Why I write

 

I write these little bits not only for my own peace of mind, but also in the hopes that someday, someone who is researching cancer or diffuse large b-cell lymphoma may stumble upon these words and know that it is OK to laugh, and to cry (not that you have much choice in the latter).  I also hope that the researcher may establish a bond of sorts with me and my support,  even if only in spirit.   Some posts will be almost technical, where I am just trying to pass along information, some posts will be humorous, as I try to make light of most situations, but there is just no humor in some posts.   This will be one of those, as I relate the nights where we broke the news to our children.   

We had decided not to tell our children right away, as there was nothing really to tell.   Another factor was that Malena’s mother had passed away from pancreatic cancer 1 year to the day of my lymph node removal.  

Friday, our oldest son, 13, came home with an attitude.   He didn’t want to do homework, was upset that we had grounded him from the Xbox 360 because of his grades, and was just generally in a foul mood.   Malena decided that it was time to rock his world.   She took him out, under the guise of needing help picking up something to eat, and drove to the local library where she told him that I had cancer.   I cannot really comment on the conversation, since I wasn’t there, but he came home about an hour later in a much different mood.   He was very subdued and serious.  He asked to speak with me in private,  and we retreated to his bedroom.   He turned around, gave me a big hug, and started to cry.   That started me as well, and I told him it was going to be alright, I was going to beat it with his help.   Mind you, we only knew that I had lymphoma at this time, not the type.   

The following Tuesday, we found out which type of cancer I had, and decided to tell our youngest son 11, and daughter, 8.   We all sat together in the living room, Malena and the kids facing me.   I started to explain cancer in general to them, and that cancer didn’t always take a person’s life, like it did their Nana.   At this point our daughter looked at me and said, “please don’t tell me this is about you”.   I told her that it was about me, and that I had a type of cancer that was treatable, and that I was going to fight it and beat it.   She stood up, found her Nana’s jacket and wrapped up in it.  She then crawled on top of her mother’s lap and started to cry.   Our youngest son tends to clam up under pressure.   He sat there, sad, and didn’t want to discuss the matter.   I sat beside Malena and hugged my youngest son.   My oldest son sat beside us in silence.  Malena asked our daughter if she wanted to give me a hug, but she told her she was afraid she may catch cancer.   After assuring her that you cannot get cancer that way, she sat in my lap and hugged me.   We sat together like that, in silence but for the sobs, for quite some time.  All of the kids are doing fine now, and we plan on having them visit a counselor just to be sure.

The day after we told our children, our daughter organized a ‘get well soon’ letter writing campaign in her 3rd grade class.   While most of the cards were from her, some were from her classmates, and one was signed by the entire class.

 

I’ll keep those cards forever.