How a Preschooler Processes Cancer

I am finding it a fascinating case study to watch how Thomas at almost five years old is processing his medical condition. A child that young possesses little social tact (about anything, right?!) or understanding of subjects not discussed in mixed company or with non-intimates.

Thomas's questions about cancer come at random times which, to his mom or dad, might feel like he is blindsiding us. Adults approach sensitive topics delicately, with foresight and thoughtfulness, even rehearsal. We might tiptoe, "Say, is now a good time to talk about something important?"

Four-year-olds? Not so much!

When Thomas has a question about where cancer comes from, how chemotherapy works, when exactly his hair is going to fall out, he just asks, even if I'm in the middle of a task, even if there are strangers around, even if he is clueless that the query might make his mama start crying, even if anything.

One time our housecleaner was working at the house when Thomas marched right up to her to share that he had a lump in his belly, he had had surgery to have a sample taken, he was going to be taking some medicine to stop the cells from multiplying. Thank goodness my dear housecleaner has been with us for many years now because she was able to simply meet him with a smile and converse as calmly as if he were talking about his latest toy.

Thomas (4) drew a Musketeer

Yesterday evening we were at the family dinner table--with two guests, no less--and this turned out to be the time that Thomas had to review many questions about his cancer and, specifically, his upcoming weekly blood draws to check his blood counts and immune system. Exactly which vein would they be using? Once that was determined, he launched into his treatise on the blood network of the body while everyone ate their tacos.

Thomas (4) drew Goliath being shot by canons.

Then there was the little boys' bath time when Thomas decided to voluntarily show his incision to little brother David (almost 3), after having been rather shy about his incision for three weeks now, only showing his parents and doctors. There we were in the boys' bathroom, two tiny boys naked as jay birds, with the almost-five-year-old showing his abdominal incision and explaining that he has a lump in his belly.

Not to be outdone, his almost-three-year-old brother began claiming, "I have a lump in my belly, too!"

Thus followed a shouting match, "You do not!"

"I do, too, have a lump!" Back and forth they went until I distracted them with rubber duckies.

All of this goes to show that there really is nothing that little boys cannot compete about.

I am glad that the world of oncology is well beyond the time when cancer patients were hidden away in the bowels of the hospital, left to die alone, because there was so much taboo about the disease. Our oncology team is replete with child psychologists and a commitment to honesty. It is advised that the children of all ages have their cancer explained to them to the highest capacity. All the staff in the hospital explain what they are doing to and with these kids, they seek cooperation and consent as often as it is possible to offer, and nobody tricks or lies.

Thus, our sweet Thomas talks about his cancer and all related topics in a frank manner with no clue that it might make others uncomfortable--as it certainly does not make him uncomfortable! If you know us in real life, maybe we will see you around and he'll walk up to you to start chatting about it, too.