Thank you! I’ve been down the cancer road. There is no map 😒. Every diagnosis and “cocktail” is different.
A couple of things I learned along the way:
Accept help. I tried to say no when a friend offered soup and home made bread, just because Kevin knew how to cook. I almost missed out on the best soup and bread ever!
I hated going to chemo, so I turned it into a “ministry 😜”. I made cookies to offer to nurses or others who wanted one in our “chemo room”. Sometimes I pulled practical jokes on the doctor and nursing staff. I decorated my IV pole. I brought a cozy blanket to huddle into, since the room got so cold. This worked for me, and I got these ideas from an 8 year old student who had to go through it. If I could show kindness in the chemo room, well, it helped me go without crying.
Cry when you need to.
Chuckle as often as you can.
Give yourself a lot of grace and beauty as you can.
Do something you wouldn’t otherwise do. When my hair had to go, I got a Mohawk first.
Linda, these are all such great additions. I hate that you know this path so well. But the ministry of chemo—complete with cookies and Mohawk—I adore this. Thank you so much for sharing, and I’m sending you all the best where you are today.
I love everything about this except the fact that you a) have the experience needed to write it and b) have the audience who is requesting it. Thanks for writing this, and so much love to you and yours.
Good golly, I just love you and your writing. Fellow contemplative Catholic here who also really likes snark and cussing!
I have been witness to three cancer experiences - my dad's when I was a child (he died when I was 8 from brain cancer), my MIL's (she died in 2018 from colon cancer), and my mom's (she experienced 3 different rounds of skin cancer diagnoses and treatments before dying in 2023). I don't know how anyone walks through the fresh hell as a patient or caregiver without being fundamentally changed.
In particular, accompanying my mom through appointments/hospital stays/treatments/Hospice admittance/cleaning out her apt/and basically midwife-ing her through her death was one of the most GOD-AWFUL, exhausting, astonishingly grace-laden, beautiful seasons of my life. Probably only second to becoming a mother. You would have liked her - she was very pragmatic and had no patience for any dumb advice or pithy sentiments.
She was bed-ridden in a (really wonderful) Hospice facility for 1 year and 2 weeks, and surprised everyone by how long she lived. She became really close with a bunch of her nurses and aides, and I will always remember her telling me about an experience she had one afternoon. She said she was looking out her window at the sunshine and trees and thinking about her time there, and she felt so blessed and loved that it brought her to tears. 🥹 What a rare and beautiful thing to have a heart open to gratitude in a situation that could so easily enclosed her in bitterness.
All that to say - I will be very surprised if I get to the end of my life without having cancer, and as much as I hate what so many of my loved ones went through, I'm grateful for their witness of being present and true to themselves in their illnesses.
Bring a blanket and a long extention charger to every chemo and headphones. I offered all the damn things for different people --every injection is for John. My right breast was for Rita, my left for Regina, my hair for Marta, my fatigue for Bon...every chemo I tried to say the rosary --a lot of times, I fell asleep before I finished the first decade.
@Laura Kelly Fanucci my mom was diagnosed one year ago with stage 4 lung cancer. We are very close (we live two doors down from each other lol) and what a journey this all has been. Something I appreciate about my mom and about you in this reflection is the honesty, humility, and humor. All of those lend themselves to authentic hope. Thank you for writing words that do that :)
God bless YOU! i gobbled this up, and publicly admit to stumbling at #13. i started doom scrolling the night of the day they'd taken out half my lung, and it's a miracle i didn't need emergency xanax (well, i did need it, but no one provided). (i never remember if xanax is the one for nerves or heartburn, which must be cousins anyway, so maybe it doesn't matter.) i cannot tell you how un-alone it makes me feel to know there are others gobbling up your guide. and i am so sorry you're the troop leader here who knows so well of which you write....
Barbara, you are such a delight. Let’s be honest; the reason I know #13 so well is because I practically got a doctorate in googling cancer statistics before my oncologist said, please stop. 🤣 it’s a terrible troop that too many of us are in, but at least we have each other. And cookies.
Thank you! I’ve been down the cancer road. There is no map 😒. Every diagnosis and “cocktail” is different.
A couple of things I learned along the way:
Accept help. I tried to say no when a friend offered soup and home made bread, just because Kevin knew how to cook. I almost missed out on the best soup and bread ever!
I hated going to chemo, so I turned it into a “ministry 😜”. I made cookies to offer to nurses or others who wanted one in our “chemo room”. Sometimes I pulled practical jokes on the doctor and nursing staff. I decorated my IV pole. I brought a cozy blanket to huddle into, since the room got so cold. This worked for me, and I got these ideas from an 8 year old student who had to go through it. If I could show kindness in the chemo room, well, it helped me go without crying.
Cry when you need to.
Chuckle as often as you can.
Give yourself a lot of grace and beauty as you can.
Do something you wouldn’t otherwise do. When my hair had to go, I got a Mohawk first.
Do brave stuff you might not do otherwise.
Linda, these are all such great additions. I hate that you know this path so well. But the ministry of chemo—complete with cookies and Mohawk—I adore this. Thank you so much for sharing, and I’m sending you all the best where you are today.
I love everything about this except the fact that you a) have the experience needed to write it and b) have the audience who is requesting it. Thanks for writing this, and so much love to you and yours.
Thank you so much, Amy. It has been such a gift to share words with you over the years. You are a light.
Good golly, I just love you and your writing. Fellow contemplative Catholic here who also really likes snark and cussing!
I have been witness to three cancer experiences - my dad's when I was a child (he died when I was 8 from brain cancer), my MIL's (she died in 2018 from colon cancer), and my mom's (she experienced 3 different rounds of skin cancer diagnoses and treatments before dying in 2023). I don't know how anyone walks through the fresh hell as a patient or caregiver without being fundamentally changed.
In particular, accompanying my mom through appointments/hospital stays/treatments/Hospice admittance/cleaning out her apt/and basically midwife-ing her through her death was one of the most GOD-AWFUL, exhausting, astonishingly grace-laden, beautiful seasons of my life. Probably only second to becoming a mother. You would have liked her - she was very pragmatic and had no patience for any dumb advice or pithy sentiments.
She was bed-ridden in a (really wonderful) Hospice facility for 1 year and 2 weeks, and surprised everyone by how long she lived. She became really close with a bunch of her nurses and aides, and I will always remember her telling me about an experience she had one afternoon. She said she was looking out her window at the sunshine and trees and thinking about her time there, and she felt so blessed and loved that it brought her to tears. 🥹 What a rare and beautiful thing to have a heart open to gratitude in a situation that could so easily enclosed her in bitterness.
All that to say - I will be very surprised if I get to the end of my life without having cancer, and as much as I hate what so many of my loved ones went through, I'm grateful for their witness of being present and true to themselves in their illnesses.
As one of the few people referred to here four times, all I can say/repeat is “it’s not nice and it’s certainly not Christian “.
Dad
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. A darn good retort. (See, I can still slip back to G-rated.)
Bring a blanket and a long extention charger to every chemo and headphones. I offered all the damn things for different people --every injection is for John. My right breast was for Rita, my left for Regina, my hair for Marta, my fatigue for Bon...every chemo I tried to say the rosary --a lot of times, I fell asleep before I finished the first decade.
@Laura Kelly Fanucci my mom was diagnosed one year ago with stage 4 lung cancer. We are very close (we live two doors down from each other lol) and what a journey this all has been. Something I appreciate about my mom and about you in this reflection is the honesty, humility, and humor. All of those lend themselves to authentic hope. Thank you for writing words that do that :)
Thank you so much for these kind words. Praying for your mom - and for you!
Thank you for your prayers (my mom’s name is Lisa), and I am praying for you and your family as well!
Laura’s advice and perspective is the only one I’d trust here!
Also #10…I wish I had a free dispensation now for my foul mouth sometimes🤣
Laura, I love you. <3
You are in my heart forever
Oh, Lynn—and you are in mine.
God bless YOU! i gobbled this up, and publicly admit to stumbling at #13. i started doom scrolling the night of the day they'd taken out half my lung, and it's a miracle i didn't need emergency xanax (well, i did need it, but no one provided). (i never remember if xanax is the one for nerves or heartburn, which must be cousins anyway, so maybe it doesn't matter.) i cannot tell you how un-alone it makes me feel to know there are others gobbling up your guide. and i am so sorry you're the troop leader here who knows so well of which you write....
Barbara, you are such a delight. Let’s be honest; the reason I know #13 so well is because I practically got a doctorate in googling cancer statistics before my oncologist said, please stop. 🤣 it’s a terrible troop that too many of us are in, but at least we have each other. And cookies.