From the onset of my diagnosis, I told myself that I would try and keep things as normal for the children. And so far, I think I've succeeded. They've seen me stuck in bed a few days after treatments, but as I'm back on my feet soon after, screaming at them like a banshee to pick their stuff off the floor (admit it, all us mothers do), the T household has stayed mainly the same. And I suppose it's helped that I have not let them see my bald patches - I think it would terrorise them too much and may possibly give them nightmares.
However, I find myself in a bit of a dilemma now. With this stupid fatigue, I find that I cannot do the most menial of tasks and will need to rely on my children much more. I found myself getting really cross with them yesterday when they would not listen to me - don't they understand that I'm ill???
According to weird Uncle M (who's very sweetly come from Scotland to manny for the moment as LH is in Sweden) I'm giving the children mixed signals - I want them to go on as normal, yet I want them to understand that I'm ill. I suppose it's true - but isn't there a balance? I'd like their lives to proceed as usual, but possibly with a little more responsibility and empathy, with the realisation that their mother is not in peak health at the moment.
So, we've had words. I've spoken to the children, explained that I need their help all the more as the chemotherapy is finally taking its toll on me. They seem to have understood; so I'm keeping my head under wraps for the moment. No nightmares of mad friars attacking in the night then...