This guest blog is from Mary Huckle, in which she talks about how she told her 10-year-old twin girls and 14-year-old son she’s been diagnosed with cancer. She shares her tips for dealing with children of this age group.
No one can dispute that parenting is the toughest job ever. As mums and dads, we do our utmost best to grow our offspring. Like tending a fragile plant, we nurture and protect. We want nothing more but for our children to be happy, healthy, and safe. So what kind of a mother would want to intentionally hurt her child?
Immediately after being diagnosed with breast cancer, I had visions of my children and thoughts of dying. Then, it hit me again; the prospect of actually telling them my awful news. Why would I even contemplate breaking it to them? How could I tell my then impressionable 14-year-old son and my innocent 10-year-old daughters that I might soon be leaving them forever or that their mum was going to be very unwell at the least? Every time I thought about it, the lump in my throat would swell. The feelings and emotions overwhelmed me and to be honest, I felt confused. What would be the best thing to do? What would someone in my position do? There was so much to consider.
Telling them would be like an act of betrayal. I was supposed to be the one they could trust, the person they could always rely on and the one to make them feel loved and looked after, yet here I was, feeling guilt ridden because telling them would surely crush them. My maternal instincts were saying I’d deny them their childhood happiness. I was convinced it would mess with their minds and cause them anxiety.
I was challenged by my own fears and concerns so how could I possibly allay my children’s fears if they were to see how scared and vulnerable I was? Surely, if they saw me upset and worried, they would feel the same way. The thought of dying and leaving them was too painful to bear but I couldn’t let them see that by getting emotional in front of them. How could I remain composed relaying this message? At the end of the day, I just wasn’t brave enough; my tears would certainly betray me.
If you choose to hide your cancer diagnosis from your children, are you lying to them? Yes, I believe I did lie, by attempting to hide all the tell-tale signs and goings on. In the weeks ensuing a cancer diagnosis, there are lots of hospital appointments to attend, probable surgery to undergo and various treatments to be had and believe me, it’s tiring ‘not telling the truth’. The game will inevitably start to wear thin and it will get harder still as the plot thickens and the process unravels. Imagine, losing your hair through chemotherapy and your child catches sight of you bald, not wearing your wig? How would you explain that one? By the time I had my chemo, all the children knew but in the very early days, I would keep disappearing into my bedroom and cry privately so they didn’t see or hear me. I think I might have cried less had the children known the real situation.
When I was diagnosed in August 2007, Robert, our eldest had just turned 14 and our twin daughters were 10. After much deliberation, myself and my husband decided we should at least tell Robert. We deemed him old enough to understand, and I know this might sound silly, but because he was a boy, we thought he’d be less affected than his younger sisters. Weirdly enough, we felt stronger and more composed in our approach when breaking the news to him. However, that didn’t stop us having a cry. We talked, we held each other and then we gave him reassurance. Afterwards, as expected, he didn’t really talk about it very much or ask too many questions but he would give me lots of hugs and I knew that was his way of awkwardly caring. I was happy with that, but I still made sure that going forward I kept him informed and he seemed OK with that too.
When, on the other hand, we considered telling the girls, it was an entirely different matter. The twins have always been extremely attached to me and their protective ways were too strong to ignore. I would go into complete meltdown just at the thought because I knew it would really affect them and that we’d probably all end up in a slobbering, tearful mess before I’d even got the word ‘cancer’ out. I kept thinking about their inquisitive nature and how they’d probably have endless probing questions. I just knew in my heart that this news would play on their minds, so I went with my gut instinct and resolved not to tell them straight away.
When I ask the twins now how they felt then, they tell me that one of the worst things was the missing me, the wondering why I was away from home so much and not understanding why I had so many random hospital appointments. They were worried but obviously incredibly determined to find out what was going on. It would be 10 years later, that they would confess to looking at my emails and discovering my secret. I blame their mischievous twin nature! Joking aside, knowing what I know now, I wish I’d been honest with them. I realise that in trying to protect them and myself, I did them an injustice because I still caused them anxiety. If I’d been completely upfront right from the beginning, all the unanswered questions my children had would have been easier to answer. When they eventually confronted me, above all, I was sorry for causing them worry and I felt compelled to apologise.
It may seem like you’re shirking your responsibility but an alternative to not telling your children would be to ask someone else to break the news instead. At the time, it didn’t really occur to me that I could have asked someone to break the news on my behalf but I wish that I had considered that as an option.
I had no family history of breast cancer and there were certainly no risk factors where my health was concerned. In fact, being a personal trainer made me particularly healthy so I could never understand the reason for my diagnosis. The only consolation might be that my fitness did keep me in good stead and I passed the 5-year mark unscathed. Seven years passed and I was living my life with gratitude. I was convinced that my breast cancer diagnosis was just a glitch.
My optimism was abruptly interrupted, however, when in July 2014, I was once more confronted with the dreaded words. A PET scan had revealed that the lump behind my collarbone was in fact cancerous and that there was another infected lymph node in my chest wall. The notion of going through more surgeries and treatments filled me with blinding panic and then the familiar morbid thoughts began taunting me. Worse still was the thought of having to tell my children that the cancer had come back.
It certainly wasn’t any easier this time. A secondary diagnosis is incurable, and trying to explain that to anyone can be tricky, let alone your own children. The rollercoaster of ups and downs was set in motion and the feelings of hurting my son and daughters were just as strong, even though they were older and more mature in their thinking. There was something quite different though. This time, I would tell them straight away. Once I’d got all the facts straight in my mind, I felt confident that I could talk to them without breaking down. Yes, the cancer had spread and sharing the news would be upsetting but the previous 7 years of having lived with breast cancer had obviously taught me more than I realised. It had taught me and still teaches me to be stronger and resolute. The more you’re forced to think about your mortality, the less traumatic and upsetting the scenario becomes.
At the end of the day, whether you tell your children or not, is a personal choice and there is no wrong or right answer but whatever you decide to do, here’s a quick checklist:
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