A 6-year-old boy really shouldn’t have to be told that his mommy has breast cancer (age-appropriately, of course).

He shouldn’t have to face the thought of his mom losing her hair. *sigh* I had put a call into Dr. Smart Cookie on Sat. because Nate had been acting out — obviously he had been feeling the tension around the house and we knew that we had to tell him something and soon. Dr. SC has been on vacation so I left a message on her voice mail hoping that she would check it and help me out with this onerous task. Things were getting to the point where we just couldn’t wait any longer.

Anyways, as she went over ways to tell Nate, things I should include when I told him and I mentioned telling him that I would be losing my hair, she said that knowing Nate, he might actually think that would be something funny. So when I told him the other night — which was a spontaneous decision that came about because Frank started telling his brother, John over the phone with Nate in the same room, “We have some bad news . . . . ” So I took Nate by the hand and into our bedroom and started talking about how I have something called breast cancer and what it means and that the doctors are going to be working very hard to get rid of what’s in my breast that’s not supposed to be there.

He asks, “If they can’t get rid of it, are you going to die?” The thing here is that I can’t make promises to him that I can’t keep so I simply stress so him that the doctors are going to do everything that they can to get mommy well. That it doesn’t hurt. That no matter how I feel, he’ll always be taken care of by someone. If Mommy isn’t feeling well, then Daddy or someone else.

And then I mention the hair loss, thinking he might possibly be distracted by that.

Well, he was distracted by that. But not in a good way.

He was horrified. He moved away from me, off of the bed. In fact, he shrunk beside the bed like he was hiding from me and said that he didn’t want to see me bald, ever.

I told him that it wasn’t going to happen right away, that I would get a wig and one that looks as much like my own hair as possible, that I would wear it around him all the time, that I would be careful that he wouldn’t see me without hair.

He asked if when I go to buy a wig, the people will think I’m a monster.

Later that night, as Frank and I put him to bed, we tried to reassure him. I told him that I’ll always be the same person, no matter what kind of hair I have. I tried to make it humorous and he even laughed with me. If I have long purple hair, clown hair, broccoli hair . . . . he came up with a lot of silly things himself. We laughed, we talked seriously. I thought it was better.

Then tonight, he didn’t want me to leave at his bedtime and tried to hang onto me. It nearly split my heart in two, but as Dr. SC said, we have to try to keep the discipline consistent with what we have been doing, which, to be quite honest, is very very difficult. But we’re trying. So I left his room with him wailing,

Mommy, don’t go. Mommy, don’t go.

I can’t stand it as I walk away.

Frank’s nerves are shot and he goes back and tries to deal with Nate. Nate rages and tears down his beloved bed tent.

I can’t stand it. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it and I go into his room. I ask him if he’s scared and he says yes. I tell him that I’m scared some too (Dr. SC said admitting that Frank and I are scared sometimes too is fine) and he said that he’s mostly scared of when I’m going to lose my hair. He said that I’m going to become a scary, old person that he won’t know.

My heart breaks all over again as I try to reassure him that I’ll be the same person. He keeps saying that I won’t be, that I’ll be a scary old person that he won’t know.

I help him put his bed tent up and I hug him for a long time and tell him how much I love him. He tells me he loves me too.

I leave his room crying.

I say to Frank, “6-year-old boys shouldn’t have to go through this.”

I hate that my precious little boy has to feel afraid because of my cancer.

I hate cancer.

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