“Even if you’ve suffered from a similar medical condition, don’t presume to know exactly how your friend feels. Illness narratives are not universal. The experience with a given disease differs between individuals, with temperament, values, fears, and past experiences all exerting influence. Instead of assuring a friend of your understanding, ask how he feels.”

“If one more person tells me to drink apple cider vinegar, I’m gonna lose it.”

I chuckled at first, but his hardened expression silenced me. He leaned forward with his tremulous hands against the hospital tray table, his face contorted in frustration.

“I’m serious,” he said. “I think people don’t know what to say, and they’re trying to help. But comments like that make things worse. Apple cider vinegar isn’t going to cure this.” With a sweep of his hand, he gestured to the oxygen tank, the silicone tubing snaking from his nose, and the inhalers piled atop his tray table.

His wheezing worsened. His air passages, inflamed and scarred with disease, seemed to tighten with each breath.

Apple cider vinegar wouldn’t fix this.

Ministering to the Sick

Ministering to the ill allows us to love our neighbors during their moments of deep suffering and, in so doing, to reflect God’s mercy (Mark 12:31; James 5:13–15). Despite all its modern trappings, hospital ministry hearkens back to Jesus’s walks among wayward multitudes, when his touch and prayers healed lifelong afflictions (Matthew 8:2–3, 14–15; 9:20–25; 14:35–36; Luke 4:40; 6:18–19). When practiced with grace, such visits offer beautiful opportunities for Christian discipleship.

Unfortunately, too often awkwardness subverts our efforts to help the sick. To see someone we love struggling shakes our composure. Medical gadgetry seems foreign, and glimpses of mortality unnerve us. In our unease, and in desperation to fix the situation, we may fill the silence with advice or platitudes that discourage those whom we seek to uplift.

As both a physician and a friend, I’ve failed miserably in this arena, often saying the wrong thing and witnessing the unhappy effect. Open dialogue with those who bore with me has revealed points to remember. When we lift away the bedside curtain, the following suggestions for what not to say may help to build up those we seek to love, rather than tear them down.

1. “Do you know what you should do? You should try . . .”

A visit to a friend in the hospital is not the right time to recommend therapies you’ve learned about on Pinterest, or from your cousin, thrice removed. Hospitalization implies complicated illness and involves a constant barrage of monitoring, invasive tests, and a throng of healthcare professionals. Most people feel overwhelmed, exhausted, and scared in this environment, and to suggest a homegrown or over-the-counter remedy as the answer can be demeaning. Leave the apple cider vinegar at home.

2. “Don’t worry. You’re going to be just fine.”

Unless you have in-depth clinical knowledge about your friend’s situation, don’t promise that everything will be fine. The truth is that, despite our fervent prayers, things may not be fine, and insisting otherwise denies people permission to voice their fears. When a friend is dealing with a real threat to life, empty promises of recovery can downplay her concerns, abandoning her to manage her troubling thoughts alone.

Likewise, avoid militaristic euphemisms, like, “Fight the good fight.” Overcoming illness often depends on influences beyond our control, rather than on sheer tenacity. Physiology and rogue cells, not personality traits, determine disease trajectory, and when we misrepresent recovery as a matter of will, we equate worsening disease with personal failure.

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