The Myth of False Hope

In the world of medicine—especially oncology—there’s a phrase that gets thrown around far too often: false hope. I’ve heard it from doctors, oncologists, and medical professionals who seem to believe that managing a patient’s expectations means shielding them from optimism.

As someone living with a terminal cancer diagnosis, I find this notion of false hope to be absolute rubbish. Hope is not something given or taken away by a doctor’s prognosis. It’s not a switch they control.

Hope is something we generate for ourselves—it’s deeply personal, deeply human, and essential for resilience.

The Medical Caution Against "False Hope"

Doctors, in their training, are taught to be careful with how they deliver news. They don’t want to give you too much good news because they fear you’ll misinterpret it as a cure.

They don’t want to give you too much bad news because they fear you’ll lose the will to fight. They walk this fine line, often prioritizing what they see as “realistic” over what we, as patients, actually need.

But here’s the problem: by trying to avoid giving “false hope,” they sometimes end up withholding hope altogether.

Hope is Not an Illusion—It’s a Choice

Hope doesn’t mean denying reality. It doesn’t mean ignoring the facts of a diagnosis. It simply means that we, as patients, get to decide how we frame our own experience.

For me, hope is not about believing I’ll live forever. It’s about believing I still have choices. I can still pursue treatments that align with my values. I can still explore alternative therapies. I can still wake up every day and decide that my life is worth living on my own terms.

This is where the system often gets it wrong. Rather than letting us take control of our own hope, some doctors see it as something that needs to be “managed.” But hope isn’t a treatment plan. It’s not a side effect to be controlled. It’s a force—one of the most powerful forces a human being has.

Give Us the Truth, Not a Filtered Version

What I want from my doctors isn’t careful language designed to protect me from “false hope.” I want the truth. Straight-up, no-nonsense truth. If a treatment is working, tell me. If it’s not, tell me. If I have months left, tell me. If I have years left, tell me.

I’ll decide what to do with that information. I’ll decide what it means for my hope.

Because in the end, there’s no such thing as false hope.