How do you tell your 13-year-old son you have cancer? I keep asking myself this question. There’s no way to shelter him from the truth, but is there a way to soften it, to not actually use that big scary C-word? Can I simply say there is something growing in mommy’s breast that the doctors need to take out?
Unfortunately I come from a long line of cancer patients. On my mother’s side alone, I quickly lose count as I try to tally up the lives this disease has taken from us. I will never forget when my grandfather was diagnosed. “I have a little cancer,” he said. A little. Three years later he was gone.
And yet, that’s not going to happen to me. I am not going to be a loss. I’m going to be okay. I may know very little about what I’m facing, I have so many unanswered questions, but I know what they found is small and that makes me believe it was found early. In terms of cancer, that’s a best case scenario, right? Maybe that’s what I tell my son. I have the good kind of cancer, the kind you don’t die from.