Like me, my daughter is busy processing everything that has been thrown at us.
I tell her that, if I have chemo, my hair will fall out. I am worried that this will upset her but instead in turns into a game in which we dream up weird and wonderful wigs for me to wear. She is quite excited at the idea of finding a wig shop and helping me choose new hair.
Then she remembers the son of friends of ours who had chemo to treat a brain tumour.
"Will you have to be in bed all the time like him?" she wonders. No, I tell her emphatically. Breast cancer is not like a brain tumour.
"Why do you have to be sick?"
"I don't know. It sucks."
"And in the summer holidays!"
She is not pleased to discover that I will have to stay in the hospital for several days for the operation.
"How will I get to sleep without you?" she demands. But she likes the idea of coming to visit me and bringing me presents. Grapes, I tell her, is the traditional gift but I would rather have chocolate. So she decides to smuggle in chocolate hidden beneath a bunch of grapes.
Then a terrible thought occurs to her. "What if you need the toilet in the middle of the operation?"
I tell her that won't happen because they will put me to sleep. She raises an eyebrow and informs me that I might wet myself in my sleep.
"How embarrassing!" she chuckles. Before I can answer she reaches up an strokes my hair.
"I think you need a wig exactly like your hair looks now," she says and gives me a cuddle.
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