I was on my way to pick up my 10-year-old daughter Freya from a birthday party when I received the news I might have cancer. I said to the doctor, “I don’t have time for cancer,” and he said, “Well, you’re going to have to make a bit of time.”
I was devastated. It felt like the rug had been pulled from underneath me. Everything I’d assumed about my life was gone in that instant. I was going to live this long and happy life, and all of a sudden it was like, “Well, that might not happen.” I literally had to plaster a smile on my face, pick up my daughter and pretend everything was okay until the kids – my son Gordon was seven at the time – went to bed. Then I talked to my husband Scott about it.
I had a series of medical appointments – a CAT scan, a PET scan, a biopsy, blood tests. I had non-Hodgkins lymphoma and my body lit up like a Christmas tree in the PET scan – there was cancer everywhere. I wasn’t sure what to do about telling the kids because it all happened so quickly. When I asked my oncologist, she said, “Don’t lie to them. If you try to hide it, they will pick up whispered conversations and think it’s something worse.” I’m so glad I took her advice.
We sat Freya and Gordon down at the table after dinner, saying, “We have something to tell you.” I struggled to speak without crying, so Scott took over. We’d talked about what we’d say. He kept it simple and we kept to the basics.
We said I had cancer, that I needed to visit the hospital a lot to get better and that I might not be better until Christmas, which was six months away. We kept it open so they could come and ask questions later if they wanted to.
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