by Dana-Susan Crews

the beginning...
When I was seven years old, our family left our home and traveled to Houston, Texas where my baby brother was admitted to Texas Children's Hospital's leukemia section. Luke had a rare blood disease called Histiocytosis and had to endure much chemotherapy. It was 1977 and back then leukemia survival rates for children were not very good. About 90% of the children diagnosed died.

My parents told my other brother Andrew (who was five) and me to sit in the den in my grandparent's house in Houston where they told us that our baby brother (18 months old) had a terrible disease. They said the doctors did not give much hope that he would survive. They also said that our family would trust God no matter what. Andrew and I were frightened, but we were glad to know the truth about Luke. You see, even as a child, I had the need to be a part of the fight against this disease. I wasn't a doctor or a nurse, but I was a good big sister. And I helped my brother fight his illness by visiting him in the hospital, kissing his sweet cheeks and playing fun little games with him. I felt like he needed me to make him laugh and that was my biggest job. That feeling of importance helped me to endure the sorrow of having a sick brother. It gave me a role so I wasn't just sitting around feeling sad.

Luke survived his fight against Histiocytosis. He survived the awful treatments. Our family is grateful, but we were all impacted by his sickness and the horror of all those precious little leukemia patients, most of whom did not survive.

My husband was seven years old when his sister was diagnosed with leukemia at age five. His parents told him the ugly truth about his sister's illness too. Over the next year, Bill accompanied Michelle to her hospital visits. He looked on as she went in for radiation treatments. He got angry when children made fun of her for losing her hair. But mostly he cried when, one year after her diagnosis, Michelle's leukemia took her life. It wasn't easy for 8-year-old Bill to lose his sister.


Can Kids Handle Cancer?
Nothing is easy about cancer. It's not easy for grown ups and it's not easy for kids. But the truth about sickness should not be avoided just because it's not easy.

I have known people who have chosen not to talk to their kids about a cancer diagnosis. I do not judge anyone's decision. What you decide to do is up to you. Only YOU know your children and family and what is best for you. I can only say that as a child with a sick sibling, I am glad my parents talked openly with me.

Later when Bill was diagnosed with NHL, because of our background, we decided to tell our children about his cancer. Morgan was five years old and Dylan was three. We knew we would need to prepare them for the many changes about to occur in our family. We had been very athletic and active in all kinds of sports. That was about to change. Bill would likely lose his hair. And a central venous catheter would be inserted, keeping him from doing our family's favorite activity- swimming!

It was difficult explaining cancer on my kids' level, but important. I did not tell them everything all at once, but simply said "Daddy is sick. He has something called cancer." I explained that he would take medicine and that the medicine would make his hair fall out and might make him sick. Although I knew it would be a little scary, I also knew that they would be better off knowing. Ignorance is not bliss! If I had kept it all a secret, they would have been more afraid when suddenly life was different.

We talked openly and honestly with our children about everything they wanted to know. They wanted to know why they couldn't be with their dad when they got sick. We told them he couldn't get colds because his body wasn't strong enough to fight sickness. They wanted to know how the chemotherapy went into his body. We showed them the CVC line and explained how bags of the medicine were connected to it. Eventually (and this was the hardest part) Morgan wanted to know if her daddy was going to die.

Now that's the part we had never actually mentioned. We ourselves were trying to avoid that possibility, so we didn't think much about death, much less tell the kids he could die. "What made you think of that," I asked Morgan.

"I figured it out," she replied, "I know Daddy's sister died of cancer so I thought that probably Daddy will die too." When she looked into my eyes with a tear rolling down her cheek and asked flat out if her dad was going to die, I did what I believe was the right thing to do. I told the truth.

"I don't know," I answered. Of course I explained the good news that not everyone who has cancer dies. I told her that lots of people get better. And I also told her the sad truth that death is part of life- that we all will die someday. She and I held hands and decided to not worry about death, but just to enjoy life right here, right now.

Simple Advice...
I am not an expert in child psychology. I am a mom. The advice I offer comes from my heart as a mommy to two beautiful children whose lives were dramatically changed by their dad's diagnosis with cancer. I chose to tell them about cancer for three reasons...

1. Our lives were about to change and it was unavoidable.
2. They needed to feel like they played an important role in fighting their dad's disease.
3. I don't ever want them to ask me why I didn't have faith in them and their courage. I want them to know I believe in them!

If you choose to talk to your kids about cancer, don't be afraid. Trust your children's strength and tell them you know how brave they are. That will encourage them. That will bless them. That will plant confidence in them that will carry them through the fight against cancer and anything else they must endure throughout their lives.

A friend of mine gave me some very good advice early on. Duirng Bill's battle against cancer, I was teaching pre-school and kindergarten and after a very long, hard day, I found myself in need of a little cry. Not wanting anyone to see (I was trying to be "brave") I walked into the administration office where my friend was sitting behind the desk. I closed the door and fell into her arms. She sweetly said, "Dana-Sue, don't be afraid to let your kids see your tears. They need to know it's okay to be sad."

Eventually, I would learn how true that was. My children had sadness that later I would discover they were trying to hide from me. They talked to my mom about it and said they didn't want me to be sad, so they were hiding their sadness. Well, I suppose if we all try to hide our sadness, we won't be able to lean on one another in times of need.

Our family did not walk about sad all the time when Bill was sick. On the contrary, we were mostly happy. But today I can honestly say that I'm grateful that we learned how to depend on each other in our time of need. I'm glad we were sad together instead of sad alone.

If you're facing cancer (or any other great trouble), don't be afraid to include your children. Allow them the priviledge of facing their fears and growing in courage and confidence.