my dad’s illness hit home. I was no longer just a 20-something college student. I had become the girl whose dad has cancer. Even today, the memory of that awkward conversation, the feeling of being so starkly vulnerable and hoping for kindness from the person hearing my news, still haunts me.
In the weeks that followed, I began telling other friends. Their reactions varied widely. Friends who had their own experience of cancer were often the most empathetic. They understood the helplessness and the strange vulnerability of telling people that someone you love is seriously ill.
Other people did not handle it nearly as well. I vividly recall one girl making a tactless comment about the cost of cancer treatment and predicting financial ruin for my family. She said it with a slap to her knee, as if it were casual conversation.
If people around you are distant, dismissive or simply terrible at showing up, our article on coping with unsupportive family and friends during cancer deals with that problem directly.
When you need support too
You can love your dad, want to support him and still need somewhere to put your own fear. Friends, relatives, a counselor or therapist, a cancer-family support group, a hospital social worker or another trusted person may all be options. What matters is that you are not required to carry every feeling privately just because you are not the patient.
If you are looking for reputable starting points, these organizations have practical resources for family members:
- American Cancer Society: When Someone You Know Has Cancer
- National Cancer Institute: When Someone You Love Is Being Treated for Cancer
- Macmillan Cancer Support: Support for families and friends of people with cancer
What I learned from my dad’s cancer
What I learned from this experience is that there is no way to know exactly what is going on in someone else’s heart and mind, or how hard someone is taking something that you might wrongly view as trivial or neatly tied up in a bow.
While I needed understanding and validation, I got more than enough judgment and insensitivity.
The takeaway for me was obvious: don’t be an asshole to people who have sick family members. Even if you cannot think of the right words, just say something like, “That must be so hard.”
Today, my dad’s cancer is in full remission and he is doing just fine. Our family was lucky, but I still carry that lesson in compassion and understanding around with me everywhere I go.
