"Mommy, stop talking!"

Yesterday, Tessa and I dropped in on our neighbor Mira and her son briefly so that I could tell Mira about the conference, and try to share some of the inspiration that the stage IV women (in particular) gave me. Mira and I were talking about breast cancer, which isn't particularly unusual given our situations, and we were being very positive about it since both the kids were listening.

Tessa got very rude, insisting "I want to go home!" "Stop talking!" "BE QUIET!" and whining and complaining and interrupting. We really didn't talk for very long, so I was quite disconcerted by Tessa's rudeness; she has trouble with interrupting but in general I find her to be a polite child, and this was over the top and I was feeling quite frustrated with her.

When we walked home, I started asking her questions.
"Tessa, does it bother you when I start talking about breast cancer?"
"Yes."

"How do you feel when I talk about breast cancer?"
"Sad."

"Do you feel angry?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I feel sad and angry and I don't like breast cancer."

"Are you worried about anything?"
"Yes."
"Can you tell me about it?"
"I don't like breast cancer. I don't like chemotherapy. I don't like it when you're sick. It makes me feel sad."

"Are you worried it's going to come back?"
"Yes."

And there you have it. This is the truncated version of events, hitting the major points. Of course I tried to talk further abou it further with her, offering reassurances and assuring her that her feelings were okay and that she could talk to me about it; trying to let her have these horrible emotions and to acknowledge her feelings, while at the same time reassuring her that I will probably be okay and that the doctors take good care of me and I did SO much work to make sure that the cancer doesn't come back. She listened, asked just a few questions, and then changed the subject. When I gently tried to ask her more questions, she changed the subject again. She is sick to death of breast cancer. Not quite four years old, and she's an expert on cancer treatment. THIS makes me sad and angry.

But she's smart. And she knows that "probably" isn't a guarantee, and it frightens her. All she knows how to do is yell "Stop talking!" and hope that it will go away.

I need to walk the line between encouraging her to be in touch with her feelings, and allowing her some peace from breast cancer conversations. I'm not at all sure how to do that, but I'm trying. I need to reassure her that I will be well, without lying; I can't make promises. I wish more than anything that I could promise her to stay well.

I held her tight, cradling her in my lap like a baby. I told her that I loved her 100 times.

I need to show her, every day, my good health and that I am well. And I need to pray that I stay that way.

Love,
K