Stop Trying to Be a Cancer Warrior — Build a Killer Team Instead
You don’t need to fight cancer alone. You need to get smart about who’s in your corner.
When the oncologist said “triple negative breast cancer,” my mind immediately went to logistics. Not drama. Not despair. Logistics. Because I’d already watched cancer play out many times in my family, including twice with my mom in the ‘80s, once with my sister at 29. And I knew exactly what I wasn’t going to do: try to muscle through this alone like some kind of stoic hero.
That warrior language everyone loves? It’s exhausting. And it’s a lie.
Cancer isn’t a battle you fight solo in hand-to-hand combat. It’s a series of curveballs, such as blood draws that miss the vein, ports that get clogged, insurance denials, nausea at 2 AM, and kids who need rides to practice on chemo day. You can’t hit all those balls yourself. Nobody can.
So stop trying.
What Isolation Actually Costs You
My parents never asked for help when Mom had breast cancer. Twice. They didn’t want to burden anyone, didn’t want to be treated differently, maybe didn’t even know how to ask. That silence turned a terrifying diagnosis into something lonelier and harder than it needed to be.
Two decades later, my sister did it differently. At 29, newly diagnosed, she built a team. Her friends showed up for game nights between chemo rounds. They threw her a wedding between two protocols—and every single person in the wedding party either wore wigs or shaved their heads in solidarity. That’s what community looks like when you let people in.
Research backs this up. Studies show that cancer patients with higher levels of social support have better quality of life and lower mortality rates, while those lacking support experience poorer outcomes, higher rates of cancer progression, and lower overall survival. No feel-good platitudes here, we’re talking about whether you make it through treatment with your mental health and your life intact.
Here’s what the data tells us: social support reduces depression risk, increases psychological adjustment, and acts as a protective factor for quality of life throughout cancer treatment and beyond. The people around you aren’t just nice-to-haves. They’re part of your treatment plan.
The Four-Position Lineup You Actually Need
When I got my diagnosis, I sent an email to roughly 300 people. Yes, 300. Not because I’m an oversharer, but because I refused to retell bad news 300 times. I told them what happened, how I’d communicate (through CaringBridge, a private blog platform for health updates), what I needed (oncologist referrals), and what I didn’t need (no Google links, no “my cousin’s friend’s story”).
They showed up. Within hours, I had names. People want to help—they just need to know how.
Here’s your lineup:
1. The Medical Squad
These are your pros: oncologist, nurse navigator, surgeon, radiologist, medical assistant. If you can swing it, add a psycho-oncologist or social worker. Maybe a physical therapist, nutritionist, acupuncturist. These people keep you alive and functional.
2. The Life Crew
Your everyday MVPs. Carpool helpers, meal bringers, dog walkers, errand runners. They keep normal life on track while you deal with the abnormal.
3. The Joy Squad
People who remind you that you’re still you. They walk with you, sit with you, watch bad reality TV, play cards. They’re not there to fix anything—they’re there to be present.
4. The Operations Executive
This is your “Jessica”. A critical position on your team. This person coordinates everything, such as meals, messages, rides, and updates. They’re the team captain and manager rolled into one. If you don’t have one, find one. And if you want to help someone with cancer but don’t know how, offer to be this person.
Your Four-Step Playbook
Step One: Write Down the Roles
Draw three boxes on a page and label each one: Medical. Practical. Emotional/Joyful. That’s it. Don’t overcomplicate it. Put potential people in each box.
Step Two: Pick Your Operations Executive
Someone organized, kind, and a little bossy.
Step Three: Stop Saying “I’m Fine”
When someone says, “Let me know how I can help,” here’s what you say: “Thank you. I’d love your help. I’m going to connect you with [name of operations exec].” No guilt. No apology. You’re giving them the playbook.
Step Four: Publicize Your Plan
Use CaringBridge, a group chat, WhatsApp, email, whatever works. Tell people: This is what’s happening. This is what I need. This is what you can do. Clarity is kindness, for you and for them.
Why This Works
Different people bring different strengths. My husband Neal is an optimist who generates ideas endlessly. My sister Tracey is intuitive and knows every cutting-edge health practice. Jessica, my operations exec, is a brilliant organizer who invests heavily in community building. My sister-in-law Heather is calm and translates medical jargon into plain English.
I didn’t wait until I had cancer to figure out what these people were good at. I’d been building these relationships for years—showing up for them, staying in touch, being present. When I needed them, they knew how to show up for me.
Recent research on social support patterns reveals that having “high” emotional support doesn’t automatically mean all support needs are met because different people provide different types of support, and a comprehensive assessment of these varied patterns is critical for addressing the psychological challenges of cancer.
Translation: You need multiple people in multiple roles. One person can’t be everything.
What Nobody Tells You About Asking for Help
The first email I sent went to 300 people. The response was immediate. Within hours, I had oncologist names. People brought meals without being asked twice. Friends coordinated their schedules to sit with me during chemo. It wasn’t because I’m special; it’s because people genuinely want to help, and I gave them permission and direction.
Here’s what I learned: people are afraid of saying the wrong thing. They don’t know if they should reach out. They’re worried they’ll be intrusive. When you give them a job, “Can you coordinate Tuesday meals?” or “Can you drive me to my appointment next week?”, they’re relieved. You’ve given them something concrete.
And when well-meaning people tried to send me links to alternative therapies or their cousin’s cancer story? I’d already shut that down in my email. Not because those things don’t matter to some people, but because unsolicited advice often carries an accidental message: You’re doing it wrong. You caused this.
What newly diagnosed people actually need is an escape from cancer. Between doctor visits and treatments, their world revolves around the C-word. They need to hear about your life, your kids, current events, and ridiculous reality TV drama. They need to feel normal.
The Bottom Line
Cancer throws curveball after curveball. You don’t have to stand at the plate alone.
Build your team—the people who catch, pitch, cheer, and lift you up when the game gets hard. This isn’t about being a warrior. It’s about being smart. Strategic. About letting people help you not just survive, but actually live through this.
Because here’s the truth: patients with strong social support experience better treatment outcomes, enhanced quality of life, and improved mental health throughout their cancer journey. Your team isn’t a luxury. It’s part of your treatment.
So stop trying to fight this alone. Build your killer team instead.