Mojo and the Mess

by Mojo White — Emotional Support Expert, Certified Couch Lump, and Mom’s Shadow

Hi. I’m Mojo.

I’m a Frenchie.

I’m squishy, opinionated, handsome as hell—and I live with a human who’s sick.

Not like sniffle sick. Like whole body meltdown, energy is a myth, why are there this many pills kind of sick. And while I didn’t exactly choose to be a cancer caregiver, I’ve learned a lot. So this is my official guide for other dogs, cats, friends, partners, and plant roommates trying to figure out how to support a chronically ill human.

You’re gonna need snacks, patience, and a good attitude. Let’s go.

🐾 Step 1: Know Your Role

You’re not just a pet or a pal anymore. You’re now the emotional anchor. The soft place to land. The keeper of the routine (even when there is none).

You are now:

A weighted blanket with eyes A barometer for emotional storms A therapist who works for belly rubs

They might not say it out loud, but they need you. They’re just too tired to say it all the time.

👀 Step 2: Monitor at All Times

She says “I’m fine” with a smile that is definitely a lie. Sick humans will sneak around trying to do normal things like laundry or dishes or cooking, even when their body is waving the red flag. You have to be vigilant.

Personally, I’ve perfected the art of shadowing:

Bathroom trips? I’m in. Middle of the night pacing? Me too. Random hallway collapse? On it. Even when she’s “just resting her eyes,” I keep mine on her. Because one minute it’s a nap, and the next it’s a spiral. Trust no light sleeper.

💊 Step 3: Defend the Meds

I don’t understand what’s in those little bottles. But I do understand the consequences of skipping them. So I stand guard.

Sometimes she cries before taking them. Sometimes she gags after. Sometimes she stares at them for hours like they’re mocking her. So I sit with her. I remind her she’s brave. I also try to sneak treats out of the same cabinet because I deserve a treat for this emotional labor.

😐 Step 4: Adjust to the Weird Routine

She used to be full of energy. Now… naps. So many naps. And sometimes she has big bursts of activity that last exactly 17 minutes before she crashes into the couch like a falling star. That’s when I reposition myself on top of her.

We don’t take long walks anymore. We take slow laps to the mailbox. We don’t play fetch—we play “let’s both stare at the same spot on the wall in silence.”

And that’s okay.

Because she’s still my human.

Even when she’s not the same. Especially when she’s not the same.

📵 Step 5: Don’t Take the Silence Personally (Especially You, Text Message Senders)

Let’s talk about the phone.

She loves her people. But sometimes that little screen becomes a source of pressure. Even when the message is kind. Even when it’s “just checking in.” Even when it’s from someone she loves.

When she’s in pain or overwhelmed or trying not to cry about medical bills again, typing a reply feels like climbing a mountain barefoot. So sometimes… she doesn’t respond.

Not because she doesn’t care.

Not because she’s ignoring you.

But because she’s maxed out and trying to hold her pieces together.

She reads the texts. She smiles at the memes. She keeps voice notes in her phone like love letters.

But she doesn’t always have the energy to hit send.

So if you haven’t heard back from her?

Know this: She’s still grateful. Still thinking of you. Still holding that love close.

And if you keep showing up without needing a reply—sending a heart emoji, a funny video, a simple “no need to answer, just love you”—you are everything to her. And to me.

🧠 Step 6: Learn the Warning Signs

Too quiet? Trouble.

Too energetic? Trouble.

Sudden cleaning spree? Trouble with scented candles.

Sometimes she puts on a brave face for everyone else, but I know the truth. I can hear it in her sigh. I can smell the anxiety. I can see it in the way she pets me with a shaking hand.

That’s when I go full body on top of her. No negotiations. You will lay down, you will stop spiraling, and you will smell my feet.

💔 Step 7: Comfort Isn’t Always What You Think

It’s not always about grand gestures.

Sometimes comfort looks like:

Laying silently next to her while she cries Guarding the bathroom door while she’s sick Watching her husband give her injections and keeping my eyes soft instead of scared Sitting next to her when she can’t sleep and just… existing

You don’t have to fix anything.

Just be there.

Consistently. Quietly. Fully.

💘 Step 8: Love Her Even When She Doesn’t Love Herself

The treatments take a toll.

She’s tired. Puffy. Scars. Bruises. Bloated. Bald. Fragile.

And some days she looks in the mirror and doesn’t recognize the reflection.

That’s when I climb into her lap and snort directly into her face.

Because she’s still my mom.

Still soft and strong and beautiful and mine.

She is not just her body.

She is comfort.

She is strength.

She is the one who saved me—and now I get to return the favor.

🐾 Final Thoughts from a Grey Frenchie

Living with a chronically ill human isn’t always easy.

There are tears and pills and sleepless nights and scary appointments.

There’s uncertainty. There’s grief. There’s change.

But there is also so much love.

Quiet, fierce, funny, frustrating, unwavering love.

So to every dog, partner, sibling, friend, nurse, neighbor, and floof out there trying to support someone who’s sick—keep going. Even when they don’t text back. Even when they snap. Even when they’re hard to reach.

They notice.

They appreciate it.

They carry your love like armor.

And if all else fails—just lay on their legs until they chill out.

With loyalty and naps,

Mojo 🐾

Cancer Companion. Floor Therapist. Mom’s Shadow.