TV Pitch: What Not To Say!

Television Pitch: What Not To Say!

So I had a block of time yesterday to just sit and think, in between snippets of Adele and the jackhammer like sounds of a Siemens Magnetom, and I realized that there might be a niche market for a new show called “What Not To Say!” . I don’t know if Clinton and Stacy from TLC’s What Not To Wear will be available, but I have a couple of fabulous sisters who could likely stand in as hosts. Their job would be to swoop in on unsuspecting people who say ABSOLUTELY THE WRONG THINGS when dealing with catastrophe. They would burst in unannounced, surprising the miscreant mis-speaker, and take them on a whirlwind training of WHAT NOT TO SAY. At the end, the reformed guest will be released back into the wild, er, go home, and be better prepared for the next challenging conversation with someone who is being smote.

I don’t mean people who are just obnoxious: I am talking about situations in which truly, there is NOTHING good to say. Some things really are so big and challenging and yikes, there just are no words to answer the alas—and I think people dealing with a massive crisis appreciate that. It’s almost unfair to think that anyone can have a CLUE about what to say. But sometimes even things that are meant well are just said epically wrong. Some things that truly just shouldn’t be said.

Other families dealing with crisis might take issue with my list. I respect that. This Magnetom inspired collection is reflective of our family experiences and my personal biases. As I go along, if anyone wants to add THEIR input to the list, please do!

So here’s part one of my quick and handy guide for the public, in case my show does not get picked up by TLC. Also included (BONUS!) are things TO say…also based on family experience. Thank you, friends…

First WHAT NOT TO SAY category:

Horror Story! Aka “Who Told You You’re Allowed to Rain on My Parade?”

a. “My Uncle Clem had (insert catastrophe of choice), and oh my gawd, it was horrible! His hair fell out, he couldn’t remember Aunt Tildy’s name, he walked into walls, the medicine turned him purple, and then he DIED. It was awful!”

I have NO IDEA why folks feel like someone dealing with a catastrophe is served by hearing about the Woes of Uncle Clem. If you know someone who died horribly after the same catastrophe your friend is facing, keep it to yourself. Really. It’s not motivational. It’s not a common ground that ANYONE wants to share.

Knowledge is not always power. Sometimes, ignorance really IS bliss, and if Uncle Clem spontaneously combusted while battling what my kid has, I truly don't want to know. That knowledge serves no purpose other than to drive a parent one step closer to insanity...which is a short walk sometimes, mid-battle.

In a similar vein, moms with kids should NEVER tell newly pregnant ladies about their labor horror stories. I don’t. Heck, I try to avoid telling them my pregnancy horror stories. The world needs to be populated. These stories don’t help.

WHAT TO SAY: “Hey, my Uncle Clem battled (insert catastrophe of choice). It was a tough road, but he’s doing great!”

If you have battled THE SAME catastrophe, feel free to share hope! Hope is slippery, and folks mid-battle can always use more experience-based hope.

b. “Well, side effects take a few days to show up"

Yes, there is some bias in this one, since someone said it to my cheerful 13 year old last week as she was bubbling with enthusiasm over successfully starting her new chemotherapy and NOT feeling instantly hideous. Her relief was palpable. This person rained on her parade. I have not yet crossed paths with her, but I will be sure to carry an umbrella.

YOU NEVER NEED TO BE “THE VOICE OF REALITY” FOR SOMEONE BATTLING CATASTROPHIC ILLNESS, ESPECIALLY A CHILD. I assure you, even a kid knows that what they have is serious. They know what reality is, because after your one sentence smackdown of their hope, they have to go live the rest of the days and weeks in the reality they are in. They still have at least 180 doses of that chemo before we even get to check if it’s working. They hang out in oncology clinics. Strangers stick them with needles and poke and prod them and talk about scary things while you are back getting groceries or whatever normal life you have. You do not need to be someone else’s Voice of Truth. Really. That’s why we have doctors and WebMD.

Only kidding, just the doctors part. Ahem.

WHAT TO SAY: “I’m so glad today is a good day for you.” See? That’s not hard, right?
OR: “I’ve heard that hospital is really great”…
”just read that a lot of research is being done in (insert catastrophe of choice)”… again, foster realistic hope!

Stay tuned : More this season, er, week, on What Not To Say:

Merely a Flesh Wound!

I Thank God Almighty I am Holier Than Thou!

And Normalcy is Not a 4 Letter Word

Anonymous Chocolate and Other Mysteries of Life

Your moms all said it at some point: “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all”. Generally, I suppose this is a good approach to life. But sometimes, there just ISN’T anything nice to say. Nothing. For days and days, not one nice word pops into your mind.

It’s been that kind of season here. I have an entire dictionary’s worth of NOT nice words floating about in my head. But as mom/wife/sister/daughter/friend, silence isn’t often an option. And when I do start talking, the unprintable torrent can
easily spiral out of control.

Likewise, I don’t expect anyone to come up with Hallmark-esque cheerfulness for me. Sometimes there just isn’t anything nice to say.

I am really, really trying to keep this from becoming a blog about our pet Elephant, the one that stays in our living room and takes away all our nice things to say. But he has a compelling way of getting into all of my business. And when he shows up, all other little things tend to go wrong, which does not help my vocabulary.

Since I have nothing nice to say, I tend to hide, and type, and wander around my house, thinking unspeakable things about that blasted Elephant in his ill fitting muumuu, sitting on my couch and leaving crumbs Everywhere. I know people find the Elephant disturbing, some find the Elephant super confusing, people who know my family well find the Elephant very upsetting. Heck, I think a few folks I know like to ignore the Elephant. I wish I could. Instead I hide, and hope that things will work themselves out.

For the record, for everyone who ever has a friend with an Elephant: we know there isn’t anything to say to make it better, there isn’t any good word that will take the Elephant away…that’s ok. We appreciate any kind word, any little word that lets us know you care. If you can’t talk about the Elephant, that’s ok. We understand. Just being a friend is good enough.

I deeply appreciate the friends and family who shop with me, or drag me out of my house (even as the Elephant is yelling after me), or just talk to me about zucchini. Really. It’s enough.

And then, sometimes, there is a brilliant mysterious moment…

Enter Anonymous Chocolate.

The box arrived with no return label. It was big, and it contained a Styrofoam cooler. I was intrigued. I have kind of a problem with internet shopping (oh, Amazon, my downfall!), but I have managed recently to mostly limit my purchases to books and supplies for school. Certainly uniform polo shirts would NOT come in a cooler.

With a squeak the lid released from the bottom…and there was the Biggest Hershey Kiss I ever saw, full of little Hershey Kisses…next to the biggest Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups I ever saw.

Yes, there was almost an angelic “aaaaaaaaah” in my kitchen.

I lifted up the ice packs, squeaked the rest of the cooler out of the box…there was NO paper, no invoice, no record of who sent this pile o’ joy in a box.

I looked around, as if someone would pop out from behind a door and say “ta da! Surprise!”…but of course no one did.

After a suitable few minutes of almost unspeakable awe, I turned to that bastion of information and networking, Facebook…while folks “liked” my status, nobody ‘fessed up to sending this delight.

My daughters came home from Grandma’s and were instantly agog. My older girl kept trying to figure out WHO could have sent the box.

Finally I had to explain that Someone wanted to do something sweet (!) and kind for us WITHOUT letting us know. We just had to accept the joy and love this Anonymous Chocolate represented, and say a little prayer for whoever sent it to us.

Anonymous Chocolate is a rare delight. The very rarity of it makes it even MORE delightful. There’s something kind of unnerving about it, but in a happy kind of way. Not only was this chocolate anonymous, it was GIGANTIC.

I have to admit, we haven’t eaten it yet. It is sitting majestically on our kitchen counter, a testament to someone who maybe didn’t have anything nice to say either, but used the universal language of a hidden act of kindness to express love.

Thank you, Anonymous Chocolate sender. That chocolate is so big it does sometimes obscure the Elephant…or at least lets us know that whatever happens, we are not alone in this season.

And that is something nice to say after all.