So, my kid had cancer recently, and…

One of the odd things about life post-cancer-treatment, I’m finding, is navigating when and when not to reveal what our family just went through to people I don’t know well.

I mean, it was always a little tricky to know how or if to drop the C-bomb. But when Clio was in treatment it was such a big part of our lives that it was hard to avoid. It was part of what we did and who we were, so if the fact of Clio’s cancer was relevant to the conversation, I didn’t shy away from mentioning it. And, obviously, I blabbed about it willy nilly all over the internets.

Now, though, it’s less clear. Is bringing it up worth the explanations and reassurances (“she’s doing great!!”) it requires? Is it worth the potential discomfort for me and/or other people? Do I need to say something about it, or do I want to? And if so, why? (Or why not?)

Anyway, it leads to funny internal dialogues with myself.

Example: Recently, we were at a social event with families of kids our girls go to school with — people we’ve met just this year — and people got to talking about trips they’d taken to Disney World. As you may recall, we also took a trip to Disney World not too long ago — a trip we almost definitely wouldn’t have taken if Clio hadn’t had the opportunity to wish upon a star and alla that.

So I’m sitting there sipping my beer, and something kind of like this is happening inside my head:

Me: Should I join in this fun and entertaining conversation about Disney World that people are having?

Also me: Why shouldn’t you? You guys went to Disney World, right?

Me: Yeah, but I would feel weird talking about it without mentioning that we went with Make-a-Wish.

Also me: Why? You can just talk about the rides and the crowds and whatever else people are talking about.

Me: What crowds? We got to cut all the lines. Our experience was completely atypical.

Also me: Oh, come on. You met characters, you went on rides, you ate the giant turkey legs in Frontierland—

Me: We did not eat the turkey legs.

Also me: Fine, no turkey legs. But it’s not like your trip was that different from anybody else’s when you get right down to it.

Me: Maybe, but it felt like it. I was constantly aware of why we were there, and what the previous year of our lives had been like, and what a blessing it was that we were all there together. I’d feel weird talking about it like it was a run of the mill vacation.

Also me: So feel weird, then. It’s not like you have to reveal every little thing about yourself all of the time, Miss blogger-memoirist-write-about-your-boobs-and-mental-illness-and-Faceb00k-and-Tweet-every-other-thought-that-enters-your-head.

Me: I don’t write about every thought that enters my head.

Also me: Please, girlfriend. I bet you’re even going to write about this internal dialogue.

Me: Did you just call me girlfriend?

Also me: Doesn’t really work, does it.

Me: No.

Also me: Noted.

Me: Anyway, I guess you’re right. It’s not like I have to reveal every detail of my life in every conversation. A gal can have a few secrets.

Also me: Exactly. And it might be nice, actually, right? Part of what’s great about Clio being done with treatment is that cancer isn’t such a constant part of your life anymore.

Me: It’s true. But—wait. What if someone asks where we stayed? Then what am I supposed to say?

Also me: Er… “Some place out in Kissimmee, you can’t remember the name of…?”

Me: Yeah, right. No, see, I’ll have to tell them that we stayed at a resort just for wish families. And then I’ll have to explain. And the whole conversation will come to a screeching halt, and people will feel obligated to say the usual things, and then everyone will stare down into their beers and feel awkward, and I’ll make some joke to try to get the conversation back on track, but it just won’t be the same. And all because I just had to chime in and talk about how, ha ha, our kid cried on Space Mountain, too.

Also me: Hm. You have a point.

Me: See what I’m saying?

Also me: So fine, then. Just listen and smile politely.

Me: But I kind of want to get in on this conversation. I like these people, and it’s a fun conversation. The newlyweds in matching bride and groom mouse ears are annoying! And won’t they think it’s weird that I suddenly got all quiet?

Also me: Don’t worry. They probably just think you’re silently judging them for going to Disney World.

Me: Thanks, you’re a big help.

Also me: Kidding! Sort of.

Me: See, if I knew that they knew about Clio, I could just join the conversation and it wouldn’t be a big deal. But I don’t know. It’s possible they do, through other people in town we have in common. And my website is right there in my email signature, so they might have read my blog. Or if they know about Alastair’s music, they might know…Right?

Also me: Don’t look at me! I have no idea.

Me: Ugh. I think I’m going to have another beer.

Also me: Get me one, too. We can talk about how Elsa cried on Space Mountain.

Me: I still feel terrible about that.

Also me: Hey, at least it wasn’t the kid with cancer, right?

Me: Ha! High five.

Also me: I love you, man.

Me: Uh-oh…

Also me: What?

Me: I thought I just heard someone over there say they don’t vaccinate their kids.*

Also me: Oh, we are going to go drop the shit out of that C-bomb if they did, girlfriend.

Me: Damn right we are, girlfriend.

{SFX – Trombone} Wa wa wa wa

 

See what I mean?

 

*This didn’t actually happen.