You are not alone.
Joe Petersen, nurse Holly Carlson, social worker Ann Rivas Vatnsdal, and Carl Shaskey-Setright
Spotlight: The Cancer Support Group That Meets Monthly at Alomere Health
A cancer diagnosis is one of the most disorienting experiences a person can face. The fear, the questions, the side effects—and the sense that nobody around you truly understands what you’re going through. Jo Petersen knows that feeling. So does Carl Shaskey-Setright. And it’s exactly why they want more people in the Alexandria area to know about the Cancer Support Group that meets every month at Alomere Health.
Joe was first diagnosed with ovarian cancer in 2007. She was encouraged to seek a support group at that time, but there wasn’t one available locally. After retiring in 2019, she finally felt it was the right time to start one herself.
With logistical support from Alomere’s Ann Rivas Vatnsdal, the support group started out with five friends and survivors.
Today there are roughly 60 people on an invite list. Meetings draw anywhere from 7 to 13 in person, and others can attend virtually via Teams. The group welcomes anyone impacted by cancer—patients at any stage of diagnosis or treatment, survivors, and caregivers.
Every Third Tuesday
— a poem from a cancer journey by Carl Shaskey-Setright
A word, a whisper—cancer said,
And suddenly the world turned red.
Ten thousand questions flood the mind,
Two hundred thousand truths to find.
Which answer’s mine, which ones deceive?
Whom to trust, what to believe?
I scan the web, the forums hum,
But silence lingers when the night has come.
Doctors, nurses answer what they can,
White coats with charts, a treatment plan.
But hearts ache deeper than the skin,
And fear speaks loudest from within.
My family listens, holds me tight,
Their eyes betray their hidden fright.
Each carries burdens of their own,
Each feeling lost, each one alone.
Then comes a door—small, unadorned—
A Tuesday space where hearts are warmed.
Cancer Support Group, every third week,
A room where weary voices speak.
Different stories, stages, fears,
Laughter woven through the tears.
Some are fighters just begun,
Some are weary, some have won.
We ask, we listen, or we stay
In quiet presence, just that way.
No judgment passed, no pressure made,
Just shared light in a darker shade.
The caregivers, the partners, too,
Find solace in a kinder view.
A hand to hold, a knowing nod,
The smallest things, the strongest bond.
This path is winding, steep and long,
But here, the weak are also strong.
From others’ trials, truths unfold,
Lessons hard and wisdom bold.
The hand is dealt—we choose our way,
With borrowed strength, we face the day.
And as we walk, we learn, we grow,
From those who’ve felt this undertow.
So when the questions drown the air,
I find some quiet comfort there.
Every third Tuesday, hope takes shape—
In shared resolve, in no escape.
We journey on, we hold, we give,
Together learning how to live.
What to Expect
Meetings are held the third Tuesday of each month, 4-5:30 pm, in the lobby meeting room at Alomere Health. No RSVP is required. You can come when you’re able, leave early if you need to, and share as much or as little as you want.
Each meeting starts with introductions. From there, it’s open discussion—people share what’s on their minds, ask questions, share information on the latest advancements in care, and support each other. Past guests have included physical, occupational, music, and massage therapists, acupuncture practitioners, meditation and yoga instructors, palliative care specialists, and mental health professionals.
Carl Shaskey-Setright has attended the group regularly as a patient. He has a rare form of soft tissue cancer, and received chemotherapy at Alomere’s Cancer Center. He is now in hospice care. He still shows up.
For Carl, the group fills something that family and friends—as loving as they are—can’t quite provide. “Here you are supported—but you can help other people too,” says Carl, “and not even know it.”
Oncology Department
— a poem from a cancer journey by Carl Shaskey-Setright
Brought here not really of my own choosing,
Drawn by shadows my body’s been losing.
Fear hums low, a tremor beneath the skin,
While hope waits softly, whispering within.
White walls and kindness, a sterile grace,
Gentle hands, a searching face.
Machines hum hymns of light and sound,
Truth uncoils—no place to hide, no ground.
The click, the whirr, the breath I hold,
A story written—quiet, cold.
Then words descend: this type, that stage,
Clear, unerring—turn the page.
Next step: find a path to attack the intruder,
With little damage to the host the body.
Yet somewhere deep, beneath the dread,
A spark insists, I’m not done yet.
A treatment plan presents an aggressive attack:
Surgery, radiation, and chemo to fight back.
Pain grows more present as tumors are removed—
A map on my chest, a scar newly grooved.
This mark traces a journey, a badge hard-won,
A sign of survival, of battles begun.
It charts my recovery, points to what’s right,
And marks the next stage in this ongoing fight.
A radiation mask strapped tight to my face
Precise markings to guide the proton beam’s way.
Each weekday hums the same refrain—
The beam, the buzz, the oldies’ songs.
Far from home, but not alone,
A borrowed bed, in a new friend’s lovely home.
With empathy and love she opened her door.
Not long after the loss of her own mom.
My sister’s friend from long ago and far away
A place during my radiation stay.
New friends introduced.
A new community welcomed me each week
Then chemo comes—its silent war,
Toxins drip, the veins implore.
To kill the cells that steal my breath,
To barter life from hands of the demon within.
Chemo was rough as poison injection
In hopes to kill cancer cells faster than those with health
The chemo bay—a gentle start,
Soft smiles stitched from weary hearts.
Each nurse, each tech, an angel near,
Their courage stronger than my fear.
Often discomfort and pain is present,
yet a laugh is dispensed as the best medicine.
They soothe, they clean, they check, they care,
With steady hands and hearts laid bare.
Each beep, each cry, they calmly meet,
Their grace makes suffering less complete.
The oncology floor—both joy and strain,
A place of courage, loss, and gain.
And though thank you feels too small, too few,
Know this: your love is shining through to all.
Why it Matters
Jo’s core message is simple: you are not alone. She sends that reminder to group members before every meeting.
“The mental health aspect of it is so important,” she says. “It’s as important as the physical part.”
Connections made inside the group have extended well beyond it. Members with the same diagnosis have found each other and built friendships outside of meetings. Caregivers who attend say it helps them understand what their loved ones are experiencing—and process the stress they are carrying themselves.
If you or someone you love has been touched by cancer, the group is there for you. Come when you can. Stay as long as you need. You don’t have to go through this alone.
Click to learn more about Alomere Health’s Cancer Center.
