Michael Has Cancer

“Michael has cancer.” My three younger children instantly burst into tears as my words hit them like a freight train. It was the evening of Michael’s diagnosis. At this point, he and Sarah had finally been admitted to a room in the pediatric cancer ward on the 7th floor of Mott after spending approximately twenty four hours in the Emergency Room. Earlier in the day, Sarah and I had made the decision for me to go home and pack all six family members with a week’s worth of clothes and necessities.

My younger three children were staying with my parents, and at my request, were blissfully ignorant of what was really going on with their older brother. We had reached out their school’s leadership to keep them abreast of what was going on. But we had explicitly asked that nothing be said to the student body, because we didn’t want our kids to hear the news from a teacher or classmate. To the leadership’s credit, they have been nothing but supportive and understanding during this process and honored our wishes.

After packing everything up and taking care of the logistics of being unexpectedly out of town for a week, I drove to my parent’s house, begging God for the grace and wisdom that I needed to break the news to my younger children as gently as possible. I arrived a little after 7:00 PM. My mom met me at the door, and after briefly saying hello, I went downstairs to the family room where the kids and their grandpa were watching tv.

My children greeted me warmly, and after exchanging hugs and kisses, and briefing hearing about their day, I looked them in the eyes and said, “I need to talk to you about Michael.” They knew that he had been taken to the emergency room the previous day, and that he had been sent to Ann Arbor “for more testing.” This was not necessarily alarming news to them as my younger son had been at Mott before for testing and treatment of what ended up being a relatively minor health condition.

Now all three of them were fixed on me, waiting for my next words. “We got the results back from Michael’s tests. And I need to tell you that it’s a little scary, but He’s going to be ok. Michael has cancer.” All three children instantly burst into tears. They are old enough to know that cancer is life-threatening, and at the very least, life-changing.

Of all my children, my oldest daughter is perhaps the one most like her daddy. Through her tears she said, “I knew something was seriously wrong with Michael on Tuesday! And I woke up this morning thinking Michael had cancer!” I too, have unexplained premonitions at times that turn out to be accurate. However, I had not seen this particular situation coming. The four of us formed a group hug and cried together.

And then I tried to encourage them. I told them that Michael had the best doctors helping him. I reminded them that their Gigi and Nanna had both beaten cancer. I told them that God has known about this since before Michael was born, and that God has a perfect plan for his life. I told them that this is the best kind of leukemia a person could have. (Apparently my nine-year old latched on to that one sentence and repeated it to anyone who would listen to her at school the next day). I reminded them that we could trust God to take care of Michael. These words calmed their spirits, and we were able to enjoy a little bit of time together before I headed back to the hospital.