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Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
Tommy and I kept the diagnosis to ourselves for many weeks. Once we did share, there was a mixed sense of relief and stress. Relief, because we now had more people on our team—friends and family were there to help and wanted to support. Stress, because then the questions and messages started coming. Some days the messages will lift you up and feel encouraged, and some days you may feel like you want to lock your phone in the other room. (It is COMPLETELY FINE to not respond to the messages. You don’t owe anyone a response.) We found sites like Caring Bridge to be helpful. You can share an update with everyone at one time, and even assign someone to be the “question answerer” if you don’t feel up to it yourself. There may be a moment when you are ready to respond and share, but it should be on your terms.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
It can feel INSANE when a doctor asks you to decide what course of treatment you want to take. You think: “I’m not a doctor! How could I possibly decide something this important with little to no medical knowledge?” We have had several moments like this. Your doctor should present options and explain their recommendations in-depth, but ultimately, it’s your call. My advice on this is to get all the information, sit with it, communicate every hesitation, ask every single question (no question is too small or too silly; seriously, ask it!), and go with what feels right. If an option doesn’t feel right for you, seek other options if they are available, work with the proposed treatment plan until you’re clear and comfortable, or seek a second opinion (see number 3)! It’s your life and journey; don’t feel bullied into something that isn’t right for you.
Finding an oncological team is incredibly stressful. We barely knew what an oncologist was when Tommy was diagnosed, and finding the “right” one made me stressed out to the point of nausea for weeks. We finally landed on a team that made us feel comfortable and confident, and they helped us beautifully for more than a year. When the moment came to seek a second opinion after his recurrence, it felt a little awkward, as if we were betraying them. But it’s important to remember that while it’s true your team is there to help you, they are not in charge. You are the CEO of your treatment plan, and a good oncological team will recognize that. We ended up seeking a new team whose plans and ideas aligned more specifically with ours, and we absolutely consider it one of the best decisions of our lives. Tommy is now in a place where he is physically healthy and all evidence of disease is shrinking. We are confident this would not be the case if we had stayed with our original team and not explored other hospitals and options.
Putting your personal health before your partner’s may seem counterintuitive, but in order to do the best for them, you have to do the best for you. This one was tough for me. Everyone tells you this, but I was convinced I could give 100 percent of my time and energy to helping Tommy, and I would still be fine. (Of course, this did not work out as I planned!) This led to me being sick for two months during his chemo treatment. Rule number one of chemo is to stay away from sick people. I had tried so hard to be there for him, I was unable to be in the same room as him. After getting better, I reevaluated how I was treating myself, and knew I had to give a little more to myself and my health. It was tough, and I felt selfish, but it’s truly the only way to sustainably support someone.
This one was a big “aha” for me. In the beginning, I thought I understood what being a caregiver looked like, but over the last two years I realized this identity shifts and transforms constantly. Some days you will be needed in a million ways, and some days just being there is enough. It’s important to be flexible. You are both trying your best, in an incredibly difficult situation. You may feel like you’re failing at times, but it’s okay. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just because you feel like you’re failing, doesn’t mean you are. Not saying the right thing, not doing enough, doing too much—it can be a tricky balance, but you are doing an amazing job just by being present and willing to help.
