The Ass Cancer Chronicles

A common question I get is how I chat about Ass Cancer with our children, Wilder June (3 years) and Cosmo Abbott (almost 2 years).

At first, I didn’t give it much thought – they’re so young, I simply hoped they wouldn’t remember. Slowly, I realized that approach wouldn’t work with them and that the openness with them provided us an opportunity to get closer / build more trust.

When the children came home from school (daycare) the day of the port surgery last week, Wilder saw the bandage and asked what I did to hurt myself. Here’s how the conversation went:

WJ: “Mommy, you hurt yourself.”

Me: “No, I went to the doctors and they put in a port so I can get medicine easily.”

WJ: “Port.”

Noticing her eyes narrowing in question, I responded, “Yeah, so a port is a Robot. The doctors put a robot inside of me right here in my chest. This way, when I go to get the medicine, they give it to the robot inside of me, and then the robot brings the medicine aaaaallllllllll over my body to make me feel better.”

For whatever reason, this made sense, and now we chat about it often.
She has touched the robot, and we talk about what the robot does for mommy, which is rad.

When I came home this last Wednesday from the Ovary Relocation surgery, Steve & I explained to the kids how gentle they needed to be with mommy, showing them the small incisions all over my stomach and how they were already healing. Wilder has since laid with me in bed, and gently pet my stomach, telling me, “You feel better, Mommy. You feel better. You’re tired.”

Kids are smart, man. They know when shit’s off.

I want to respect their part in this journey as much as my own, and keep them in the loop whenever possible. I don’t shy away from telling them the truth about being tired, needing to rest, my frustration, wanting them to be gentle when touching me, and being a slow ass when we walk the neighborhood. And, they’re getting it.

For anyone out there trying to chat with their kids about similar stuff, you’ve got this. You know your kids. Lean into that shit, and figure out a way to clue them in and take them along for the ride that’s appropriate. Allow them to help and feel helpful.

Bums away, bitches,

Kirsten