Supporting Loved Ones With Breast Cancer

Play Chauffeur

Whether they’re going in for a needle-biopsy appointment or chemotherapy, many patients say that having someone to sort out transportation is a godsend. Chemotherapy can be exhausting; sometimes it’s all a patient can do to get out of bed, much less get behind the wheel. Even though Laura’s best friend was living abroad, she arranged for a car service to take Laura to and from each chemo session. “The driver picked me up and waited until I was done,” she says. “The thought of trying to hail a cab, let alone take the subway, was beyond me. Between the chemo and the antianxiety and antinausea drugs, you’re slightly out of your gourd.”
 
The arrangement resulted in an unexpected bond. Throughout the four months Laura was being shuttled back and forth, she became close with Kazi, her driver, who is Muslim. “He told me he prayed for me at his mosque, which I found tremendously comforting,” says Laura.
 
 
 

Look After Her Family

Angela Agbasi, 42, a mother of four in Los Angeles, began chemotherapy when her youngest son was just a month old. “The best way to take care of me was to help me take care of my children,” says Angela. “Everyone rallied and divvied things up.” Her sister took her kids on the weekends, her mother-in-law helped with the newborn, and her mother and aunt pitched in with the cooking and cleaning. An old friend dropped by almost daily to see if she needed anything―groceries, child care, or a joke to lift her spirits―and also helped carpool Angela’s older kids to and from school. Angela was especially touched when her friend Diane showed up in mid-December with a tree in tow. “I was so exhausted from the chemotherapy,” says Angela. “I hadn’t even thought about Christmas.”
 
While Angela’s friends helped with day-to-day chores, Lizanne’s friends looked even farther down the road, subtly letting her know they would be there for Georgia, her teenage daughter, if the worst were to happen. When Lizanne’s cancer came back two years ago, in her spine, it was especially terrifying. “The first time you’re diagnosed and treated, they say, ‘OK, we got it all―you can move on,’” says Lizanne. “Once you’re rediagnosed, they say there’s no cure. It’s a whole different mind-set.” That’s when a family friend pulled Georgia aside. “She told her, ‘No matter what happens, we’re here for you, forever,’” Lizanne recalls. “That meant the world to me.”