When Mommy Has Cancer…

My son was almost 3 1/2 when I was diagnosed, and his little sister was just 5 months old. We were still adjusting to the busy life of a family of 4 and getting everyone’s schedules straight. The day I found out I had cancer was a blur. I specifically remember thinking I would let myself have a pity party for a few hours, but when it was time to get the kids from school- I had to suck it up and act normally. There was still so much to process and so much we didn’t know about my prognosis. I did ok that first night- dinner, baths, and story time as usual. Harrison and I sang his special goodnight song and I rocked Evelyn in her chair. I went to bed early and surprisingly slept like a rock, I’m sure from pure mental exhaustion. But the next morning… the next morning was hard. I woke up to realize the nightmare was actually real- and when I walked into my son’s room to wake him up for school, I lost it. Seeing his worry-free, peaceful, sleeping face and knowing that his innocent world was about to be turned upside down just tore me apart. Especially since it had just gotten rocked by adding a baby sister in the mix.

Enter: mom guilt. Bad.


The days that followed were busy with diagnostic biopsies and scopes. Cancer likes to keep you busy and take over your life right away. Soon, close family and friends began offering to babysit so we could get some rest or sort things out. I know they meant well, but after so many repeated offers, I finally broke down again and cried to my husband- “If one more person tries to take my kids away from me, I’m going to lose my mind!”. I guess I just needed them around to feel normal, to keep distracted amidst all the awful waiting for results. We already had tickets to a baseball game for that first weekend after I found out- and we decided to still go. It was my first lesson in life with cancer-  keep up your normal plans as much as you can. It turned out to be a great day full of distraction and smiles. I told myself from that day on, I would do everything in my power to not let cancer take away from any of their fun childhood memories.


“Hey buddy, Mommy and Daddy have something they need to tell you…”

That was the beginning of the hardest sentence I ever uttered to my son. I had known about my cancer for a few weeks and, after the tornado of events that take place during diagnosis, the plan of action was finally coming together. I was scheduled to have surgery the next day to move my ovaries up out of the field of pelvic radiation so I could start treatment. Now it was becoming real. This was the first physical step towards fighting this cancer, my first scar of many. I could tell Harrison was already sensing something was going on, so I knew it was time to talk with him about it. But how? How do I prepare my sweet little boy for what was ahead, when I didn’t even know the answer myself? How do you assure them everything will be ok, when it very well might not be?

I’ve always encouraged my patients to be honest with their children when talking about cancer and illness, but facing that conversation myself made me question everything. Do we use the “C” word and lay it all out there? Do we just say Mommy’s sick? Do we attempt to hide it from him altogether to protect his innocence? Knowing my inquisitive little boy, we decided to keep it honest and got straight to the facts. We explained that I have a very different kind of owie in my tummy that’s called cancer. I told him the doctors will have to take it out with surgery and I’ll have to take a strong special medicine called chemo that will make me feel pretty yucky. He took the information well, asking appropriate questions for his age. Can I see a cancer owie… does it hurt… is it dark in a surgery… do I have to have a surgery or take medicine too? I answered his questions the best I could, told him I loved him very much, and we switched back to our normal PJ Masks or matchbox car conversations. He didn’t bring it up again until that night as I tucked him into bed- he told me that once I was finished with all my special medicine, I could have a sleep over with him in his boys-only fort, just me and him. And there it was. The moment I knew I had no choice but to beat this. There was no other option, I had to be here for these kids now and for many years to come. I didn’t want to miss one moment.  The thought of leaving my kids without a mother hurts too much to even linger on for very long. Even now, a year and a half later, I have yet to fully process this possibility. I’m not sure I ever will. The first step was to figure out how all four of us can get through radiation, surgery, and chemo while still living our lives.

My goal was to keep things as “normal” as possible for my kids. I nearly immediately called Annie, the child life specialist from my cancer center. We spent a long time talking about Harrison and how he’d coped with everything so far. She explained that “normalizing the abnormal” and maintaining routines/ expectations brings children comfort and a feeling of safety in the midst of illness. Harrison really adjusted well. There was a revolving door of visitors at our home and no normal schedule, there were last minute changes of plans that led to disappointment, he learned when mommy needed to rest and have alone time, he didn’t get to sleep in his own bed for extended periods of time after my surgery, he had to be woken up in the middle of the night more than once to be tossed in a car to bring mommy to the Emergency Department, he had to learn to keep his hands washed and that mommy couldn’t get kisses on the mouth or pick him up, he heard “I can’t do that with you right now” way more than any kid deserves, he witnessed his mom pulling over on the side of the road to throw up on the way home from school, he saw the line up of pill bottles on the bathroom sink; the abnormal became normal- and he was so brave through it all. He proudly brought his stuffed monkey named “Chemo” to school for nap time, he learned about my ostomy and called it a “button”, he would quietly sneak in to check on me as I slept and whispered “sorry you don’t feel good mommy” (once even bringing me some chloraseptic spray he found just in case it would help). He loved to be a helper and feel included, giving me checkups and feeling my chest port through my skin. He loved to visit when I was in the hospital and even got to help me ring the bell at the end of treatment. He went on this roller coaster right alongside us, and I couldn’t be more proud of him.

I am no expert, and every kid is different, but I have learned a lot as a cancer patient and mom of small kids. I know that kids are so resilient, want to feel needed, and love fiercely. I’ve learned that they might not always know how to talk about their fears or what questions to ask, but if you listen closely- you can pick up on what they really need in the middle of all the chaos that being the kid of someone who is ill brings. Another mom who has cancer once told me that this is their story too, and to let them process it in their own way. For us, using play therapy with a specialist was so important for Harrison. He really thrived in that environment and was able to express his fears and learn to cope. It helped me, too-  knowing that he had this resource and getting feedback that he was managing his stress well.

I really hesitated to add this next part because I’m not sure how it will come across. It’s a complex thought for me and I’m not quite sure how to explain it properly. I love both of my children deeply- but you probably notice I didn’t mention my sweet daughter very much above. Mostly because she was so little when I was diagnosed that I didn’t have to agonize over what to tell her or the questions and fears she might have. I just had to make sure all her needs were met and she felt safe. She didn’t know any different. Having a mommy that couldn’t carry her car seat up the stairs, or that wasn’t home sometimes, or that laid down on the floor as she played with her blocks was simply normal. I’m not sure if the thought of this being standard for her is reassuring because she didn’t have to adjust or depressing because of all she missed out on. Here’s the part I’m afraid to admit- I pushed her away. I was so crippled with the fear of dying that I think I unconsciously held her at a distance… just in case. It already hurt too much worrying about leaving my husband and son, the three of us had been going strong for a while. I just didn’t know what would happen- and I think I was just trying to protect my heart as much as I could. I was mad at cancer, mad that it showed up right after I realized my dream of completing my family, mad that it made me stop breastfeeding my baby and left me too exhausted to have those sweet late night bonding moments, mad that everyone else around me had to suffer because of my diagnosis. Don’t get me wrong, I love her deeply and she was a light for me in so much darkness- but I feel like it just took us a little longer. I guess I was protecting both of us- maybe that in itself was a selfless act of love. I don’t have a “favorite” kid, but I do have one that I worry about more. Harrison’s older and will remember more, and he’s just more sensitive overall… Evelyn has been independent and laid back from the start. But- they both need their mom.

Right now, I’m cancer free and we’re back to life as usual- for the most part. There are still moments that take my breath away and they still happen often. “Momma, can we go to Disney World when I’m 10” (I hope I’ll get to go, too). “Momma, when I have kids, I’m going to have a beard” (I so badly want to see the people they become and the families they make). “Momma, do you promise you’ll be my mommy forever” (sigh. I sure hope so, buddy). Even tonight, on Mother’s Day eve- Harrison had a bad dream and needed extra back rubs. And this morning, Evelyn woke up in one of those “I only want my mommy” moods. These moments are just little reminders that nothing is promised. As harsh as that reality is, I truly appreciate this perspective I’ve been given- it makes me realize how special those every day moments really are.

No matter what the future holds, I know my kids will be just fine. They have an amazing father and family support system. They both have huge hearts and bring joy to everyone they meet. They are kind and funny and love to learn new things. I’m certain they will both grow up to make their own beautiful mark on the world… and every day I pray like crazy I’ll be here to see it. sun_pin

P.S. The fort sleep over was even cooler than I imagined.





  1. You are the most amazing young lady I’ve ever met. I have tears flowing down my face right now because so much of what you wrote were the same fears I felt when they told me I was dying. Your comments about pushing your daughter away struck home as well. There is so much other people could learn from your blog, the good, the bad and the unknown. I have to be honest with you, there’s been a number of nights when I stayed up late or couldn’t sleep that I made myself read your blog because it gave me strength and helped me understand so many things. So thank you Lindsay for proving age has nothing to do with understanding that someone younger than my youngest daughter could teach this old dog some new tricks. So thank you for being so strong and helping this old man out. P.S., I sure could use another hug when you have time. God Bless you and know that you’ve made my life wonderful.Love you hun!

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  2. You go girl! I would not change a thing! You did what you thought was right. There is no set rule or direction to go. Keep up the great work as you are one of the best Mother’s in the world! Happy Mother’s Day

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  3. I have been following your blog and could not have said the feelings and fears any better than you did. It has been a year since my diagnosis and I continue to put on a brave face and battle my struggles for the sake of my three daughters. Both of my parents died of cancer when I was very young and the thought of my doing the same has been a constant battle within me. Your fears are my fears as well. I try not to let it show it but it is hard. Having a partner get upset with you and yell at you that they hope you die from this cancer was seeing just how cruel some people can get and it left me wondering if I would be better off having the cancer take ovet. We all have those dark days where we wonder if it is worth if -but we carry on and find the strength to overcome those dark days and look forward to brighter ones. When I went back to work with a smile and a brave face and people think you must be fine now – little do they know the exhaustion and fatigue I feel. They just dont get it. When I have to leave for yet more doctors appointments and tests I hate the “not more time off of work” look I get from colleagues. It makes me feel guilty for being sick and trying to get better and take care of myself. The most devastating words I have ever heard are “you have cancer”. If only they knew how that day changed my life forever, maybe they would understand just a little bit about the struggles that follow and continue to dominate my world. How very much I need someone to hug me and tell me they love me just the way I am and for being strong through all of this -instead of people shying away from me and avoiding me like I may be contagious. Thank you for sharing your story and telling the world exactly how I feel as well. It helps me get through the days to know that I am not alone!!!

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  4. Wowsers, and here I just thought I was doing an assignment for nursing school but got much more than that. Thank You for sharing. Somebody was defiantly cutting onions when I was reading this.

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  5. Was thinking of you today and just came to check on you. (Ignore my username as it’s tied to my WP account and I’m too lazy to change it.) I didn’t realize your kids were so young when you were diagnosed. My SIL was diagnosed with breast cancer at 34 while pregnant with her 5th. I know how affected we all were and that was just a family member. You’re just blindsided, esp. with small kids involved. I’m so glad to see you’re 2 years out and cancer-free now. That’s so good to read!! You don’t have to answer if this is too personal, but did you lose your hair w/ the treatment? I’m only asking b/c it doesn’t look like it. I’m having hair envy from that pic of you by the tub. 🙂 Anyway, I’m very, very happy to see this update and so glad you’re able to enjoy being a mom w/o having that constantly lingering in the background. Wishing you nothing but happiness ahead! ❤

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  6. As I read this I have tears… Lots of them. I am going thru almost the same thing. Diagnosed at 37 in sept of 2016 currently have an ileostomy with a reversal surgery in sept 2018. I have my weak moments, my “why me” moments and every three months I break down with fear. My kids were a little older and I became hard on them, almost mean. My husband would ask why and my answer was “because if I die I don’t want them to miss me” I had to go thru so much to finally get out of it and say “I must live for them.” Some days are harder than others, but I am thankful each day to have had the chance to fight. Thank you for inspiring so many… One day at a time.. wishing you the best and I look forward to reading more updates.

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