12 Texts That Got Me and Can Get You Through Breast Cancer Treatment

Nobody knows exactly what to say to someone who is in the belly of the beast known as cancer treatment. But as one who has been to that particular hell and back, I promise you that somewhere between platitudes and snark there’s a way to show up for a friend without mortifying yourself. Here are 12 kinds of text messages that got me through my year of surgery, chemo, and radiation.

Remember Mr. Rogers’ famous advice to “look for the helpers”? Well, you can be that helper. You don’t have to move mountains or run into a burning building. Simply reach out and offer help in a text like this one, which made me weep the good kind of tears during treatment in response to the sheer kindness on display. Notice how my co-worker is specific about the ways that he can help? Notice how he doesn’t pry, or try to get me to make him feel better? If nothing else, remember these two lines: I’m so sorry you have to deal with this. … I can only imagine it is all pretty overwhelming.

Unless the person going through cancer treatment is some kind of oligarch, the ordeal will be a massive hit to the wallet. Even the most creme-de-la-creme, fancy-pants health insurance plans don’t cover all expenses. My diagnosis quickly became a sinkhole of lost wages, resulting in a cash flow catastrophe that I’m still digging out of, even with a heap of help from friends and family. If you can manage it, Venmo some funds, or drop a check in the mail like my late dad did, and then shoot the person a text to let them know it’s coming.

Sometimes there’s nothing to say in the face of a terrible ordeal except: pizza or Chinese? This text from my BFF, who knows that Target and greasy takeout deliveries are my love language, comforts me even now. Doordash is great and all, but a highly personalized care package delivered by someone who knows you well (and loves you anyway) is the stuff of champions.

Writer Anne Lamott says that Help, Thanks, and Wow are life’s three essential prayers. I love that, and her. I’d also like to add the three prayers that were essential to me getting through cancer treatment in one piece, give or take a set of breasts: Dude. WTF. This Sucks. Those words, which came in a text from my brother, made me feel less crazy and existentially at sea during treatment because they sounded just like my inner monologue. There’s no meme or life hack that will change reality, and sometimes just acknowledging what is, in fact, really freakin’ bad can be extremely comforting.

My friend Michelle sent me this reminder that love is tender and concerned, and at the same time love hates what I’m going through. Just tap, tap, tap that phone screen and remind someone you love them. It’s that easy.

This one is from my chemo nurse Ann-Marie, a living saint with a black belt in knowing what to say. Notice how her wording here is time-sensitive? That’s because she knows that treatment can be a roller coaster, and each day – make that each hour – may have a different terrible flavor. “How are you doing?” is a classic thing to say to someone who is going through cancer treatment, or just a rough Monday. But “How are you doing today?” or “How are you doing right now?” is even more emotionally dialed in. Go ahead and steal from her, St. Ann-Marie won’t mind.

It's OK to gift your way through this weird time in lieu of offering wise words or plasma donations. It’s also OK to ask the recipient for hints about what they like. This particular text arrived as I was regaining consciousness after a lengthy mastectomy. To this day it makes me chuckle. Rick the Drummer’s “Do you accept cookie trays?” is a query I’ve borrowed many times since, when trying to figure out what to give someone who has just been dealt a giant heap of crap.

This text from my former sister-in-law – I now call her my outlaw sister – is a master class in making someone feel seen, heard, and held in a minimal amount of text characters. Coming from a cancer survivor like her, the words “I’m standing by. Call, text, or scream anytime” made me feel like I could face anything, and like I always had a lifeline. Notice how her first offer is simply to be a listener if I needed one? That’s text messaging gold right there.

Mark my words, someday theologians will study the great GIFs of the internet as sacred texts. Sparkly numbers like this one from my niece cut through the heavy sad beige feeling of fluorescent-lit waiting rooms and touched my heart every time. If anyone from the NIH is reading this, please look at GIF makers: They are like medical clowns, except they aren’t terrifying.

Breast cancer is a real piece of work, and it's OK to name it, blame it and troll it. Addressing it directly, as my cancer survivor friend Gail does in this text masterpiece, can be cathartic and rallying. Her note here strikes a perfect heavy metal-esque chord of civility, solidarity, and rage.

I could not have gotten through treatment without judgment-free carb consumption, my boyfriend’s love, and the practice of looking for silver linings. Which brings us to this text. It’s a variation of the Thinking of You and Random Act of Specific Kindness texts, just more buttery and woo woo. Without magical thinking and pastries there would have been very little magic in the treatment year for me, and it helped me beyond measure to have a wingman who was game to play along.

There’s a saying I heard everywhere at the outset of my diagnosis: Cancer treatment isn’t a sprint, it’s a marathon. Thing is, I’m really bad at running. I’m more of a world-class sitter, so this maxim scared the bejeezus out of me. I couldn’t imagine getting through the first metaphorical mile of treatment (a radical mastectomy) let alone all eleventy hundred of them. When I faltered, my friends and loved ones picked up the slack and imagined it for me. There is power in hearing the simple refrain of “You’ve got this.” And by golly, I did.