A Little Help From My Friends
I was on my fourth radiation session. I was sitting across from my friend Rachel’s husband, Rob. He was holding a paperback, dog-eared copy of The Stories of John Cheever. Rob was my driver that day.
When we’d first arrived at the medical center, Rob found a seat in the waiting room, while I went to the dressing room. I carefully took off my clothes, peeled a rectangle of gauze from my chest, and pulled on a white gown. The Maine Med radiation oncology department is on the basement level, and the cold air felt uncomfortable on my bare arms. But pain had taken on an unanticipated psychological dimension: Feeling it meant I was still here to feel it.
Then I took a photo of myself in the dressing room, smiling. I’d taken one before each session since starting treatment, as a way of marking the weeks. As always, I sent the photo to my husband Dan, and to my friend Rachel. I was here. This happened. Then I left the dressing room to join Rob on the blue chairs.
Two weeks earlier, it was Rachel who had come up with the plan: my radiation buddy system. I’d gone in for my final pre-treatment CT scan, and sitting in my car afterward, I felt my courage abandon me. The aloneness of cancer is existential. You and only you go into the strange room with the beeping machines. You alone wake with a start in the middle of the night, thinking: I have breast cancer. Life will never be the same. I called Rachel from the parking lot and told her: I wasn’t sure I was brave enough to drive to radiation by myself. She paused, then replied, “I’ll figure this out.”
Within a few days, she had. Recruiting four female friends and three of their husbands, Rachel made a schedule of my radiation drivers, all of whom had gladly signed up. Since Rachel’s work schedule wouldn’t allow her to drive me herself, she served as coordinator, and texted me the night before each appointment with the plan. Tomorrow, your driver is Merry. She’ll be there at 9:15 a.m.
On that Monday, four days into treatment, the skin on my breast was already starting to sting. Rob sat across from me, and I asked him about the book he was reading. He told me about finding the paperback at the swap shop at our local dump. I told him I loved Cheever’s stories, too — especially “The Swimmer.” After my session, Rob drove me home, and I got out of the car feeling lighter.
When you’re preparing for radiation, the doctors will tell you that you can drive yourself. It’s easy; it’s only 20 minutes. But it’s not easy — and it’s never only 20 minutes. Perhaps I could have managed the actual mechanics of driving, but I know it was those rides from my friends that got me through the treatment.
When my friend Nora brought me to my appointment, she came into the exam room and asked questions. On Leah’s days, we’d have breakfast first at my house — a Dutch baby with raspberries. Emma cried with me when we saw a boy, the same age as my younger son, arriving at the radiation center for treatment. Merry showed up on her driving days with bouquets of flowers from her garden. Surrounded by longtime friends — chatting, the way we’d done for years — I was able to see cancer as only a part of my larger life.
On my last day of radiation, in mid-July, my husband, Dan, brought doughnuts for the radiation team at Maine Med. After my session, everyone gathered and clapped as I rang the cowbell to announce that I was done. When I got home, our older son was standing in the dining room with a Lazy Daisy cake he’d baked, covered with candles.
It’s now been almost a year since those appointments, and I still remember them clearly: my breast swelling to the size of a watermelon; my nipple bleeding and my areola peeling off; the instructions coming through the loudspeaker, reminding me to hold my breath and stay still.
But I can’t recall the pain anymore. What I can still feel is my friend Jess’s leg against mine on the waiting-room sofa; the relief that rolled through me when I left the treatment room and found Emma or Rob or Dan waiting for me. More than anything, I feel a deep sense of worthiness. During those five weeks of driving — with conversations about books and teenagers and what goes best on Dutch babies — I learned how it felt to be truly cared for. I realized that love can take on many shapes: flowers, cakes, spreadsheet schedules.
Sometimes it was as simple as a friend in the waiting room holding a paperback, ready to talk about it all the way home.
Caitlin Shetterly is a journalist, editor, and author. Her new novel, The Gulf of Lions, was published in May. She lives in Maine with her husband and two sons.
P.S. “9 life lessons I learned after my cancer diagnosis,” and what does it mean to think about cancer as a battle?
(Photo by Ángela Rober/Stocksy.)
Comments
139 commentsBeautifully written
I just want to tell everyone who read my essay here and wrote in that I am so incredibly touched and grateful for your messages. I have tried to respond to every person. I hope I didn’t miss someone as of today , June 17, 2026. But as this continues to roll…. I might lag behind. The reason I’m saying this is I want you all to know that your words mattered. I read them. I’m here. Also, you might not know this, but before I had cancer I wrote a novel about a woman who had survived cancer, and goes to France with her daughters. That novel is called The Gulf of Lions. It’s just out this summer. I wrote it because I’d read so many books to my sons over the years where moms are dead or dying so the kid can go have an odyssey. I wanted a mom thriving after cancer. But what happened then, I never could have predicted: 6 months after the book was done, I got the same kind of cancer, in the same breast as my main character, Alice. It was a shock and I felt alone. Which brings me to this essay: I don’t want anyone to feel alone. There’s at least one book out there ( mine, ha!) with a person surviving. And then there are all our voices. It matters to share the stories of hope and survival. I’m listening and needing them just like all of you. Thank you. Caitlin ( the author of the essay)
Caitlin! I heard you speak at the Survivor Breakfast before the Tri for a Cure and you were amazing. I kept thinking that I knew part of your story already but couldn’t quite place it at the time…and then it hit me later on! This essay! Anyway…you are touching so many lives by sharing your story. Thank you for inspiring us this past weekend before our race. It was an amazing day.
What a beautiful essay. Thank you for sharing your story. I admire your courage. My mom died of stage 4 breast cancer 12 years ago. She lived with it for nine years before that, and this reminded me of her friends who would drive her to appointments – chemo, radiation, appointments. They were amazing friends, and I always appreciated that they drove her when I could not.
What a beautiful tribute to your mom, her friends and you. Thank you for reading my essay. Caitlin ( the author)
This is so thoughtful and it made me teary. In this fast age, it is easy to be self-consuming and neglect our friends even in their time of need. I am so happy you had your friends with you through those challenging times.
You are so right! Everything slowed down— and became more meaningful! Best Caitlin ( the author)
This is so beautiful. Thank you for sharing. A reminder to get ourselves organised for our loved ones during hard times. Thank you so much- loved it.
Thank you Chloé! So glad you read my essay. Caitlin (the author)
Starting radiation in two weeks and am nervous. Thank you for writing this Caitlin and thank you for posting it Joanna. Didn’t make me less scared but made me feel less alone. 💜
Dear Rebekah–I am here for you. If you want to DM me on Instagram, I can tell you all the things I tried to make radiation easier. All I ever want with writing is to make someone feel less alone–so thank you for saying I already helped! Caitlin (the author)
another tender reminder that “we are all just walking each other home”…
yes. beautiful sentiment. Caitlin (the author of the essay!)
Thank you for this! I’m waiting on biopsy results, and even just that feels lonely. Your words are an excellent reminder of all the rich relationships that have carried me, and will carry me, through whatever happens. Wishing you health and peace. :)
You are not alone. I know just what you are going through and the balance you are in. I hope it ends up being nothing. But if it is something, you will get through it. I did! Caitlin (the author)
The waiting is the worst, the unknowns, the midnight wakings, I feel for you during this time. I’m part way through chemo just now and it feels much more manageable now I have a plan etc.
I just thought of a suggestion to share, in case it helps someone going through radiation. When I went through it, the radiologist recommended green tea as a topical treatment to help keep the skin from being irritated, and I believe it worked. My skin irritation was minimal. Every day I would take 5-6 green tea bags. steep them in a small amount of hot water (you want the tea strong), let it cool down, then use a cotton ball to swab the radiated area. I did the whole breast, multiple times a day, including before and after radiation sessions. The tea can be kept in the refrigerator, or covered at room temperature. At first I thought this sounded implausible, but when I looked it up I found a bunch of studies that indicated it was worth a shot.
I wish if known this last summer! I tried everything— aloe, eucerin, castor oil, vitamin e. I did swim every day in the ocean, no matter what! I hope I never have to go through it again, but if I do, I’ll remember this! Thank you. ( Caitlin, the author)
Crying at my desk, this is beautiful ♡♡♡
Thank you for reading and being moved! ( Caitlin , the author)
This is beautiful. Reading about your courage and kind friends lifted my spirits today. Thank you for reminding me that simple human acts matter.
I am so glad!! Thank you for reading! ( Caitlin, the author)
I am 8.5ish years out from my BC recurrence that warranted hard chemo and radiation. When I was in active treatment, I didn’t want company for either. While I was exhausted and feeling icky, mentally I had it together and wanted to treat everyday like it was a normal day. The time when my tribe came in clutch (and continues to do so) has been in the period after active treatment ended and the waiting begins. When I was in treatment, I felt confident because I was doing something. The waiting in between checkups and scanxiety has been really hard for me and my people have lifted me up. They let me be scared, they lift me up, and help me get back to the living. It’s not like I think about breast cancer everyday…but the unknown has been hard for me. It gets a little easier each year, but I would never have gotten this far without my people.
I know just how you feel. Thank you for sharing. I am thinking of you. ( Caitlin , the author)
My community was the best part of cancer. Finding it early, being healthy, and access to medical care were all key and I felt hugely privileged by that. But a dear friend starting a meal train so me, and mostly my partner, were fed, cared for and in contact with community was so nourishing. Having a rotation of friends drive me, and then sit on my porch afterwards to chat when I was too exhausted to do anything else. That’s what got me through cancer. It’s a reminder to let people help.
So true. I’m So glad you had people be there for you, too. I hope you stay cancer free! Best Caitlin ( the author)
Thank you so much for this heartwarming text. It was already touching to hear you talk about this hard time. But to read your conclusions,that you felt loved and a deep sense of worthiness – that was so so touching. We all are loved and have a deep worthiness but sometimes forget it in the normal days. To find this love in such a hard time of your life is so beautiful.
So true. This time made me feel worthy in a way I didn’t know I deserved. Caitlin ( the author)
A blessing of being diagnosed with breast cancer was that I immediately knew, without anyone having to offer, that I had a crowd of friends I could turn to for help (even if I never had to ask).
I am so glad you had this. So many of us are scared to ask! Or have a hard time knowing! Caitlin (the author)
I am so glad that you had so many great friends to help. Many of us are not that lucky as our friends are scattered across the country and the globe and no family. Not being alone is so important. I went through all my radiation and chemo apts alone because no one was physically in the city to be there. Living alone, I was better able to cope than those who are surrounded by folks and then suddenly alone. If you get the chance to be present for someone you care about, or even a stranger, don’t hesitate to do it. You’ll make a world of difference
Yes! I think anyone who IS alone should join their neighborhood/city online group (something Nextdoor or, ugh, Facebook would be useful for finding) and ask your community for help. You were alone during your treatments but maybe lots of people in your community couldn’t help a loved one when needed because they didn’t live near and would love a chance to “pay it forward” to a neighbor.
I am so sorry you were alone. I hope as you continue to thrive, you have found ways to find connection. I have found that even just reading good books or listening to beautiful music–Mozart, Beethoven, Arvo Part–all this makes me feel a part of a larger story. Caitlin (the author)
Beautiful story. A good reminder of how to give and receive love.
Thank you Amrita.
In Judaism we say that visiting a sick person takes a little bit of the sickness away. The love that surrounded you in this process surely hastened your healing journey! What an honor for your friends and what a lovely reminder of the beauty of humanity.
What a beautiful sentiment! I am going to pay that idea forward. Thank you. Caitlin (the author)
This is a sweet story, not about cancer; but about love and wisdom and how wonderful people can be if given a chance. To help another in this way is an HONOR, and I’m sure all the drivers truly felt that. SO glad to hear you are doing well. Best wishes….
Thank you. It was a profound time. I am so glad Joanna took this essay and ran with it. Caitlin (the author)
What a beautiful piece, thank you for sharing. The power of female friendships resonating through the ups and downs of our lives is something I don’t take for granted. I’m so glad you had your tribe to look after you. I wish every person in treatment had the same. x
Thank you. What a sensitive note! I am so glad you read my essay and responded.
Thank you for this. It brought tears to my eyes recalling my own experience with chemo. On my first day I experienced the most bizarre side effects that while normal, completely freaked me out. After the nurses and doctors calmed me down and made sure I was ok, a volunteer from Lipstick Angels came in to offer me a hand massage and facial. This was the most amazing and unexpected experience. She was so gentle and kind and took my mind off such a surreal experience. To this day, just the thought of it brings me to tears because as bad as that day was, my outstanding memory is that sweet, wonderful volunteer and the treatment she so kindly and gingerly gave me. I will never forget her or that experience and I support them whenever I can in whatever way I can so that others can experience the love and care I received.
These people who help, who reach out, they change our lives. Angels. I am glad you had one that day. –Caitlin (the author)
I’m writing this sitting in a hospital room with my sister (best friend, favorite person, travel buddy, partner in fun) who is in the depths of a stem cell transplant to treat her leukemia. She just hit the hard part, after coming in strong and feeling good after a really tough diagnosis and getting-to-remission road. During that first hospital stint, I spent many hours just sitting in the corner “working from hospital”. I didn’t feel like I was doing anything by being there, until one day she said “thank you for being here and not making me talk to you”. I giggled, and resumed my work, so thankful to have the opportunity to show my love by doing just that. I still yearn to be able to take away some of the pain, ease a worry, or ugh, something more tangible. But for now this is all she really needs, so I’ll keep doing it. Thank you for your beautiful essay and reminding me that it is enough.
Aren’t sisters amazing!?
This is such an example of how integrated CoJ can be in reader’s lives. How surreal for you to be experiencing this situation RIGHT NOW. You and your sister are lucky to have such love and tenderness for one another. This experience is likely to change you both in important ways.
It is enough. She might not want to talk. But your being there is a huge comfort–I know it from experience. Love to you!!! Caitlin (the author)
This is lovely. I just finished 4 weeks of radiation in February to treat DCIS. I had a lumpectomy and then 1 re-excision, followed by 20 radiation treatments. I drove myself there every day, and after every treatment, as I applied those creams and ointments, looking at my burned, peeling breast, I tried to remind myself that it could be so much worse. By the third week, I realized I was holding a lot of tension and accepted that “just because it could be worse does not mean that this is easy”.
This is reminding me of when my mil was getting daily radiation treatments. While her husband drove her to most of the appts, my husband and I also took some shifts. We would go out to lunch afterwards which I know was appreciated. Also so helpful was that the facility where she received treatment offered valet services which was such a gift as parking was very tight in the area. And they had signs everywhere about NO TIPPING which otherwise may have been reason enough for my inlaws to not take advantage of that service and stress every day about where to park. Its so many little things that can make a difficult experience better.
No, it is not easy. At all. And it’s never going to feel easy again. But we have each other and we know what we went through! Caitlin (the author)
No, it is not easy. At all. And it’s never going to feel easy again. But we have each other and we know what we went through! Thank you for reading. Caitlin (the author)
Thanks for sharing your experience and I’m glad to hear you’re doing well now. I drove myself, had insurance, and paid the deductibles myself, so I pray for the people who get this bad news that might not be so lucky.
Yes. Thank you for reading.
I see I am not alone in that this piece moved me to tears. I finished radiation therapy for breast cancer last Friday and am still grappling with how upsetting I found the experience. Whe you’re accustomed to taking charge and grappling with everyone else’s problems, it can be a difficult shift to ask for help, and your essay is a beautiful testament to the power of doing so. Thank you
I am so glad you wrote. After radiation you can feel like you’re falling off a cliff. So, make sure you take extra care and see people now…you will find you are not alone, so many of us suffer, but make sure to call a friend, take a walk, get a tea. It will make a difference. Caitlin (the author)
This is just beautiful.
Thank you.
thank you for this! i got my breast cancer diagnosis two weeks ago and am still working on processing. this was a lovely reminder to trust and rely on the people who love us.
All the best to you, Sarah!
It’s a lot to process. You are not alone. So many of us get right where you are.
This was beautitul! Caitlin, I have to say that your dad was my high school graduation speaker in 2009 at GSA, and I’ve loved following BOTH of your work ever since. I hope you are writing another book, and I wish you best on your journey!
Thank you Katherine!!! So nice to hear from someone from my hometown!
We can show up for the people in our lives like this too. Thank you for the reminder
You are welcome. We all try to pay it forward, in one way or another. Caitlin (the author)
What a beautiful tribute to your friends (and their loved ones too!). As I am currently going through some bumpiness with a few friends where the relationship may have run it’s course, I count myself lucky to still have friends who would show up for me in the same way yours showed up for you. That is love, community, and healing all in one. So glad you got to ring that bell and tell this story!!!
We all have bumpy friend times! But when we don’t and those around us step up, it’s pure gold! Caitlin. ( the author of the essay!)
What a wonderful tribute to you and to your friends! Best wishes to you for your continuing good health…you already have the blessings of really good friends!
Thank you!!! Caitlin ( the author)
What an incredible story! I went through this in November 2025, I had 18 radiotherapy sessions and didn’t want follow-up care. Today I understand that I was in denial: if I could drive there and back, I was fine, right? But I wasn’t, and I missed the opportunity to receive affection and support. A friend insisted a lot, and I agreed to let her take me to a session, and it was so much easier! I hope I never go through this again, but, God forbid, if I do, I will ask for help and show my vulnerability.
I know just what you mean. I, also, worry I sometimes have just tried to move on and forget and not pay attention to how huge this was! I get it. Take care. You’re not alone. Caitlin ( the author)
Gah. The most beautiful corner of the internet *wipes away a tear*
True. I have no issue feeling all the emotions at a bus stop, on a park bench, in the metro, when I read an article like this on COJ and think: yes, this is life! And my god is it hard and beautiful at the same time.
Thank you for reading and getting my essay! Caitlin ( the author )
This piece is so incredibly touching, it made me tear up this morning. What a testament to the power of friendship and being present for one another.
Thank you Caitlin from Caitlin ( the author).
Such a lump in my throat and sting in my eyes, Caitlin. Very, very moving. My sister has just made the decision to go ahead with radiation therapy, now that her breast cancer has been removed. I haven’t wanted to know how difficult and horrible it is to go through. I haven’t wanted to sink into those depths with her. I’ve wanted to stay on my side of the line (a doctor, not a patient). Thank you for taking me there anyway. I feel like a kinder person for it.
Ok this is the best letter. What a brave person you are to say all that! Thank you for reading. And being so open to go there with me. Xo Caitlin ( the author)
This is in some ways a very Maine thing. We are such a rural state with not very many medical options; driving to get to one is inevitable. Out here in the foothills of the White Mountains we all drive each other to Portland for serious medical things, an hour away. It’s just a given that your friends and neighbors will help you do that and that you will help them in turn. The importance of being a good neighbor is a real thing in Maine. That said, I’m so glad you found your helpful tribe, Caitlin.
True— it’s all a small town to us Mainers. But also: we must all live everywhere on the planet like it’s a small town. Caitlin ( the author)
This was so lovely to read. My mother had terminal cancer and I managed next to my job (my own doctors office) and my 2 daughters (5 + 8 yrs old) to drive her to radiation and chemo appointments approx. 50% of the time – while also taking care of her dog who she needed to cuddle but was too much to walk. She passed on April 19th at the young age of 73 with the last morphin dose applied by me – in her own house, her own bed, surrounded by family. Tomorrow will be her sea burial and I have been totally off since yesterday (no time for mourning until now in our busy busy everyday life). Feeling an overwhelming mix of nothing and everything.
I am so sorry for your loss. I lost my mother to cancer in 2016, she died at home with my dad and myself at her side. Take your time with grief, because it is on it’s own schedule anyway. 10 years later I still have epiphanies about my relationship with my mom which somehow still bring us closer, even though she is no longer physically here.
My condolences, Nele. I can only imagine what a difference it makes to be cared for by one’s own as we transition to whatever comes next. No greater comfort could exist. Wishing you and your family the best.
“Nothing and everything.” Gut punch. I get it. You’re not alone. Caitlin ( the author)
Beautiful. Thank you for sharing your experience. xoxo
Thank you for reading! Caitlin ( the author)
When I went through breast cancer treatment (19 years ago) I was also lucky enough to have a rotation of friends who came forward to accompany me to appointments and to co-ordinate my 5 yr old’s daily pick up from school and summer activities. I remember one of them saying “I would take a treatment for you if I could”. This still brings tear to my eyes. Glad for all of those who have a strong network for support..
Oh I love this! The best friends would take a treatment! Love Caitlin. ( the author) ps: stay strong!
You have amazing friends and that’s because you also are an amazing friend! Lots of love towards you and your inspiring community (and your beautiful way with words!) Love from Paris
Thank you Agnes! Say hi to my beloved France for me!! Xo Caitlin ( the author)
THIS was just what I needed to hear today! I wanted to put it out there to the collective in the comments: what can I do to help a friend going through breast cancer treatment? I know everyone has a different experience but we are a fairly tight knit group of girls and everyone is keen to help. We’re making meals but would love other practical ideas (i.e. staying with her when she’s hooked up to chemo – what sort of things to include in a goody bag we bring etc?) Would love to hear of ANYTHING you found helpful if you are a cancer survivor. Thanks all + big love to everyone here x
For me the biggest hurdles were fatigue and not being up to meeting people for coffee, lunch, taking a walk, etc. Help with transportation, cleaning, errands (there were so many pharmacy trips), and in-person or video chats were huge for me. E.g., if they are in NYC, contributing to an Uber or Lyft gift card could be helpful so they can get to appointments without using public transportation. If they aren’t up for in-person socializing or friends are farther away, regular group video “coffees” could be nice – I really appreciated having standing dates to look forward to. Meals were great for feeding my family (and very appreciated because I am the primary cook, so it was a huge relief not to have to worry about that), but I personally didn’t really want to eat much while doing chemo.
My best friend was diagnosed with cancer in his 20s. He did three rounds of chemo and I came to the hospital for all three (about a four hour trip one-way for me). Other friends and family came to the hospital too, always. Sometimes my friend was really not in the mood to talk. Once, I brought him one of my favorite books, and in a low moment he chucked it (and everything else within reach) across the room declaring everything was annoying him. He generally did not want to talk about cancer while I was there, if he was in a talking mood. At the time, it felt like, “Am I helping?” But later he wrote an email of thanks to all his friends and family and he named me “MVP of the cancer season” for coming every time to hang out with him during chemo. So from all that I have two reflections to share with you; 1) The #1 most important advice is to show up and keep showing up, and 2) while you’re in the thick of it, it might feel bad/angry/pointless/bleak. That doesn’t mean you’re doing the wrong thing. It just means cancer is awful.
My tight knit group of girls that were keen to help were literal lifesavers during my breast cancer treatment in 2024. They travelled across states to take me to chemo so we could laugh and cry together through them. When they couldn’t be there in person, they arranged a Zoom call so I could hang with them virtually. They cooked for me and my daughters. They sent a “chemo advent calendar” filled with little treats I could open to count down to the end of my sessions. They remembered every surgery date and checked in before, during, and after. They sent videos, cards, emails, and so many texts. Each one made me feel held, supported, loved, and a little less alone. That is to say that whatever you think of and can manage- do it; it will be appreciated.
My two best girlfriends agreed to a staycation in my city right before my last chemo treatment—a kind of early celebration to help give me the momentum to get to the end! Having something to look forward to made a world of difference for me. Practically, having a MealTrain set up was vital for us. Cancer is expensive and having the mental and financial responsibility for meals live with someone else was such a relief. And like this essay says, being there counts for so much. My brother came to appointments with me, as did my bestie. Breaking up the fear and monotony with love was such a gift.
Just being there. Not needing anything and making the clocks stop so time feels less hectic! That’s what my friends did for me! Caitlin ( the author of the essay!)
Thank you so much for sharing this. I am the wiser for it! I wish you the very best and to your friends and family too.
Thank you for reading my essay! Caitlin ( the author)
What a beautiful piece, and a powerful reminder that showing up matters. xoxo
It does matter! And it costs nothing! Caitlin ( the author of the essay)
How wonderful it must be to have friends like that. Amazing. A beautiful story of friendship and support and belonging. <3
Caitlin. I love your post. I am a breast cancer oncology nurse navigator and I am always grateful to hear what has helped women get through their treatments. It helps me meet each woman where they are that day or in that moment. You have amazing friends! Your writing reminds of many women that have written for a journal called Wildfire. Very eloquent. It is a breast cancer specific journal that discusses all the ups and downs of a cancer diagnosis. I am going to encourage all the women I know that are dealing with breast cancer to read this post . Thank you.
Colleen stay in touch with me! At the end of my new novel ( about a woman recovering from cancer) and thriving, I dedicate the book to nurses. Oncology nurses are life savers. God we need you!!
This was just beautiful.
“She paused, then replied, ‘I’ll figure this out.’” And THAT is what everyone who is going through a traumatic life event needs to hear from a dear friend. Meals, calls and texts are lovely and so appreciated. It’s just that what we often really need is practical solutions that we don’t have to implement ourselves.
Yes!!!! Thank you for getting it. Caitlin ( the author)
It is very true that breast cancer is a lonely journey, and terrifying. My experience also shifted when I found my voice and the ability to be honest about how I was doing. A friend who had been through it told me: you have to be honest about what you are going through. And she was correct, the body keeps the score and I paid the price for trying to soldier on. My advice is when the doctor/ tech/ surgeon/ anesthesiologist/ PA says hi, how are you? Do not say “fine” or “ok” or “hanging in there” Say I am terrified, I am anxious, I am stressed, whatever the truth is, say it out loud to the medical professionals. And to your friends and family. Also we don’t talk enough about breast cancer. I am raising my virtual hand right here and now to say – me too.
Great advice, thank you for sharing ❤️❤️
Yes! Was just talking about this with a friend yesterday – why do so many of us try to go through this with as little help from people as possible and without talking about it? Maybe it’s wanting to keep things as “normal” as can be, but a year into treatment I’m realizing the downsides of trying to minimize everything and keeping quiet.
Exactly. Tell the truth. It matters. And we’re in this together. Beautiful comment thank you. I listened! Caitlin ( the author)
Absolutely beautiful piece….good luck to you
This is so lovely. Your words are echoing in my brain. What a love letter to those lucky enough to buoy your spirits, and a love letter to yourself. Such strength and vulnerability all wrapped together. Thank you for sharing this.
Thank you for getting it and caring enough to write! I hope you remember this piece when you are needed or you need someone! Ask for help!
What a wonderful reminder of how we can show up for people in our lives, even when we feel we have no skills equal to the challenge they’re facing. Thank you, Caitlin.
You are welcome. It only works if people like you read it and get it! Thank you! Caitlin.
Crying over here… thank you for the beautifully-crafted piece. So well done and moving. Your gratitude for your friends is so evident.
Just sitting on my couch sobbing at this story because I know Maine Med- I’ve been in that basement and cried in that parking lot. What a writer to evoke such feelings of a place so well. Caitlin- I’m so glad you’re well and you were so well supported by your group. Thanks for the story!
Thank you for this beautiful piece. It made me weep at how beautiful and fragile we are. I lost one of my dearest friends in December last year. So much in my life has happened since then– my daughter in the hospital, receiving a new foster placement, finishing my PhD! At all of these moments, I find myself thinking, “I must call her and tell her.” And then I remember she is no longer here. So I have a good cry and then I just tell her anyway. This made me think of how thankful I am for all of those moments I got to sit with her, even if they were too few and too brief.
Thank you. Life is fragile and hard and also beautiful.
Thank goodness for friends and community. The Swimmer is my favorite Cheever story, too.
Sarah ! We are kindred spirits! I recently reread that story and I realized now that I’m middle aged how ominous that story is! I’m not sure u got that when I was younger…. In my new novel, The Gulf of Lions, Alice writes a play inspired by it, too.
This is beautiful – what love and care. I hope you are doing well, Caitlin. I was actually thinking of asking this question on the next CoJ post, whatever it was, but it is actually topical and I would love some ideas/advice. My aunt has MS and is having a particularly tough time – almost bed bound after an illness and hospital stay earlier this year. It has felt like a turning point in her illness, sadly, with her movement and freedom severely limited. It is not known if she will ever return to previous fitness. I live hours away and can’t visit. I want to send something, anything, to show I am thinking of her and miss her. But I am drawing a blank. Her concentration is not good enough to read at the moment, and she has access to lots of steamers. I have family who are visiting regularly, and I could send something for them to pass along. If anyone has any ideas or something that helped them or a friend in a similar situation I would love to hear.
I’m so sorry to hear about your aunt. That’s so kind to want to do something. It’s cliche but I think flowers are so cheerful and healing. You could send an orchid, which would probably last a long time compared to cut flowers. Sending love <3
What about some of your favorite music or remastered albums you remember her and her siblings / your parents enjoying? I sent a collection of my favorite music to a friend when she was going through a particularly rough bout of cancer treatment and it was well received, and when I went through my own health challenges and couldn’t read for stretches (my solace!) music got me through.
Hi Robyn, I am so sorry to hear about your Aunt. It is frustrating to live far away from family when they are needing you. My suggestion would be to buy her something beautiful, cozy, and soothing to wear (cashmere pajamas, linen pajamas) or some wonderful ultra-luxurious bedding. When my mom was ill with cancer, I bought her some amazing flannel sheets and she LOVED them. It made lying in bed extra special. I hope that helps!
Hi Robyn, I am trying to imagine what I would like to receive if I were in your aunt’s situation. Here is my list of suggestions: A pretty nightie or blouse in her favorite colors; beautiful socks or slippers; the smallest LL Bean bag with her initials — fill with goodies like a pretty sketchpad and a package of colorful flair pens; a hand knit throw or small quilt; a special mug with a tin of tea; a handwritten playlist of 10 of your favorite songs (that you think she might like); or a small vase full of wildflowers or feverfew. I know that more than anything I would appreciate regular cards (snail mail!) with updates about your life. As an aunt of many beloved nieces and nephews, just knowing they were regularly thinking of me would be the greatest gift of all.
audio short stories or book or poetry Like emily dickenson). An amazing body lotion that someone can help put on her legs. A lavender eye pillow. A massage therapist that comes to the house and who has experience with MS. Best wishes to you and your aunt.
My Dad passed from MS almost two years ago, I’m so sorry to hear about your aunt. My Dad had MS for 20 years and passed away nearly 2 years ago now. It’s a wretched thing. Towards the end music was absolutely Dad’s lifeline and also means of communication. Even when he couldn’t speak much I would sit and hold his hand and see his eyes light up when he heard his favourite song. Whilst he was in hospital it also let the hospital staff see the man behind the person in the bed which is so important too.
Tasty frozen meals? Cute pillows/stuffed animals? Comfy socks? A candle? If nothing else, cards are very sweet & you can send them often. It’s the sentiment
I would do as others have suggested here and give something that pleases the senses– something soft and luxurious like socks or sheets or pajamas, something that smells good like a candle or an eye pillow, something that tastes good or sounds good or is simply a pleasure to look at. I think the person who said she’d like to know she is being thought of regularly is spot-on, so maybe you send one thing and a short note every few weeks for a while. Doesn’t have to be fancy– a baguette and some nice cheese or jam would do– but enough that she can see or use a thing and know that it was sent by someone who cares about her.
Send letters. Ones that others can read to her or she can read when feeling up to it. Send funny things! When I was going through a rough time a friend made me a simple needlepoint with a hilarious message and it was SO touching (and inappropriate too lol).
Thank you all so much – really lovely ideas! So many that I can save some and send her them over a few months. And I will be writing her a letter (or several)! Melanie – my aunt loves needlepoint and has a gorgeous tradition where she makes them for all new babies in the family. I love the idea of making one with a funny/inappropriate message :) Ellen – I am so sorry to hear about your dad. I love imagining his eyes lighting up.
Robyn, how lovely you are to want to show your aunt how much she means to you. Aside from cozy sheets and blankets, she might enjoy a regular – weekly, or monthly – flower delivery. It’s so heartening to have something to look forward to. Regular calls are also great. Someone in my friend group was going through a really tough breakup, and our mutual pal called her EVERY DAY during her work commute. The friend going through the breakup knew there was no pressure to pick up, but she was guaranteed a chat or a funny message every morning. Lastly, if your aunt enjoys keeping up with what’s going on in the family, a digital frame that everyone in your family can contribute to would be a wonderful gift. There’s something very intimate and connecting about catching glimpses of the lives of the people you love. The photos can be great conversation starters, as well. Sending love to you and your aunt <3
Would she like a phone call? So simple, but I used to call my grandmother every night at 9 when she was dying. It was something we both looked forward to. Xo Caitlin ( the author of the essay)
Good on you Caitlin. Wishing you all the best for your continued recovery – it’s wonderful you have such a group of friends rallying around you and carrying the torch with you!
Thank you Heidi! I am so glad you read my essay and are out there!
This is so beautiful. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for reading my essay, Sage!
When I read headline first I thought this will be an article about how friends radiate love and joy and “I have you & I’m not letting go” and then I read your beautiful words Caitlin and I think I got the meaning of the title as it was meant in a way. I’m so happy for you and your friends!
Thank you Ava for reading and responding!!!