I try so hard to be honest with my 5-year-old son, but blood draws, which he thinks of as “shots,” are just so hard for him. Every doctor’s visit, that’s his first question, “Am I going to get a shot?” and I just want to say no. My husband’s the one who started saying, “It’ll be fine,” but the anxiety that came up later at the appointment was so much worse that I put an end to that pretty quickly. Now I say, “Yes, but just once,” because if I say, “I don’t know,” it just makes him worry.

Find a counselor you click with. Stick with that person until you truly feel some peace about your experiences and strength for dealing with the ongoing stress of treatment or whatever else might come up. I regret that I toughed it out and didn’t recognize the depression I was experiencing for such a long time. I think finding sources of support in a variety of ways at the earliest moment possible can greatly mitigate long-term difficulties in coping.

It was 2 years after my son finished treatment that my depression became severe enough that I recognized it. I actually had a lot of suicidal thoughts and my husband urged me to see a doctor. He started me on Zoloft^® and it has helped me tremendously.

I had my share of temper tantrums. The worst was when my son was having his radiation. I tried to make him eat because it would be so many hours before he could have any more food. He always threw up all over himself and me, several times, every morning. It seemed like we changed clothing at least three times before we even got out of the house each day. I remember one day just screaming at him, “Can’t you even learn how to throw up? Can’t you just bend over to barf?” I really flunked mother of the year that day. I can’t believe that I was screaming at this sick little kid, who I love so much.

I had always taught my children that feeling anger was okay, but we had to make good choices about what to do with it. Hitting other people or breaking things was a bad choice; running around outside, or punching pillows were good choices. But, as with everything else, they learned the most from watching how I handled my anger, and during the hard months of treatment my temper was short. When I found myself thinking of hitting them, I’d say, in a very loud voice, “I’m afraid I’m going to hurt somebody so I’m going in my room for a time-out.” If my husband was home, I’d take a warm shower to calm down; if he wasn’t, I’d just sit on the bed and take as many deep breaths as it took to calm down.

I spoiled my sick daughter and tried to enforce the rules for my son. That didn’t work, so I gave up on him and spoiled them both. He was really acting out at school. What he needed was structure and more attention, but what he got was more and more things. They both ended up thinking the whole world revolved around them, and it was my fault.

It’s hard for parents to learn that saying “No” is okay, especially when there is only one child. One mom told me the other day that it’s easier for her because there are two kids, and if it was just the child undergoing treatment, he’d get away with a lot more, but the sister has to do “X, Y, and Z” and so her brother does, too. But it’s hard to learn to say, “No, you don’t get everything you want when we go to the grocery store,” or “No, you don’t get a new toy every single time you leave clinic.”

I bought my daughter everything I saw that was pretty and lovely. I kept thinking that if she died she would die happy because she’d be surrounded by all these beautiful things. Even when I couldn’t really afford it, I kept buying. I realize now that I was doing it to make me feel better, not her. She needed cuddling and loving, not clothes and dolls.

Four days into Selah’s diagnosis, we were doing anything to keep her happy. Our sweet little 4 year old had turned into a demon child in that short time. Luckily, my very dear friend took me outside into the hallway, pushed me against the wall, and demanded to know exactly what I was doing. I just looked at her and said, “I have no idea.” I just didn’t want my daughter to die and that was my only focus. She then told me I was giving my daughter no boundaries, no behavior expectations, and she had no respect for anyone who walked into the room. Through my tears and our hugs, she assured me that the way we were going, if she didn’t die from cancer, we were going to want to kill her because of the monster we were creating. I am still so grateful that she wasn’t afraid to tell me what I needed to hear.

I realized that I had formed a habit of treating my daughter as if she were still young and sick. I was still treating her like a 3 year old, and she was 7. One day, when I was pouring her juice, I thought, “Why am I doing this? She’s 7. She needs to learn to make her own sandwiches and pour her own drinks. She needs to be encouraged to grow up.” Boy, it has been hard. But want her to grow up to be an independent adult, not a demanding, overgrown kid.

We didn’t have problems with our child with cancer, but his brother (6 years old) really suffered. He would get the flu and sob all night. He would scream that he would have to go to the hospital and that he would die. He also had behavior problems at school. I ended up quitting work because my son with cancer was having trouble making it through the entire school day, and his brother needed some loving attention. Many of the sibling problems cleared up with lots of one-on-one attention.

I try to find some time in each holiday, weekend, or whenever it is just for Christopher and me. No matter how ill Michael is, someone else can cope with it for an hour or two, and nothing is allowed to interfere with that. We still go out, even if it is only Christopher and me at McDonald’s^®. Bottom line is that all mothers have to accept that along with the baby is delivered a large package of guilt, and whatever we do for one we will wish we had done for the other.

But I don’t think you can put one child on hold for the duration of the other’s illness, because the year that Christopher has lost while Michael has been ill won’t ever come again. He’ll only be 11 once, just as surely as Michael will only be 14 once (or possibly forever), and we owe it to our healthy kids to allow them to be just that.

After 12 years living with cancer, I have made my own peace with the fact that I may not be able to prevent or choose what my daughter has to deal with. I can, however, make a difference in how we go through it so she finds peace and comfort.

We have been truly blessed by most of the care she has received. We have felt the compassion of those who have been willing to recognize the feelings of this process as a part of the medicine and were willing to communicate and acknowledge that to my daughter and to us. For her that makes a tremendous difference in how she responds.