Telling my children and family was the hardest part of my experience. –SR

As we move through our days, most people don’t think about their health, but when a medical crisis strikes, it takes center stage. Our weeks are infused with doctors’ appointments, treatment, time off from work, and for some, changes in appearance. Early in the process, we are confronted with decisions about whether or not to tell others about our situation, and how to do so.

You can actively prepare what you want to say to others about your situation. You might choose to tell some people more details than others. That’s okay; remember, it’s your choice. Have prepared responses for questions that might be asked (“That’s not something I want to talk about,” “I don’t know the answer to that,” “I’m confident in my doctor.”).

Telling others at work is a complicated issue for many. Sometimes it’s necessary to take time off from work. When talking to a supervisor, it helps to focus on specifics (such as the time needed for appointments or leave of absence), as it keeps the conversation focused on work, not emotions.

Telling my family was the most difficult part. I did not want them to worry about me. For some crazy reason, I didn’t want to discuss it and was angry about the entire dynamic. It made me feel “vulnerable and old” for the first time in my life. –DP

My mother was dying from the same disease I was just diagnosed with. I briefly considered not telling her about my diagnosis. In the end, I decided to tell her. My friend said it best, “Would you want to know if your son was sick, even if you were on your deathbed?” –LO

My boss had warned “lovingly”’ that she’d fire me if I showed up at work during my treatment, but I convinced her it was good for my mind, body, and soul. –BK

I didn’t want to tell anyone at my work about my cancer and treatment. I didn’t want clients or colleagues to know. I just had to hope I wouldn’t lose my hair. –BS

Cindy’s Journey  What Should I Say?

Sigh. This is going to be hard. What do I say to my kids? They are all in their late 20s and early 30s, independent in all meanings of the word, but they are “my kids.” Funny thing about being a parent — their heights might climb above yours, their paths take different turns, and they might have babies of their own, but no matter how tall, different, similar, or old they are, they are our babies. Our first instinct is to protect. I couldn’t imagine telling them about my diagnosis, particularly since the outcome was so uncertain.

And so, Ben and I talked and talked and talked about what to do. My mother bear instinct was to keep going as if everything was normal, but his logical, steady mind took over, presenting me with the other side, “Don’t you think they would want to know?” He got me there. Yeah, they probably would. We developed a plan on how to tell our adult children.

We decided to call each of them separately. Ben would talk and I would be on the line. We thought calling them would be better than seeing them in person because witnessing their faces as they received the news felt like too much — maybe for them, but definitely for me.

We called on a Sunday night. He told each one I was diagnosed with a blood cancer called multiple myeloma. He explained about the plasmacytomas, the cause of my fractured vertebra, and back pain. He gave them a brief outline of what was to come, including radiation and chemo that would be done locally with Dr. Lee at the helm, but also that we would be going to Boston to see Dr. Anderson, one of the leading experts in the multiple myeloma field. After meeting with Dr. Anderson, we’d know even more.

It wasn’t easy. Ben’s voice cracked with emotion. I could hear and feel the shock in their hearts. I reassured them that I was doing okay and would do what I needed to. We hung up the phone and after the fourth call, I cried.

Featured image courtesy of Alex Vamos on Unsplash.