Thousands of people are diagnosed with cancer on any given day in the United States (*cancer.org). While many of us are aware of this sad fact, it doesn’t hit home until it gets personal.
Just over a week ago, I hopped on Facebook to catch up with my neighborhood book club. When I opened my feed, a photo of my childhood best friend popped up on my screen. It made me smile, until I read the caption:
“Starting chemo on Wednesday.” I felt my brows furrow in confusion and thought, “This can’t be right.” I read the caption again. And again. And again. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. My friend had breast cancer.
She and I haven’t spoken in person in years. We’ve kept in touch through Facebook messages and “likes,” but I didn’t know the appropriate way to convey my condolences in this particular situation. I didn’t have her phone number, so I couldn’t text or call, and a “comment” on her post seemed too passive. After much consideration, I decided to send her a direct message.
As I typed, my words felt hollow. I’ve walked with several friends through their cancer journeys before. Why was this so hard? Then it occurred to me: it never gets easier.
Learning about a friend’s serious medical diagnosis, whether cancer-related or not, can be scary and overwhelming. Their world will never be the same and every journey is different, just as every friend is different.
As their friend, how can you help when you can’t “fix” it?
I recently asked one of my best friends, who is also a breast cancer survivor, this very question (along with a few others). Her answers were practical and very enlightening and helped me craft a sincere, heartfelt response to my high school friend along with a few “thinking of you” gestures I’ve got in my back pocket.
Here are some loving steps, drawn from a cancer survivor’s experience, you can take as you walk with your friend through the journey that lies ahead.
Practical Ways You Can Support a Friend With Cancer
Q. What was most helpful after your initial diagnosis?
A. The first days were a blur of appointments, phone calls, and trying to figure out how to tell my family and friends. What helped most was having people who could take things off my plate without making me ask. Before I started chemo, my closest friend went into planning mode. She researched what I’d need to do beforehand and made me a checklist, then did as much of it for me as she could. She booked my dentist appointment and set up an appointment to have my eyebrows micro-bladed. She started a meal train and put together an Amazon wish list of things I’d need. It was the best kind of support. I was overwhelmed and didn’t even know what I needed, and she took that load off me without making me ask.
Q. How can your friends balance being there for you while giving you space?
A. Keep showing up, but make it easy to say “not today.” A text like “Thinking of you, no need to reply” was a gift, because it let me feel loved without feeling like I owed anyone a response. Some days I wanted company and some days I needed quiet, and I often didn’t know which until the moment. The best way to find out which kind of day it is? Ask, and honor the answer. Everyone’s needs look different, and being asked made me feel like I was still in charge of my own experience.
Q. What was helpful during treatment?
A. First, meals. The meal train my friend started before chemo was a game changer. Not having to think about meals took so much stress off me, made my whole family feel cared for, and it kept a steady stream of visitors coming through our house, which was a bright spot in the long days.
Second, stay for the long haul. Treatment is long, and there’s often an outpouring of support at the beginning that tapers off after a few weeks. That’s when it meant the most: when people spread out their help or kept showing up. I’ve been in the same book club for over a decade, and those women are dear friends. They set up a rotation so that someone delivered a gift basket to my home on each day I had chemo. It was so thoughtful, and it turned an otherwise hard day into one with something to look forward to. If you want to help someone through treatment, think about the whole stretch of it, not just the first week. Even a small gesture in month four can mean so much.
Q. What questions can your friends ask instead of “What can I do?” or “How can I help?”
A. That question, as kind as it is, puts the work on the person who is already overwhelmed. Specific offers are so much easier to say yes to:
- “I’m going to the grocery store Thursday. What can I pick up for you?”
- “Can I bring dinner Tuesday or Wednesday? Anything you can’t stomach right now?”
- “Can I take the kids for a few hours Saturday?”
- “Would it help if I drove you to your appointment, or sat with you during it?”
- “Do you want to talk about it, or would you rather I distract you with something totally unrelated?”
Even when I said no, being offered something concrete made me feel cared for.
Q. How can your friends continue to support you as a survivor?
A. People often assume that when treatment ends, life goes back to normal, and I understand why. But for me, the emotional weight really caught up once things slowed down. There’s the fear of recurrence, along with ongoing medications and appointments, physical side effects, and lingering thoughts and questions that don’t wrap up neatly on the last day of treatment.
So the best thing a friend can do is keep checking in, even months or years later. A quick “thinking of you” around scan time lets me know I’m seen.
Q. What advice would you offer to women with friends currently going through breast cancer?
A. First, simply show up and let her know you care. Don’t worry about saying the perfect thing, and don’t expect anything in return. She may not have the energy to reply or say thank you, and that’s okay. Your presence says it all.
Second, look for tangible ways to help, even small ones. During treatment, a friend who came to pray with our family noticed our porch light was out. He didn’t say a word. He came back that evening with a ladder and a new bulb and fixed it. To him it was a tiny thing. To my husband and me, it meant the world, because it told us someone was looking out for us. You don’t have to do something big to make an impact.
*A big thank you to my close friend, neighbor, and breast cancer survivor, Lindsay Curtis, who provided thoughtful consideration to my questions. She is wife to David (Worship Pastor), mom to Max (son), Isla (daughter) and Ellie (family fur baby). She is a Marketing Manager at Belmont University in Nashville, Tennessee.
