I’ve know cancer for almost a year and half now, and it was harboring itself in my body years before that. I was diagnosed one month after my wedding, so I don’t know much about being a wife without cancer. My husband, Jeff and I were together for years before we were married, so I do know Jeff before cancer. Our son, Owen, was 10 months old when I was diagnosed, so I now know less of half of his life without cancer. That number will continue to shrink, the older he gets. And my wedding anniversary will always be very close to a remission anniversary.
I started thinking about this when I went to my doctor this week and had to scramble to find childcare for Owen. Jeff suggested that we just take him to the appointment. Owen has been on the sidelines while I recover from surgery, ingest radiation or just breakdown and cry—and for the latter he always comforts. I didn’t want to bring him to the front lines. I would be harder for me than for a 2-year-old who just wants to play on the scale at a doctor’s office.
It would be hard to see my 35 inch toe head bounding around during the appointment.
I am grateful for a friend who had Owen over for a play date with his best 2-year-old gal pal—doing things that 2-year-olds should do. Not accompanying his mother and father to talk about cancer. Childhood should to be protected if and when it can. Not sheltered completely, but protected.