“How to Survive Chemo: a Lifestyle Guide by Someone Who Didn’t Ask for This Adventure”

I saw the contest “Make It Heal”, but it hit differently.

I have cancer — it started as colon cancer, jumped to my liver, and now decided to explore other parts of my body.

Yeah, bummer.

But as long as there’s life, there’s hope… and humor.

So here it is: a lifestyle Instructible.

It is not a medical guidance but more of tips and tricks to get your life going.

Let’s go!

Your prescribed medication from your doctor — in my case: capecitabine

A stubbornly positive mindset, even on the days when your body disagrees

Family and friends (the ones who don’t panic when you make cancer jokes)

Time management — your energy is now a limited‑edition resource

Humor — preferably dark, dry, and aimed at your own cells

Comfortable shoes — because hand‑foot syndrome doesn’t care about fashion

A good moisturizer — your hands will thank you

A water bottle — hydration is now a full‑time job

A soft blanket or comfy chair for your reboot moments

A small dose of stubbornness — the healthy kind

Optional but recommended: a fan or cooling pack for hands/feet

Optional but emotionally essential: a hobby that distracts your brain

Optional a notebook or app to track your day, symptoms, or random thoughts (or write an instructible)

Capecitabine (or any kind of chemo) doesn’t turn your life into chaos… but it does change how you need to manage your energy. Your battery works differently now: it drains faster, recharges slower, and sometimes just says nope without warning.

That’s why time management isn’t a luxury anymore — it’s a survival tool.

I still work partially 4 á 5 hours a day.

I work, but it requires smart planning:

1. I start the day early 6 o'clock my alarm bell goes off
2. I stay in bed for a half an hour to wake up
3. Then I get dressed
4. Breakfast with the first round of chemo pills
5. 7.45 I get on my bike to go to work, I arrive at 8.
6. I Take micro‑breaks (5–10 minutes) every hour
7. Drink water like it’s my new side‑quest
8. I avoid tasks that put a lot of pressure on my hands
9. i Stop on time — I don’t wait until my body shuts down

“My body is basically Windows 95 now: if I push too long, it freezes.”

I take the second dose in the evening, My afternoon becomes a kind of landing strip:

1. Lunch
2. Rest (feet up, hands cooled)
3. Light activity: a walk, a hobby, fresh air
4. No big projects, no hero moments

my afternoon exists to make sure I reach the evening without collapsing

🌙 3. Evening = Second Dose + Slow Down

Here’s my rhythm:

1. After dinner: second dose of capecitabine
2. Then: rest, unwind, no heavy tasks, but on one night I go to the chess club
3. Hand/foot care
4. Go to bed on time (My body is not a night owl right now)

“My evenings are simple now: pills, cream, sitting, sleeping. It’s practically a religion.”

🔄 4. The Golden Rule: Plan by Energy, Not by Clock Time

My day isn’t a straight timeline anymore. It’s an energy wave:

1. Morning: high
2. Afternoon: dip
3. Evening: low + medication

Plan your tasks based on how you feel, not what the clock says.

🧩 5. What Time Management Really Means Now

1. You don’t have to do everything
2. You don’t have to do everything today
3. You don’t have to do everything alone
4. You don’t have to do everything perfectly

You just have to keep going

These are the things I learned the hard way — the small habits, the unexpected hacks, and the “oh… so that’s why my body is doing that” moments. If someone had told me these earlier, I would’ve saved myself a lot of confusion (and a few pairs of socks).

🧴 1. Moisturize like it’s your new religion

Hand‑foot syndrome doesn’t negotiate. Your best defense:

1. Thick, greasy creams (the kind that makes you slide off furniture)
2. Apply multiple times a day
3. Don’t wait until your skin starts complaining

Your hands and feet will thank you. Or at least complain less.

💧 2. Hydration is not optional

Water helps with fatigue, headaches, digestion, and basically everything your body is trying to do right now.

1. Keep a bottle with you
2. Sip constantly
3. Tea counts
4. Coffee… counts emotionally

🧊 3. Cooling helps more than you think

If your hands or feet burn:

1. Use cooling packs
2. A fan
3. Cold water
4. Or stick your feet out of the blanket like a rebellious penguin

It works.

🍽️ 4. Small meals > big meals

Your stomach is now a diva.

1. Eat smaller portions
2. More often
3. Avoid heavy, greasy meals
4. Listen to your gut (literally)

🚶 5. Move a little, even when you don’t feel like it

You don’t need to run a marathon — just:

1. A short walk
2. Stretching
3. Light chores
4. Anything that keeps your circulation going

It helps with fatigue, mood, and sleep.

🧠 6. Don’t trust your energy — plan around it

Some days you wake up feeling like a superhero. Some days you feel like a potato.

Both are normal.

1. Use good hours wisely
2. Rest before you crash
3. Don’t push through “just because”

Your body keeps score.

🧍 7. Accept help (even if you’re stubborn)

People want to help. Let them.

1. Rides
2. Meals
3. Company
4. A listening ear

You don’t have to carry everything alone.

🧩 8. Humor is not a coping mechanism — it’s a superpower

Laugh at the absurdity. Laugh at the timing. Laugh at your hands drawing topographic maps.

Humor doesn’t fix cancer, but it fixes moments — and that’s enough.

📝 9. Keep track of your days

Not obsessively — just enough to notice patterns:

1. Energy
2. Symptoms
3. Food
4. Sleep
5. Mood

It helps you understand your new “normal.”

🛑 10. And finally: stop when your body says stop

Not later. Not “after this one thing.” Not “I’ll rest tonight.”

Now.

Your body whispers before it screams.

1. Accept that some days are just bad days

Not dramatic. Not meaningful. Not “a lesson.” Just… bad. And that’s okay.

You don’t have to turn every struggle into wisdom. Sometimes surviving the day is the wisdom.

2. Let people in (even when you’d rather not)

You don’t have to carry this alone.

1. Talk to someone you trust
2. Let friends help
3. Let family show up
4. Let people sit with you, even in silence

Connection doesn’t fix cancer, but it fixes loneliness — and that matters.

3. Don’t pretend to be strong all the time

You’re allowed to be tired. You’re allowed to be scared. You’re allowed to be frustrated. You’re allowed to say “today sucks.”

Strength isn’t pretending. Strength is continuing anyway.

4. Humor is not denial — it’s survival

Laughing at the absurdity doesn’t mean you’re ignoring reality. It means you’re refusing to let reality crush you.

If your hands draw topographic maps, make a joke about it. If your body behaves like Windows 95, laugh before it freezes.

Humor gives you oxygen.

5. Don’t isolate yourself

It’s tempting to withdraw — especially on low‑energy days. But isolation makes everything heavier.

Even small interactions help:

1. A message
2. A short call
3. A walk with someone
4. Sitting next to another human while doing nothing

You don’t need deep conversations. You just need not to disappear.

6. Give yourself permission to rest

Rest is not laziness. Rest is not weakness. Rest is not giving up.

Rest is maintenance.

Your body is doing a full‑time job fighting cancer. You’re allowed to take breaks.

7. Celebrate the tiny victories

Not the big ones — the tiny ones:

1. Getting out of bed
2. Eating something
3. Going outside
4. Finishing a task
5. Laughing once today

These moments matter more than you think.

8. Ask for professional support when you need it

Talking to a therapist or counselor can help you navigate the emotional weight of treatment. It’s not a sign of failure — it’s a sign of taking yourself seriously.

9. Be kind to yourself (even when you don’t feel like it)

Your body is fighting. Your mind is adapting. Your life is shifting.

You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be here.

10. And for me personally: my faith helps

I’m a Christian, and I believe that I am saved — and that belief gives me strength. Not in a dramatic or loud way, but in a quiet, steady way that reminds me I’m not walking through this alone.

It doesn’t erase the hard days. But it gives them context. And sometimes that’s enough.

Chemo is serious business. But the world around chemo? That’s a whole ecosystem of strange habits, unspoken rules, and characters you only meet in this very specific corner of life.

So here are my observations from the Chemo Society™ — a place nobody wants to join, but once you’re in, you start noticing… things.

1. The Chemo Waiting Room Olympics

Everyone in the waiting room is competing in the same silent sport:

1. Who can look the calmst
2. Who can pretend they’re not tired
3. Who can find the least uncomfortable chair
4. Who can guess which nurse will call them first

Gold medals are awarded for:

1. Not sighing loudly
2. Staying awake
3. Not staring at the clock every 12 seconds

2. The Chemo Ward Fashion Show

Forget Paris. Forget Milan. The real runway is the infusion room.

The outfits include:

1. “I got dressed in the dark”
2. “Comfort is my religion now”
3. “This hoodie has seen things”
4. “I used to care about matching socks”

Bonus points if your shirt has a motivational quote you didn’t choose — someone gifted it to you.

3. The Universal Chemo Snack Bag

Every patient has one. Nobody talks about it. But we all know.

Contents usually include:

1. Crackers
2. Mints
3. Something healthy you won’t eat
4. Something unhealthy you will eat
5. A bottle of water that somehow lasts the entire day

4. The Side‑Effect Lottery

Every cycle is a surprise.

1. Will it be fatigue
2. Will it be nausea
3. Will it be hand‑foot syndrome
4. Will it be “why do my hands look like a map of the Alps”

Spin the wheel. Collect your prize. No refunds.

5. The Nurses Are Basically Superheroes

They know your name. They know your veins. They know your mood before you do.

If chemo patients had trading cards, nurses would be the rare holographic ones.

6. The Chemo Brain Moments

You walk into a room and forget why. You open the fridge and stare at it like it’s a portal. You lose your phone while holding it.

Chemo brain isn’t forgetfulness. It’s a lifestyle.

7. The “I’m Fine” Lie

Chemo patients say “I’m fine” the same way Windows says “Working on updates.”

We both know it’s not true. But we say it anyway.

8. The Unspoken Bond

You don’t know their names. You don’t know their stories. But you nod at each other like:

“Yep. We’re doing this. Again.”

It’s the quietest, strongest community you’ll ever meet.

9. The Humor That Only Makes Sense Here

Jokes about:

1. Hair
2. Pills
3. Scans
4. Side effects
5. Body parts misbehaving
6. Hands turning into topographic maps

Outside this world, people look at you like you’re insane. Inside this world, people laugh because they get it.

10. And finally: if you don’t laugh, you cry

Humor doesn’t cure cancer. But it cures moments. And sometimes that’s enough to get through the day.

I hope this helps you carry your own journey a little lighter. You don’t get to choose the weight — you have to carry it — but you can choose how you carry it.

With humor. With honesty. With stubborn hope. With the people around you. And with the quiet strength that grows when life gets difficult.

If this Instructible makes even one day easier, one moment lighter, or one person feel less alone, then it has done its job.

“Make it heal, in your own way.”