Honey Maid Graham Crackers and Other Ways to Get Through Cancer

Every once in a while, someone will contact me and ask for tips or words of encouragement on getting through cancer. Here are some things that helped me.

1. Acknowledge that you're in a dark, scary place. This acknowledgement didn't come right away for me. It took about a week or so after my diagnosis.

2. The darker the place you're in, the more sensitive you are to the light that shines through. But you have to be looking for the light. My light came in the form of my coworkers, who cheered me on for every surgery and every round of chemo. It came in the form of my neighbor, Melinda, who had also been through breast cancer -- 11 years before I was diagnosed -- and who coached me through the double mastectomy and every single round of chemo. Had it not been for Melinda, I would not have done my last round of chemo.

It came in the form of Lena, another neighbor, who brought us heaping piles of homemade breakfast burritos one morning. And through the Lockwoods, more neighbors, who made my children cinnamon Mickey Mouse pancakes and made my husband and me giant fritattas with asparagus and tomatoes. And Beth, who came to check on us one night after I'd had chemo. She realized I was going downhill fast, and she kneeled down beside Allie's toddler bed and read her "The Monster at the End of This Book."

It came in the form of my boss, Barb, who curated only the best snacks from Whole Foods and packaged them together for me before each round of chemo.

And in my husband, who sat for hours on end with me through each round of chemo and went to Chick-Fil-A and brought me back a chicken sandwich during one round. (A bonus tip: Do not ever eat a Chick-Fil-A sandwich during chemo. I assure you you will never want one again, and the smell of one will make you vomit on the spot.)

And in my parents and in-laws, who stayed with us after each round of chemo to help my husband take care of our kids.

3. Go ahead and splurge on the Honey Maid graham crackers. The store brands don't cut it. You will need all kinds of bland foods to put on your belly while you're going through chemo. But you're not going to want to eat anything at all. Except for graham crackers with maybe a tiny bit of peanut butter on them. You might also invest in some noodles of some sort and lightly coat them with your favorite type of sauce. The key word here is lightly. You might be able to keep those down.

4. Make yourself get out of bed. Even if it's just long enough to walk around the house for five minutes.

5. Push yourself to get out of the house if you can. Make your spouse take you to a movie, even if you have to shuffle down the hallway to get to the theater where your movie is showing.

6. Don't turn down people's offers to help you. If anyone reads this, it'll likely be independent, self-sufficient, I-can-do-it-on-my-own Americans. I tell you what. Just stop with that nonsense, take a nap, and let your neighbor empty your dishwasher for you.

7. Find some good TV to watch. For me, it was "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding" and all those MTV shows about teen moms. Don't judge.

8. Don't be afraid to lay in bed all day long under the covers.

9. Take your anti-emetics exactly as your doctor tells you to. Drink lots of water. I know you don't want to. But you have to do it. You will feel so much better if you stay hydrated.

10. This bears repeating: Drink lots of water.

11. Buy some Miralax. Your anti-emetics and your unwillingness to follow tips 9 and 10 will make you become more constipated than you've ever been in your entire life. Believe me when I say this: "sh*t a brick" is not just a catchphrase. It's a real thing. And the only time I ever asked myself "why me" during my stupid cancer treatment is while I was living through that catchphrase.

12. If people say weird things to you in an effort to lift your spirit, but really, what they say makes you want to punch them in the throat -- just let them say it. Don't judge them. Don't hate them. And don't punch them in the throat. Everyone wants to take care of you, but not everyone knows the right words to say.

13. And there is a Bible verse that helped me put all of my cancer experience into context. It's Acts 17:26-27 (ESV):

"And he made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined the allotted periods and the boundaries of their dwelling place, that they should seek God, in the hope that they might feel their way toward him and find him. Yet he is actually not far from each one of us."

OK, fine. Paul was probably referring to God's sovereignty over the nations. But I have a hard time believing that this doesn't also apply to Purple Sage Drive, the street I live on. When my neighbors come out of the woodwork and buy us groceries, fold our laundry, take our kids to the water park -- when the Easter Bunny sprinkles candy-filled eggs all over our front lawn because he knows we probably aren't going to be able to get the kids out to visit him in person -- I know without a hint of doubt that God put me and Mario, Miles and Allie and Spanky Mae, exactly where he knew we needed to be.

And speaking of God, why would God allow cancer to happen to a 33-year-old mother with a husband and two young babies? I don't know exactly. But I know that the cancer cells in my right breast were not a surprise to him. And he could have stopped them from multiplying and spreading. (If he couldn't have stopped them, then he's not God.)

But he didn't. And I praise him for allowing my wound. I praise him for letting me fall into the darkness so that I could be sensitive to his light.

As I was bemoaning in my head the fact that I was frosting Olaf cupcakes at 11 o’clock last night, and reminding myself to tell Miles when he’s 25 or so that he better choose a mighty fine nursing home for me, several other things crossed my mind. Here’s the thread of thoughts:

“Arghghghgh, these stupid Olaf cupcakes A) don’t look anything like the Pinterest picture – and therefore don’t look anything like Olaf, and B) are taking WAY longer than anticipated.”

“Miles better see to it that I am in the World’s Finest Nursing Facility when I’m old and senile. He owes me one.”

“Remember that one time Mom and I made Halloween cookies when I was in college? And we made the icing from scratch? And I ate so much I came this close to throwing up? Yeah. That time.”

“Remember that other one time when Mom and I made Diego cupcakes for Allie? OK so fine Mom made them because I had post-partum depression from Miles, who looked so unbelievably handsome sitting in his bouncy seat while Mom and I squirted melted chocolate in the shape of Diego’s hair onto wax paper?”

“Oh. My. God. Three years ago today, I had my boobs cut off. Dear God, thank you for American Cancer Society’s tagline or mission or whatever to celebrate more birthdays.”

“These look like Olaf’s evil cousin, Johann, who had the misfortune of being delivered vaginally, forcibly with forceps, vacuums, pliers and maybe an allen wrench that came packaged with the instructions to IKEA’s Svornijen shelving unit.”

“Why can’t I decorate cupcakes like all the good mommies on Pinterest?”

“I’ve never been so happy in my life. I love sucking at making Olaf cupcakes.”