Telling Children Mommy Has Breast Cancer

Preparing Family Members for the Recovery

Experts say children should hear the truth, should not be fed sugar-coated stories, should hear the exact word none of us ever wish to share with our children: cancer.

Two years ago, I told my two boys - then four and 18 months - that I had cancer. I told them doctors would take it out, I would take medicine, my hair would fall out, and I would get better. They have been caring for me ever since that November day in 2004 when my life suddenly appeared anything but a guarantee.

I had breast reduction surgery to remove four pounds of dense tissue and to augment my waning self-confidence. This was fine for eight years until I found a lump in the left one -- a hard, pea-sized lump. It became my obsession for the days leading up to my official clinical examination.

Because I found my lump early, my prognosis was good -- the 1.1-centimeter tumor had not yet spread to my lymph nodes and was considered stage I. However, my tumor contained too much of a certain protein that made it wildly aggressive.

Breast Cancer Treatment

A lumpectomy took my tumor and four lymph nodes. Four doses of chemotherapy took my hair and my energy and my overall sense of wellness. It landed me in the hospital twice due to fever and a suppressed immune system and was cause for a blood transfusion during one hospital stay.

Radiation took hours off my day -- five days per week for seven weeks -- and left me with temporary burns and 10 tiny permanent blue tattoos. One year of targeted drug therapy took me back to the chemo room for infusions of a new wonder drug intended to block the same protein that made my tumor so deadly.

This whole journey, complete with stops for physical therapy, counseling, and treatment with an anti-depressant, is winding down. I will visit my medical oncologist every three months for the next five years. For five years, I will also see my radiation oncologist every six months. For the rest of my life, I will receive a mammogram and ultrasound every six months, will report for a breast MRI once every year, and will conduct my own breast self-exams every month.

If cancer must enter my world, I will only allow it to stay for a short time. My sons propelled me through my darkest days and have touched me deeply with their unwavering love and concern and simple wisdom.

Kids Help in Dealing with Breast Cancer

I'm not sure Joey has ever really understood the magnitude of cancer. Still, he sensed I needed him during my battle with this mysterious condition. He assured me the day he and his daddy shaved my head prior to my chemotherapy fallout that I should not cry. "It's only a haircut, mommy," he said. "You are not going to die."

Two years ago, I told my boys I had cancer. I told them doctors would take it out, I would take medicine, my hair would fall out, and I would get better. This is exactly how it happened.