Mommy, Is Cancer Like A Germ?

I love children's questions -- especially those that come from my own child. Really, they get it more than we think and they get it on levels that are so observant and so connected.

The weeks before my mastectomy I ordered several breast cancer books on amazon that were geared toward young children. These weren't the only books we read over the weeks -- we read so many others as well related to either curriculum or areas of personal interest (his favorites are Lego building types of books as well as Star Wars and Indiana Jones). When we read the cancer ones, we also talked about these. Sometimes he was just quiet, sometimes he asked lots of questions.

The day before my mastectomy my son and I did our last run together before my running downtime (doctor said I'll not be able to run for about 3 months). The way we do our run is he runs about 1/2 mile to a mile depending on how he's feeling. Then he jumps into a jogger stroller where I run and push the stroller and we talk. On this particular run -- on the day we talked about George Washington's upcoming birthday -- we ran to the market to pick up some items. About half way there he asked a random question -- random in that it was not related to what we were talking about before. He asked, "Mommy, is cancer like a germ?"

Aside from the wonderful opportunity to talk about cancer, my son showed me in his question that he gets germs! All those requests to use hand sanitizer and wash hands have sunk in! So proud!

I said "Wow, I never thought of it like that -- that is a really good comparison. Yeah, it's kind of like a germ. But it's not contagious."

He asked "But the germ is not a good one, is it?"

I said "No, it's not. You're right. It's kind of like... inside my body, I have all these small parts called cells. The cells are like all these different people ... and one of these people within my body has this germ. It then spreads from one person to the next ... and before you know it, there's this whole group of people within my body that are sick from that same germ. And when this germs affects a whole group of people in Mommy's body, then that group doesn't work anymore. The only way to stop the germ...the people in body...the cancer  -- in Mommy's case -- is to get it out so that no more people in my body are affected AND so that no more parts stop working."

He said "So that's what surgery is?"

I said "YES! You got it! Surgery is the way to get rid of this germ inside Mommy's body."

He said "Is it like a battle, too?"

I said "YES! And the good people are trying to get rid of the bad people like in Star Wars or ..."

He said "...like George Washington with the people who wanted to take away our rights?"

I was just tickled pink where this conversation was going. "Yes, sweetie, that is such a great connection. George Washington is the leader leading his troops in defense of our country."

He said "Mommy, will the surgeons take care of you like the way George Washington took care of his people?"

I wanted to both cry and smile from cheek to cheek. "My surgeons are going to take care of Mommy the same way George Washington took care of his troops and his people."

This was the conversation between me and my 7 year-old son that I recorded in memory the day before my surgery. Among the many many things I took in my memory to that morning of surgery was this particular  conversation along with some poems we both memorized together a few years ago. One was from the book called A Children's Treasury of Poems. The Poem is called "I Love My Books." It goes like this:

I love my books,

They are the homes

of queens and fairies,

Knights and gnomes.

Each time I read I make a call

On some quaint person large or small,

Who welcomes me with hearty hand

And leads me through his wonderland.

Each book is like 

A city street

Along whose winding

Way I meet

New friends and old who laugh and sing

And take me off adventuring!

Another poem I brought in memory to my surgery is called "Keep a Poem in Your Pocket." This was one of our favorite poems because we did this with tangible items -- his toys -- where we got all the visual items to show the poem as we narrated. He loved doing poems this way -- it was play with a purpose that we'll both never forget. And with Mommy going into surgery... it was a good connection to that memory, to my child. Here is the poem:

Keep A Poem In Your Pocket
By Beatrice Schenk de Regniers

Keep a poem in your pocket
And a picture in your head
And you'll never feel lonely
At night when you're in bed.

The little poem will sing to you
The little picture will bring to you
A dozen dreams to dance to you
At night when you're in bed.

So - -
Keep a picture in your pocket
And a poem in your head
And you'll never feel lonely
At night when you're in bed.

Stories of all kinds are great ways to share a moment. From germs to "George", my son showed me through his questions that he got the reality of my situation by latching on to those tangibles he remembered from stories. And, these tangible moments -- along with positive thoughts and prayers -- are ones that also contributed to a peace I experienced on surgery morning.