"Our children are a living message that we send to a time and place that we will never see."

My mother often pinched my ear and banished me outside of I lorded my "eldest status" over my siblings. My mother was an only child, and proud. Perhaps, she felt that pride was a bad thing? The brother and sisters would all laugh and we’d run outside together. Looking back, I’d say Mother knew well how to get our attention and distract us from unauthorized activities.

I struggled with "why?" I had cancer. I had to come to the conclusion "why not" me? I am no so special as to be excluded from the population of possible breast cancer recipients. I became resigned, and determined to fight like the small Indian warriors that I had read about as a child.

How to proceed? Listen to what the oncologist says. Ask questions. Search out information on the Internet, visit the library, talk with friends and neighbors, and family members. Talk with your husband and your children. They are in this with you. Life goes on. Your life and trials, and theirs.

You are a part of the family unit. You have your own unique way of communication with your family. The words you speak and your expression and actions communicate for you. Your family is affected by even subtle changes, so, take charge! Do not think that you can hide your stress. You really are in this together. Plan an "occasion", simple and intimate to share your diagnosis with your children. Plan together to cope with the disease. Of course, you will be nervous. Your spouse can help. Practice your speech on the spouse a few times. You know your children’s’ ages and temperaments and abilities to comprehend better than anyone. Gear your information to your audience. Be prepared to answer their questions. That may be the hardest part. If you are a little tearful, tell them that it is scary not knowing exactly what to expect. Enlist their help, as much as possible. Tell them that you expect and need more hugs from them. Use words like "medicine" to describe chemotherapy, and explain that it is the medicine and not the disease that may make you feel not well for a few months. Schedule a monthly "conference" with them to discuss your progress.

The questions that come up may include, "Are you going to die"? The immediate response to that is "No, not for many, many years." Treatments do take a long time, and if I feel ill or sad, I do not want you to think that I am about to drop dead." Discuss the possibility of altered house duties or chores in the future.

Teenagers may even be able to broaden their responsibilities in response to being of assistance; like learning how to cook supper or take driving lessons. This can be a positive growing process. Dad may need to learn how to do the laundry and cook, if he doesn’t already. This could be a lot of fun!

Do you have a job? Your work should not be affected much. I was working two days after each of my surgeries, and scheduled a day off work following each chemotherapy administration. By the time that I had completed radiation treatments, I tired very easily, but had no ill effects which kept me from work. I just worked with a bit less vigor. The job was in important way that I continued the near normalcy of my life. It made me feel good to continue my achievements at work, and gave my self-esteem the boost of accomplishment.

Several occurrences jarred me into the reality that my breast cancer was an ordinary occurrence to many in the realm of cancer treatments. First, my surgery was less extensive than several close friends who had received mastectomies. It was my personal choice not to have one or both of my breasts removed. I felt that I would have as much trouble adapting to the loss of my breasts as I would to a terminal diagnosis. Besides, my breast cancer was localized, so removal of the cancerous spot and surrounding bordering tissue was a logical decision. I came to this conclusion in agreement with my primary physician, the surgeon, and the oncologist.

I requested a second opinion on the lab findings, to be certain of the type cells involved. A second opinion is not required, but recommended to verify the original findings. I requested that my slides be sent to an oncologist whom I had worked with in the past, an expert in caring for cancer patients, medically and surgically. I spoke to his managing nurse, who I highly respect. My oncologist sent him the necessary information and materials. He did not respond. This came to light as Dr. Sea, my oncologist, was completing a preparation checklist prior to starting chemotherapy. This had a sobering effect on me. I was embarrassed, offended and angry. I was also disappointed that my "old colleague" did not seem to care about my present distress or the fact that I trusted his professional opinion. It had crossed my mind, initially, to go to that oncology group in Texas, because I was familiar with them. The lack of response to my request made me grateful to my current care-takers. "Poor Me" put the Texas group out of my mind. I filed away a future intention to write to Dr. Couldn’t-Be-Bothered and seek an explanation. Dr. Sea offered to seek another second opinion. We reviewed the original lab findings together. I felt that I would be procrastinating at that point if treatment was delayed any longer.

I was depressed, but not for long. My sister Nancy was scheduled to come and visit with me. She wanted to be with me for the start of my chemotherapy. My Mother’s ear pulling practice came to mind; the roots of my humility. I came to the conclusion that I was not more special than all the critically ill cancer patients that the Texas doctor was busy with. I rationalized and became glad!