I found out that my cancer had metastastasized (spread to my liver), only six weeks after
treatment ended. At the time, we just had a conversation with D. to tell him that I would once again be taking the strong medicine.
He has never expressed any fears about my prognosis, and we have done
our best not to frighten him. To him, having a mother with a missing
breast and who periodically takes to her bed is perfectly normal and
not a cause for concern (and, since my current chemo regimen does not cause hair loss, I don't really look very different from the moms of any of his friends).
I don’t know if the word “cancer” is part of his vocabulary, but some day it will be, whether due to my own illness, talk in the schoolyard, or if someone else he loves gets sick or dies from cancer.
Until, that time, though, I try to let him know that he can talk to me about anything. I answer his questions honestly. And I try to give him the information he needs without overwhelming or frightening him. It is a difficult balancing act, one which I can only hope I am doing well.
In my next post, I'll address how we've talked about cancer with my oldest son.
You can read more of my writing at Not Just About Cancer.
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