Lana Whited at Roanoke.Com

Hands down, the biggest news story of the last week is this: my mother's in the hospital.

You probably didn't know that, but a lot of people do, thanks to the reporters. I don't mean Leslie Stahl or Tom Brokaw. I mean the reporters in my hometown of Gate City, Va. After my mom suffered a subarachnoid hemorrhage while singing in the choir Easter Sunday, family, friends and relatives spread the word so quickly that my dad said, "as fast as news travels in this town, you sure better stay out of trouble."

And now that our modems connect us in a global village, my family and I are getting good wishes from friends hither and yon: a former minister now living in Georgia; cousins in Nebraska; my high school best friend, living in Sanford, N.C.; grad school buddies as far apart as California and Danville.

Conventional wisdom holds that life in the modern world is increasingly impersonal. Maybe it's just that I grew up in a small town and live in a rural community, but the world I live in hasn't seemed very impersonal lately.

In general, I think discretion is a good policy. We decide which of our affairs to share with others, and they exercise caution in passing our news on without our clear approval. If I'm not sure whether a colleague is announcing her pregnancy outside a private circle, I'll either keep my mouth shut or ask her if I can tell.

There's a term for sharing others' news without their explicit permission: gossip. And although the term has negative connotations, gossip serves a useful function: it can keep us from sticking our feet in our mouths. A few years ago, a colleague who had separated from his wife showed up at a campus event with a woman he'd recently begun dating. When he introduced her to an administrator who hadn't heard about the split, a moment of awkwardness ensued. Fortunately, the administrator is far too graceful to let his foot go near his mouth. But had he known about the separation, the awkwardness could have been avoided.

Gossip carries a risk, of course. We've probably all played the old game where one person whispers a secret to another; the second person tells a third, and so on, around a whole circle of people. By the time the message reaches the end, it's inevitably distorted, sometimes unrecognizable.

If you think about it, we are all reporters. Human beings are born storytellers, and the stories we are most passionate about are the most dramatic: auto accidents, marriage break-ups, serious illnesses, the hanky-panky of prominent citizens. We're curious by nature, and most of us enjoy the rush of being the person in the know. I was in grad school at UNC-Greensboro when the Challenger shuttle exploded on launch. The hallways buzzed with people in a hurry to tell each other, to measure their facts against others', to add a new brushstroke to the emerging picture.

And just as we expect the professional people-in-the-know, the media, to operate by an established standard of conduct, we must develop our own ethical system for the news we broadcast on personal channels. We must establish our own little FCC -- Friendly Communication Code.

We can use the cardinal 5 W's of journalism to form these guidelines:

WHAT do you know, and is it news or gossip? If the only reason to tell it is that it's titillating, keep it to yourself. Ask yourself this question: if I read this in print, would it be in The National Enquirer or The New York Times? If it's the former, button your lip.

Another aspect of WHAT you know is making sure it's true. This one should go without saying, but it's amazing how often people convey details they haven't confirmed. When I was in high school, my best friend was in a serious motorcycle accident. Her grandmother told me by phone that someone had said Kelley died in the ambulance. Well, Kelley DIDN'T die -- she's the friend who e-mailed me last week from North Carolina. That's a textbook example of news that should be confirmed before it's distributed. No newspaper would print such a thing based on a rumor, and we shouldn't report it, either.

WHO needs to know the news? Adopt a need-to-know approach. Even if it's news and there's a compelling reason to tell it, everybody doesn't need to know. A former professor's separation from his wife prompted only one phone call from me: to a friend who, I knew, always sends a Christmas card to the two. I wanted to prevent her embarrassment when she later learned of the divorce.

WHEN and WHERE should you report the news? Even when there's a reason to tell, one time or place isn't as good as another. A friend suffered a miscarriage while her sister-in-law was also pregnant. The friend's mother delayed telling my friend's brother until after his own child arrived safely.

WHY should the news be reported? It's important to consider the harm factor, whether your passing along the news will hurt anybody or prevent harm. If my friend had miscarried for a reason her pregnant sister-in-law needed to know to avoid the same result, that would have been reason to tell her of the miscarriage. Sometimes, what might seem like gossip needs reporting to keep people out of sticky situations. Visiting friends, I asked about their son.

Awkwardness ensued as they tried to find the words to tell me that he was in jail. I certainly wish someone had told me before I asked the innocent question with the painful answer.

A compelling reason to share news such as my mother's brain surgery is that, at a time like this, a family needs a lot of support. I don't just mean lending a hand, such as my parents' neighbors who've cut their grass, cooked them meals, and giving my teenage niece and nephews money for food and gas for trips to the hospital. During a time of great stress, we need to be reminded of all the people who care about us -- those who call, stop by the hospital waiting room, or send cards or e-mail. When our own emotional resources are low, we refill them from others' tanks. And how, without the self-appointed reporters, would anyone know to express this affection?

Normally, my mother would have spent Easter afternoon hosting a neighborhood egg hunt. I'm told that when the neighborhood children learned of her illness, one young resident went from house to house informing his friends that their plans had to be cancelled because "there's something wrong with Mrs. Whited's brain." At his tender age, the boy stepped into the role of neighborhood reporter, and he performed his role admirably. He knew his friends would be confused about the Easter egg hunt; clearly, they needed to know. His need to tell them was urgent, as the egg hunt was due to start. And if "kids say the darndest things," they also tend to say the truest ones. There WAS "something wrong with Mrs. Whited's brain." Although the neurosurgeon knows some bigger words, he said exactly the same thing.

I'm happy to say that, although she spent 11 days in intensive care, my mom is recovering. She has a heck of a headache but no complications. This week, she moved to a regular room, and already there's talk of rehabilitation and physical therapy. Now, there's more good news every day. And it's still spreading: a visitor to mom's hospital room said Thurs day that there's already a schedule of people to bring meals after her homecoming. Her "resurrection" is far from complete, but frankly, it's beginning to feel a lot like Easter.

We are all reporters