But what most surprises me is that the folks who were close to me, even my parents and siblings, say, “Wow, I had no idea it was so hard for you. You always looked so good and made it sound okay.” When I was in the trenches, a frequent conversation pattern was this – 

Friend: So how’s it going?

Me: Not bad I’m (3,5,8..) days out from chemo. Each day is better than the last. 

Friend: Well you look great. Glad to see you’re doing so well.

Here’s the deal. I wasn’t doing “so well,” ever. I was tired, my nails were brittle and I had a bloody nose every day. The diarrhea was nonstop. Nothing tasted good. Just ask Johanna, who was tasked with trying to figure out what foods I might find exciting. I had a headache ALL the time. My hair was thinning and my bones ached.  And on and on and on and on… 

But I didn’t look like your movie version of a cancer patient. 

I don’t tell you this to elicit sympathy. Even looking back, I know I had it easy. The list of what I didn’t have is long.  No neuropathy in my hands and feet. No cold or heat sensitivity. Relatively little nausea. My hair didn’t disappear. I remained mobile. 

The reason I write this is:

If you have someone in your life who is a cancer patient, you can’t assume they’re doing well based on their physical appearance.

And don’t say to them, “You don’t even look sick.” Instead, assume that they need your unobtrusive love and care. 

Unobtrusive is the key. Don’t insist on spending time with them. 

Don’t call frequently. Instead, text on occasion and simply say, “I’m thinking of you. Here to help if you need me.” Don’t ask questions – assume that everyone else who’s calling is already asking, “How are you doing?”

Guess what! They have cancer. They aren’t doing well. 

Instead, order food and have it delivered, or cook your best batch of potato soup and drop it off on their front porch with a beautiful loaf of bread. Send them a copy of your favorite book. Send a card with a hundred dollar bill in it. Order a tin of ginger cookies and mail it to them (ginger cookies are great for nausea and digestion – the double ginger cookies at Trader Joes are amazing to take to chemo). 

Send a fluffy blanket. Pay someone to clean and detail their car.  If they have to travel for treatment, cover their lodging. Donate airline miles, even if you think they can afford airfare. Deductibles and co-pays are expensive! Even if your cancer patient friend looks good, they need a lot of comfort and care. And I don’t need to feel obligated to make you feel better because you provided it. 

My mantra in life is: Come from contribution. I say that mostly because so many other people did that for me.

This is particularly true when someone has cancer. Come from contribution with no expectations and no requirements for acknowledgement. You really have no idea what a relief you’ll be to the patient.

Thanks for checking in.

(By the way, every photo in this post was taken in the first two weeks after my diagnosis. Who would have known I was going to receive a twelve month prognosis?)