Some of you know that I have this pesky ailment called cancer, which has annoyed me for four years now. Now, the good news is that it hasn’t killed me. The bad news is that it refuses to go away.

The reason I’m bringing this up is because when I see people for the first time in a while, the first thing they invariably say is, “How are you?” With a pitying look on their faces that reads, “You sad, pathetic thing.”

This may have happened to you for a variety of reasons. Maybe your spouse just emptied the bank account and vanished, or your kid went to federal prison for running a Ponzi scheme, or you have gophers in your lawn.

But don’t be fooled. In most cases, people actually don’t want to know how you are. They just want to express that they know you’re going through something difficult, and that’s the easiest way to acknowledge it.

Occasionally, they actually do care. In others, it’s just a ritual. Trust me, the last thing anyone wants is for you to launch into a litany of the many gruesome and painful experiences you’ve been going through, and how much they have depleted your mental energy. Especially when you’re standing in front of Starbucks.

Although, actually, this can work to get rid of someone.

“And then they put the needle in, rolled it around, and it caused me excruciating pain … ” is a really good way to get people to suddenly remember that they are already late for an appointment across town.

My method of dealing with this question is simply to ignore it and change the subject. It works great since no one really wants an answer.

“Oh, dear, how are you?” a casual acquaintance asks outside of Target.

“No, how are you?” I respond. “I heard you’re remodeling your house.” That will guarantee at least 20 minutes of complaints about contractors and paint samples, after which I can escape unscathed. And no one will ever circle back to the original question.

Now, I’m not saying I’m so pathetic and friendless that no one ever genuinely wants to know how I’m doing. But I learned a lesson from my incredibly intrepid friend Rose Marie, who rode around Uganda on the back of a motorcycle taxi at age 75 and came with me to Morocco at 80.

She never brought up her health. And she never complained. Ever. Yes, her body was doing all the aggravating things that happen to old people, but she just gauged, correctly, that people didn’t want to hear it.

And, if they did, they would ask. This made her a much more pleasant companion than many people her age.

I try to emulate her philosophy. I don’t bring up my health unless a good friend specifically asks me. Preferably twice. (My friends might disagree. I hope not.)

“So how’s that pesky cancer thing doing?” a friend might ask, and, if I judge they sincerely want to know, I’ll answer and try to be concise.

This can backfire sometimes because people assume that I’m stronger than I am, since I’m not griping all the time. “Wait! Wait for me!” I’ll sometimes have to call after my friends when they stride boldly ahead while I’m gimping along behind them with my walker or my cane.

But I think it generally makes me a more pleasant companion.

I can genuinely tell you that behaving as if you’re stronger and more fit than you feel has positive benefits because using your body will blow off the dust and the rust and make it work better.

When I recently went to Egypt, I found myself having to climb long flights of stairs that I didn’t expect. The Nile cruise boat we took, and a hotel we stayed at in Luxor, had stairs instead of elevators, and several floors usually between me and the food.

No matter how hard it was, I definitely was not going to let some pesky stairs get between me and my food, so I spent a considerable amount of time cautiously climbing up and down.

This meant that my legs ached like crazy when I went to bed because the muscles were unfamiliar with this concept of stairs and had to be reminded.

But here’s the thing: When I came home, I was so much stronger. All my friends have remarked on how easily I can get in and out of a chair, for example, that would have annoyed the crap out of me in the past.

I won’t be running any marathons anytime soon, but I can get up out of a chair by myself. And next time you ask me how I’m doing, I’ll happily say, “More importantly, how are you?”