Dan and I had agreed that the right time to tell the children about my diagnosis was after we received the results of my MRI and CT scans. Looking back I’m not sure whether that decision was driven by a rational and logical analysis of the situation we were in or by the acute fear we both had of telling them. I suspect the latter but whatever the reason, it had served as a convenient way for us to kick that can down the road for a little bit longer.

I spoke with one of the breast care nurses a couple of days before my MRI scan and during that conversation she asked me how the children had taken the news. When I told her we hadn’t told them yet she pointed me in the direction of some very useful information on the Breast Cancer Now website about the best ways to tell children of different ages. Whilst we were talking a couple of comments she made really caught my attention. The fact that children are more perceptive than we give them credit for and will often pick up on tensions and anxiety even if you think you are hiding those things from them. They also often overhear snippets of conversations that you may think you are having privately and form their own conclusions based on those snippets. The thought of Max and Jodie worrying about things they had half overheard or that they suspected was even more challenging than the thought of them worrying about their mum having cancer so Dan and I agreed that we would tell them as soon as they were both home from school.

Telling the children was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. The guilt I felt was overwhelming. Here were our two children, happily enjoying their carefree, fun filled lives, and here I was, the bearer of news that was going to shatter their perfect lives introducing uncertainty, fear, and sadness. All the things that as a parent you try desperately to shield your children from. I didn’t want my children to hear the words I had to tell them. I wanted to wrap them both up, cover their ears, hug them close and tell them it will all be ok but how could I do that when I don’t know that will be the case? How could we give them the certainty? How could we make sure that the fear that had crept into our lives didn’t creep into theirs?

Max came in from school and started heading up to his bedroom muttering something about having had a good day (minimal details as usual). I called after him telling him that Dad and I needed to have a chat with them both before tea. I heard his footsteps stop dead on the stairs. A chat could mean only one thing……..they were in trouble.

They both came into the lounge looking terrified, what had they done that warranted a formal sit down? I tried to be lighten the atmosphere telling them not to worry, they weren’t in trouble but the fear didn’t leave their faces. I could feel the anxiety rising, did we really have to do this? Was there a way that we could get through this whole hideous episode without telling them? Visions of hospital appointments, bald heads and post chemotherapy sickness flooded my mind. Of course it wasn’t possible to keep this news from them. We had to bring them inside and make them part of the support crew. I was really going to need them and so was Dan. They are brilliant kids, I told myself that they will deal with this in the same way as Dan and I are dealing with it. They will cope and they will be stronger and more resilient for having been through it. So I took a deep breath and told them. “I’m afraid we have some bad news, mummy has got cancer.”

Max immediately put his head in his hands and started to cry. I don’t know if Jodie was more surprised by my words or her brothers reaction but as soon as she saw her brothers tears hers came too. Dan and I were acutely aware of the impact hearing the C word has. The children’s experiences of cancer in their short lives so far are limited and sadly not positive. They have watched Stand up to Cancer with us, witnessing tragic video montages about families who have lost parents, children or sometimes both to cancer. In our own lives we have 2 friends who have lost children to cancer. Jodie still carries in her school bag a picture of her and the daughter of one of my friends who sadly lost her battle with cancer a few years ago. They are both aware of what cancer can mean. So our immediate focus was on ensuring that they understood that mummy’s cancer had been caught early and was of a type that the medical world know lots about and most importantly, it can be cured. We didn’t mention to them the need for more scans, the anxiety we were experiencing, the fact that we still didn’t have all the facts. We had decided that we would cross those bridges as, when and if needed. We focused only on the positives we could focus on and they seemed happy with that.

Very soon the tears stopped and I was amazed how quickly our words we were able to pull them from despair to acceptance and even some positivity. The reality is that kids are pretty resilient and able to deal with far more than we give them credit for. Jodie immediately asked me whether I would lose my hair, I told her I probably would and she gave me a hug and told me not to worry about that. Dan joked with them that we have so many wigs in our fancy dress boxes that I would not be short of options if I did lose my hair. They laughed and all of a sudden the mood was lightened. They both hugged me and told me it would be alright. Bless them! I immediately felt a huge sense of relief. We had told them and we had all survived but better than that, I knew that I had their support and that we would get through what ever lies ahead together. The sit down ended with Max asking “Are we done now? It’s just that I have a call with my friends at 7”. Normal service was resumed!