The Truth About Cancer Nobody Tells You
What 40 Years in Oncology Hallways Taught Richard Willmore
Picture this: You're seven years old, eating dinner at your grandmother's house when your parents walk through the door. The crying starts immediately—an explosion of emotions that changes everything. You don't know what cancer means, but you know with absolute certainty that your entire world just shifted from technicolor to black and white.
That was Richard Wilmore's introduction to cancer in 1992. Today, 33 years later, his father is still having surgeries and biopsies. Richard calls himself "something of a cancer whisperer"—someone who's mastered the unspoken language of treatment centers through decades of experience.
Richard immediately experienced that cancer isn't just about the person with the diagnosis. It's about everyone in their orbit, everyone who's been changed by loving someone through it.
His family went from being the neighborhood's favorite—the house where all the kids hung out—to "the sad family, the family that everybody needs to help." His father, who coached every sport in their small town, could never return to work because he "basically has a giant hole in his head." For years, Richard watched his dad wear a pirate patch, then face after face of tape and gauze as the cancer kept returning.
Most kids that age learn multiplication tables. Richard learned something else entirely.
"It just felt like everything was a blur," he told me. "I was seven and I didn't even know what cancer meant, but I remember thinking, oh, everything's changed."
What he learned in those sterile hallways became his superpower. Years later, when Richard founded an arts program for cancer patients, he could walk into any hospital room and speak the language of someone who gets it.
Cancer patients want to be more than just their diagnosis. They want 50 minutes where they're not defined by their diagnosis, where they can paint or write or laugh with other people who understand. Some patients would actually reschedule their treatments around art class because it gave them something they controlled.
Two immediately actionable insights from Richard's 33 years of experience:
First, when someone you love is going through cancer, bring normalcy, not pity. Richard's visceral reaction to "Oh, I'm so sorry, this must be so awful for you" mirrors what many patients feel. Instead, show up with a joke, a story, or an invitation to do something completely unrelated to cancer.
Second, acknowledge that feelings are temporary but valid. Richard learned this working with patients: "Allow yourself to feel things, whatever that is." Research shows we can only dwell in a negative emotion for about 90 seconds when we focus on it directly rather than pushing it away.
But there's something deeper Richard discovered about families that face cancer repeatedly—something about the emotional DNA that gets passed down alongside the genetic kind...