10 Tips to Add Whimsy When You're Walking With Someone Through Cancer

By my fifth hospital admission, the nurses on the low-white-count floor knew me by name. (Not exactly the kind of "regular" status I was hoping to achieve in life, but here we were.)

I couldn't have fresh flowers in my room. Something about infection risk, something about counts too low to risk it...and the one thing I wanted most — a little color, a little life, something actually growing — was off the table.

But those nurses also knew I had flower gardens at home. They knew how much I missed them. How homesick I was, if you can be homesick for dirt and stems and things blooming, stuck in a bed on a floor that didn't allow a single one of them in.

So they made me a bouquet out of hospital gloves.

Blew them up. Tied them off. Drew petals on with marker. Arranged the whole ridiculous thing in a vase like it belonged there.

And it did. It absolutely did.

It's still one of the most thoughtful bouquets I've ever received, and — bonus — I didn't lose a single petal to my immune system.

That's whimsy. It doesn't pretend the room isn't heavy. It just refuses to let the heavy be the only thing in it.

Proverbs 17:22 says a cheerful heart is good medicine. I don't think that verse is asking us to be cheerful about cancer. I think it's just telling us joy still does something when someone is fighting hard...even when it's borrowed, even when it's silly, even when it comes from a rubber glove.

One of the questions I hear most from people supporting someone through cancer is simple: what can I actually do?

Most people really do want to help. They just don't know where to start, and honestly? That's okay. Nobody's born knowing how to walk into a hospital room and make things feel a little lighter.

We've built out some things to help with that. Our care guides walk through specific seasons — the Hope Basket, the Blue Bag, Comfort for Chemo Days, Hospital Bag Essentials, Gifts for After a Mastectomy, and Lymphedema Care. And if you want a free place to start, we've got this list and the Hope Basket Printable Guide too. You'll find all of it on the site.

Now...here are ten ways to bring a little whimsy (and a lot of care) into someone's cancer season.

1. Find the unexpected substitute. Can't bring real flowers? Get creative. Paper flowers. A flower puzzle. A "grow it later" kit for when counts come back up. Or — if you're feeling bold — go ahead and make your own hospital-glove bouquet. Sometimes the substitute ends up meaning more than the real thing ever would have.

2. Bring bubbles. Cheap. A little ridiculous. Impossible to stay fully serious around. There's just something about bubbles floating past an IV pole. Blow a few. Let someone laugh for thirty seconds. Thirty seconds still counts, y'all. (Just check with the care team first — some floors are picky about what floats around.)

3. Wear the silly glasses. You know the ones — giant novelty sunglasses, or the eyebrows-and-fake-nose combo. Put them on before you walk in the room. You might get an eye roll. You might get a laugh. Sometimes you get both at the exact same time, and honestly, that's the best version.

4. Fun socks — for both of you. Bring a pair for your person and a matching (or wildly clashing) pair for yourself. Wear them on treatment days. It's a small "we're in this together" that doesn't require you to find the perfect words, which — let's be honest — none of us ever do. Grip socks, though. Hospital floors are no joke.

5. Custom shirts with a fun saying. "Still Fabulous." "Chemo Hair, Don't Care." Something a little sassy, a little defiant. Let your person pick the words, not you — humor about your own cancer hits different than humor somebody else decided for you.

6. A truly goofy hat. Not the gentle, sympathetic head-covering kind. I mean a birthday crown. A jester hat. Fake hair that's clearly not trying to convince anyone of anything. Cancer takes so much control away from a person. A goofy hat hands a tiny piece of it back.

7. A theme day. Superhero day. Pajama day. Everybody-wears-sunglasses-indoors day. Rally a few people and lean all the way in for a treatment or appointment. It doesn't make the day easier, exactly, but it gives it a plot besides fear.

8. The comfort care package. Not funny — just kind. Soft socks with grips, lip balm, a real blanket that isn't hospital-issue, a phone charger with an extra-long cord, a few snacks if they're able to eat. Hospitals are cold and sterile and unfamiliar. Something soft helps.

9. The "no reply needed" text. "Thinking about you today. No need to respond." Cancer creates so much communication work — updates, reassurances, explaining the same thing four times. Give them one message they don't have to manage.

10. Show up for the boring stuff. Mow the lawn. Grab the mail. Sit with the dog. Drive the carpool. None of this is whimsical. All of it matters just as much — because a person walking through cancer is still carrying a whole life underneath it, and every task you quietly take off their plate is one less thing on their mind today.

A few more practical ways to show you care:

• Start a meal train instead of saying "let me know if you need anything" (nobody ever calls that number)

• Offer something specific — "I've got Tuesday's appointment" — instead of a general offer

• Take on one recurring task: groceries, prescriptions, school pickup

• Send a card that says something real, not just "get well soon"

• Ask what kind of company they want today — talkative, quiet, or none — and actually respect the answer

• And sometimes? The most loving thing you can do is just sit there. Not fixing anything. Just sitting.

Whimsy doesn't erase what's hard. It's not asking anyone to be positive when they're scared or exhausted or angry or grieving straight through it. It just makes room for something else to exist right alongside the hard — a laugh, a little color, a ridiculous pair of glasses, a bouquet made out of hospital gloves.

Sometimes that's exactly the medicine somebody needed that day. If you're walking beside someone through this, take a look at our care guides and free resources — they're built to take a little of the guesswork out of showing up well.

P.S. If you ever find yourself standing in a hospital room with nothing but rubber gloves and a marker... trust me. Make the bouquet. It works.