So Someone You Know has Been Diagnosed with Cancer...Now What?

When I was diagnosed with cancer I went through a period of shock, disbelief, and denial...all unwitting strategies for staving off the uncertainty and terror that comes with such a diagnosis. Thankfully I have an amazing group of friends and family who supported me through that difficult time. But as days and weeks of remission turn into months and years, I'm increasingly aware of how many others are dealing with cancer diagnoses. That alone-ness I felt when I discovered I had cancer was a lie. It seems like about once a month someone new comes to me to relate a story of their friend or family member who has just found out they have cancer. It's devastating. I hate knowing that someone else is going through that experience, preparing for that battle. But everyone wants to know what they can do. I don't have the perfect answers, but I have a few suggestions. Many are things that someone did for me when I was sick.

The first thing to do is simply to ask if the person has anything they need or if there's something you can do to help. Don't push for an answer though. When I was sick I was terrible at this. Frequently I didn't know what I needed. If I did know, I was often too hesitant to actually ask. Your friend or family member might not want to admit that they can't do certain things, but I think it's always better to ask outright first. If they can't think of anything, but you know of something they are going to need help with (such as scooping a cat's litter box, which they're not supposed to do) maybe you can directly offer to do that thing.

Apart from asking directly, here are a few additional ideas for how to boost the spirits of, or lend a hand to, a person who has just found out they have cancer. (in no particular order)

1. Buy them cancer schwag. There's a colored ribbon for almost every variety of cancer. You could buy a car magnet, a keychain, or a t-shirt with their ribbon on it. For the most part these things seem kitchy, but at some level they reminded me that there were other people out there who were in the same boat I was in. I wasn't the first to have this kind of cancer and I wasn't the only one fighting it. One shirt I especially liked said "I fight like a girl!" and had a purple (blood cancer) ribbon on it.

2. Tell them stories of people you know who have beat cancer. When I was diagnosed I didn't know other people who had cancer. The only other person I'd known to have a blood cancer was my papaw, and he passed away shortly after his diagnosis. If you know success stories, share them! Whether it is simply that chemo wasn't as bad as someone anticipated, or it's a story about full on remission, these sorts of stories provide encouragement at a very discouraged moment. DO NOT relate stories about others you know who have lost their fight with cancer. It's good to be realistic (chemo sucks, radiation can be irritating) but someone who has just been diagnosed with cancer is keenly aware that it is a disease that kills people. That's not where you want to focus.

3. Send cards regularly. I loved getting cards with words of encouragement and support. I taped them all over my bedroom and, later, all over my hospital room. It's a simple gesture, but the outpouring of support meant a lot. I think it's especially nice when you can send a card every couple of months. Friends and family sometimes forget that the battle is a long process and support dwindles. Getting cards in those lulls is especially nice.

This was my home for over 3 weeks. See the cards on my bulletin board on the left?

  4. Send support. Many cities have services where one can order a warm, home-cooked meal to be delivered to one's house. These are nice on nights when your friend or family member is too tired or sick to prepare a meal. You can usually purchase any dollar amount worth of meals (sort of like a gift card) and your friend/family member can use them at their convenience.

Several friends gave me books, magazines, and even a kindle for leisure reading on long days while I was at doctor's appointments and getting treatment. Whatever your friend or family member enjoys (or maybe has always wanted to do) that can be accomplished sitting in a chair would be great. Buy an electronic fishing game, scrapbooking supplies, maybe even a rubik's cube. I crocheted a queen size blanket (entirely with a sc stitch for any fellow crocheters out there). Anything to provide a diversion during hours of chemo, blood transfusions, hospital stays, etc.

I was also very fortunate in receiving the gift of a cleaning service. Someone came to clean my house every other week. It was amazing, since it was important for me to be in a clean environment, but I was always too tired to do much cleaning. You could always pay for just one detailed cleaning, to get the house super clean before treatment. Alternately, if you have the time and live close-by you could offer to go out and do the cleaning yourself.

DO NOT send flowers if your friend or family member has already started chemotherapy. They may not even be aware of it, but once their blood counts (and immunities) are lowered, they're not supposed to be around fresh flowers. The hospital had to take my flowers away after my counts dropped. Luckily I was able to enjoy them for several days before that happened. One friend was clever and sent a bouquet of balloons instead. By special request they were all tied to a diet pepsi (which was especially exciting, since the hospital didn't stock caffeinated beverages).

5. Donate to the cause. From the American Cancer Society to smaller, more specific groups like fight2win.org, there are a wide array of organizations dedicated to researching and fighting different cancers. You could make a donation on your friend or family member's behalf. Again, this is the sort of "help" that isn't direct, but provides a morale boost. It always buoyed my spirits to think about the cutting edge research that is increasing survival rates every year. I was also touched to see the physical work several friends dedicated to Team in Training, which supports the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society

6. Buy a photography session. If your friend or family member is going to have to have chemo (and lose their hair) it might be nice to purchase a photography session for them and their closest friends or family. A friend arranged to have photos taken of Brynn and I before I started treatment, and I treasure them so much now. They're some of my favorite photos ever.

My post-diagnosis, pre-hair loss photo shoot

7. Help them find help. Discovering you have cancer is overwhelming enough, but there's so much more to deal with. In the months after my diagnosis I had to apply for several financial assistance programs. One was non-negotiable, as it was the only way I could afford to take one of my required medications. Another required receipted expenses be sent for reimbursement. Yet another would only accept applications on the first business day of the month. I was also unaware of several programs that would have been beneficial to me (such as a local blood cancer support group, the American Cancer Society's "Look Good, Feel Better" program, and their gift closet). There's help out there, help your friend or family member find it.

8. Offer them a ride, or a grocery run, or cook a meal one night. Ideally your friend or family member would be able to express what it is they need and when they need it. For me, however, that was almost impossible. There were days when I woke up, prepared Brynn for school, and got her on the bus,only to come back home and sleep until it was time to pick her up at the bus stop in the late afternoon. Even on those days I wasn't able to admit to my friends that I needed help. I was more likely to accept help when it was a specific offer made by someone else. I couldn't request help, and I was reluctant to accept it, but at some point an offer like "Why don't I make dinner for you and Brynn and bring it by on Thursday night?" was one I couldn't refuse.

9. Finally, remember that this is still the same person you've always known. After I was diagnosed I found that people began to discount their own problems or avoid talking to me about them at all. It was certainly done out of concern for me and respect for the rough time I was experiencing, but it made me feel a little out of place. In fact, sometimes hearing about what was going on in someone else's life (the good and the bad) was just the thing I needed to pull myself out of a funk. Everyone will be different in this regard, but don't take "special treatment" too far. At some point I said I didn't want to be "the girl with cancer" anymore, I just wanted to be plain old Shawntel. Don't let the cancer change your image of your friend or family member too much. 

All in all, there's no sure fire approach to dealing with a cancer diagnosis. Even the person who is dealing with the news is often unsure of how they want loved ones to react. Still, I think most people who are diagnosed with cancer understand that their friends and family don't always know the best way to offer their support. I appreciated everyone's efforts to encourage me and support me in gestures both big and small. Show your support in the best way you know how, just be sure to show it.

Tonight's Dinner Brought to You by the 1980s and the letters S, P, A, and M.

When I was growing up my mom made a heroic effort at cooking for our family. She never enjoyed cooking, but made us a meal every night. That said, my mom is not a great cook. One of my favorite dinners growing up was made by Hamburger Helper. In fact, I would guess that the majority of dinners we ate either came out of a box or out of the freezer. I didn't even realize that you could make beef stroganoff without the Hamburger Helper mix until I was in college.

These days Brynn and I have a broader (and fresher) range of foods that we eat. Sure I still buy the occasional box of Velveeta shells and cheese or Rice-a-roni, but Brynn has been exposed to hundreds of foods I'd never dreamed existed when I was 10. And yet, old palates die hard...

Recently I found myself craving my mom's potato casserole. As a kid I'd looked forward to this dinner, even requested it as my special birthday meal. So I called my mom and had her relay instructions to me over the phone. It's a simple recipe that, in retrospect, screams out "blue collar" and "1980s" all at once.

What you need: 6-8 potatoes (peeled, halved, and sliced about 1/8" thick), 2 cans of condensed Cream of Mushroom soup, half an onion (chopped), 1 can of SPAM (I chose the "healthier" turkey variety), pepper, and butter.

What you do: In a casserole dish (I used a glass cake pan) mix potato slices, soup, onion, pepper and SPAM (cut into 1/4" cubes). Dot the top liberally with butter. Bake at 375 degrees for 40 minutes (or until potatoes are soft). Eat.

Get your weekly allotment of sodium and retro, all in one helping.

I know that the thought of a dinner with SPAM (and condensed soup on top of that) makes most stomachs turn. At this point in my life 40% of my friends won't eat any sort of meat, more or less mystery meat. I grew up loving this dinner though, and while I can recognize how unhealthy and unappealing it is, I can't get rid of that craving. For the record, Brynn's favorite thing about it was the "chicken." When I told her it wasn't chicken and she asked, "Well what is it then?" I just sort of shrugged my shoulders and changed the subject.

The greatest fact about this recipe though, and I only just learned this, is that it originated in a microwave cookbook. That's right. An entire book of recipes devoted to never turning on your stove. If you could eat the 80s, they would taste like this casserole.

The Bird, the Bees, and the Best Question Yet

It's not that I'm afraid to talk to Brynn about sex. I've always answered her questions and tried to provide just enough detail to satisfy her curiosity without scandalizing her ten year old innocence. That's a delicate balance though. So while I'm not scared or avoiding the subject, I do try to approach it with the utmost care.

Currently, Brynn's working definition of sex is when two people touch their private parts together. I'm not sure she's ready for a more mechanical definition than that, seeing as how she's mostly appalled at the idea people would voluntarily engage in such behavior.

At one point she confidently asserted that she is "never gonna have sex." I inadvertently chuckled. She took offense and restated her point more passionately. That's a fine plan to have, I assured her, but also cautioned that one day, when she's an adult, she might change her mind.

A few weeks later, out of the blue, Brynn came to me with the question "Can people have sex and not know about it?" With her limited understanding of how things work she was afraid that private parts might brush together accidentally. I explained how you would certainly know if you were having sex. Being the overcautious mother that I am though, I countered that with a simplistic explanation of date rape drugs. Basically I told her the only way someone wouldn't know they were having sex is if someone else gave them an illegal kind of drug that makes people forget things.

Fast forward to tonight. Brynn's brewed on all the information she has for about 3 weeks since the roofie conversation. She knows that people have to have sex to make a baby. She knows how sex works. And she knows people are cognizant of when they are having sex. So over dinner Brynn asks:

"Do you think daddy gave you one of those drugs that make you forget having sex?"

Me: "No sweetie."

Brynn: "Well how did I get born then?!?"

Only my child would think that there was a higher likelihood of her dad giving me an illegal drug than there was of me voluntarily sleeping with him. You should have seen the speechless look of utter disbelief when I told her I had slept with her dad (and remember it). I know no one likes to be reminded that their parents had sex, but roofies are a whole new way to try to explain it away!

Terrific Tuna Salad, without the Mayo (a Brynn-endorsed recipe)

Around our house, mayonnaise is more likely to expire than to find its way onto a sandwich. Really we just keep it around for the occasional hamburger. As a result, I ran into a dilemma: Brynn loves tuna on sandwiches, but hates mayo and relish. We experimented with a few alternatives, but this recipe has become our favorite tuna salad.

Ingredients:
- 1 can (or pouch) tuna in water
- 2 HEAPING tablespoons of hummus (our favorite is Sabra)
- 2 teaspoons of sundried tomato spread (for southern friends, Publix sells this in the produce section)
- 1/4 cup of feta crumbles (we like Athenos tomato and basil)

Drain your tuna. Combine ingredients. Mix. Enjoy.

No, it usually doesn't look this fancy.

My measurements are approximate. Add more or less to suit your tastes. If I was being more honest it would be "enough hummus to make the tuna stick together, enough sundried tomato spread to make the mixture a light red, and enough feta to make it delicious." I suspect that other sorts of cheese crumbles (blue for example) would work as well, but we can't get enough feta, so we stick with what works for us.

Wheat pitas (cut in half and opened up) make a perfect pouch for this tuna salad. We stuff a few fresh spinach leaves in there and call it lunch.

A Simple Hug

Tweens are, biologically and emotionally, a hot mess. As someone who was once a tween (and then a teen) I can recognize the misery of being entirely overtaken by hormones, but not understanding what that overwhelming feeling is. Unfortunately for me, Brynn almost always channels those feelings into outbursts of anger directed at me.

Seriously. Two days ago she was furious at me because 7x8 did not equal 58.

The majority of our time together is spent in a delicate dance of managing or evading rampaging hormones. Without fail there's a minimum of one rage filled outburst every day, sometimes many more. Frequently it's a string of things, as if once she begins acting out she just can't reign it back in.

Years ago I read an article explaining that a child who could keep it together at school, but started unravelling at home, was actually rather well adjusted. So at least Brynn knows not to berate her teacher when the multiplication tables don't meet her creative mathematical interpretations. Still, it wears away at both of us at home.

All of this is to set the scene for Brynn walking silently into my bedroom two nights ago, walking up behind me, wrapping her arms around me, and laying her head on my back. No one said anything for a couple minutes. We just stood there with each other. Exhausted.

Eventually I turned around and wrapped my arms around her too. Not too soon. I didn't want to ruin that hug. It was spontaneous, honest, and increasingly rare. I couldn't risk ending it. But when I turned around Brynn didn't go anywhere. She just leaned on my chest and we rocked back and forth for a minute. All the stress and tension just melted away.

Then I tickled her and we fell onto the bed, laughing wildly.

In all, the scene lasted maybe 5 minutes. It made my whole night, maybe my week.

That hug will have to keep me going through the resistance to chores, demands to abandon our dog, Ke$ha, indignant complaints about having a bedtime, makeup, pleas for everything from a bigger room to strapless bras, the dreaded homework hurricane, and so much more. It will though.

The tween emotional roller coaster takes its toll on everyone who's drug along its ups and downs. But there are ups. I cherish those. The downs are intense and hurtful, but when you love each other you get each other through. Sometimes with a hug.

They Just Don't Make "First Days" Like They Used To

On the first day of kindergarten proud parents spring out of bed at the crack of dawn to prepare their munchkins for their very first encounter with elementary education. There are dresses and bows and enough pictures to fill an album. Children want their parents to drive them to school and walk them to their classrooms. These tiny pupils even tell their anxious parents everything about their day once they get home.

Brynn's first day of kindergarten was like that. Her first days of a few subsequent grades even resemble this fairy tale model. Fifth grade was not a fairy tale first day. In fact, it was kind of a bumbling mess.

The night before, Brynn couldn't fall asleep. One thing after another spun through her head and kept her up past 11pm, despite laying down at 8:30. No worries though, her outfit was chosen, lunch packed, and shoes located. Monday morning was set to run like clockwork.

Except I screwed up the clock. Like countless times before, I managed to set my phone alarms for pm instead of am. Two out of three alarms were accidentally set to sound close to dinner-time. When the third alarm went off at 7:35 I immediately knew it was too bright outside and that something was terribly wrong.

I sprung out of bed. Ran to Brynn's room. Threw on the light and yanked back the covers.

Good morning, welcome to fifth grade. You're about to be tardy.

In the end Brynn made it to school in plenty of time, but she'd missed the bus and her friends. I'd missed any chance to take photos. I did get to drive her to school, but I think we'd both have been mortified if I'd walked her to the classroom in my pajama pants.

To make up for the rocky start I walked to the bus stop, camera in hand, to meet her and take an action shot as she strode off the bus. As they turned the corner and I readied the camera I realized the memory stick was in my laptop. Foiled again.

I did snag a couple quick shots before Brynn made it inside the house, but she wasn't exactly ecstatic.

                                       Impatient is really more the emotion she's got going on this year.

I'd like to say that her second day ran smoother. It did not. Brynn and a friend bounded down to the bus stop ten minutes early. Forty five minutes later...<knock, knock knock>. I guess the bus driver overslept. So we're 2 for 2 on pajama clad last minute rides to school. Not an auspicious start.

On the bright side, Brynn got loads of compliments on her second day of school outfit.

                                                      One of these days these hightops are gonna walk all over you.

It's gonna be a long year folks. A long year.

Confessions of a Rotten Chef; My Pot Roast is the Pits

Tonight I did everything right. I set aside plenty or time. I bought fresh veggies. I followed the recipe like I was a first year chemistry grad student in the laboratory. Still...failure.

For years now I've attempted to make the perfect pot roast. I'd have even settled for a very good pot roast. Most of my attempts have been edible, perhaps even "okay," but never delectable.

Pot roast is one of my very favorite foods. It's a dish that's even able to make carrots taste fantastic. The perfect comfort food. Unfortunately, it always turns out a little less than comforting when I make it. This failure is all the more poignant in the face of how simple pot roast is supposed to be. Tonight, after my latest less-than-melt-in-your-mouth roast, I called a friend who suggested I just needed to put the roast in water with a little bit of salt, pepper, and oil. How can I be screwing this up?!?

Tonight, I started with a 2.5 lb chuck roast. I braised it, put it in water with lipton onion soup and red wine, added minced garlic. I waited until just an hour before presentation and added potatoes and carrots. Aromatically it was 110% success. It looked juicy and mouth-watering. I could barely wait to taste it! Ultimately though, it was bland and sort of rubbery. I'd been worried that the onion soup mix and the garlic might be too flavorful, how could this roast be bland?!?

 The real stars of tonight's show. It was better in the glasses than in the roast.

I wish I had answers, but it turns out I really am a struggling cook. I'm hoping my kitchen-savvy friends will be able to set me on the right path. I beg of you, please save my next dinner party (my apologies to my friends who've been subjected to multiple failed pot roast attempts). Short of buying a crock-pot or smuggling in a roast cooked by a friend, what's the secret?