He took the information well, asking appropriate questions for his age. Can I see a cancer owie… does it hurt… is it dark in a surgery… do I have to have a surgery or take medicine too? I answered his questions the best I could, told him I loved him very much, and we switched back to our normal PJ Masks or matchbox car conversations.
He didn’t bring it up again until that night as I tucked him into bed- he told me that once I was finished with all my special medicine, I could have a sleep over with him in his boys-only fort, just me and him. And there it was.
The moment I knew I had no choice but to beat this. There was no other option, I had to be here for these kids now and for many years to come. I didn’t want to miss one moment. The thought of leaving my kids without a mother hurts too much to even linger on for very long. Even now, a year and a half later, I have yet to fully process this possibility. I’m not sure I ever will. The first step was to figure out how all four of us can get through radiation, surgery, and chemo while still living our lives.
My goal was to keep things as “normal” as possible for my kids. I nearly immediately called Annie, the child life specialist from my cancer center. We spent a long time talking about Harrison and how he’d coped with everything so far. She explained that “normalizing the abnormal” and maintaining routines/ expectations brings children comfort and a feeling of safety in the midst of illness. Harrison really adjusted well.
