To share or not to share? That is the question parents face any time there’s news in the family, good or bad. Some believe that honesty is always the best policy. Others, like me, think it depends on a host of factors: the kids’ ages, how long-term the problem is, and whether it's more beneficial or more harmful for them to know all the details.
My kids were 1, 3, 5 and 7 years old when . I was 34 and opted for the procedure to avoid getting the breast cancer that killed my mother and her mother in their 40s. I’d also recently learned that I was a , which gave me an even higher chance of being diagnosed.
The nine-hour surgery, which included a reconstruction from my stomach fat and muscle, would require a four-night hospital stay and a lengthy home recovery. All my kids knew about my breasts at that point was that they were a 24-hour diner for infants. I decided on this explanation: “Mommy is going to have an operation on her tummy so she can stay healthy.
” Their aunts, uncles and my in-laws, along with my friends, would step in to take care of them until I was back on my feet. “And when I come home, I’ll be sitting in a special chair until I’m better and you guys can take rides on it with me!” I was referring to the La-Z-Boy I’d live in until my body could straighten out in a bed. My kids had no follow up questions other than, “Will Grandma make us meatballs and spaghetti?” Well, was easy, I thought.
Soon after my return home, my surgeon called with s.
