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" &amp;quot;Which was the one who was shot?&amp;quot; my third grader asked, pointing to a Beatles poster in the waiting area at his brother&amp;#039;s piano lessons. &amp;quot;John,&amp;quot; I answered. &amp;quot;And who&amp;#039;s the other one who&amp;#039;s dead?&amp;quot; he asked. &amp;quot;George,&amp;quot; I replied, hoping he wouldn&amp;#039;t ask how he died. I never thought that explaining cancer to my child would be scarier than discussing gun violence. But that was before I had cancer. &amp;quot;What&amp;#039;d he die of?&amp;quot; he asked, predictably. &amp;quot;Throat cancer.&amp;quot; I tried to sound both emphatic and nonchalant. In other words, not the cancer I had and not all that common. &amp;quot;Oh,&amp;quot; he commented. &amp;quot;He must have sung his heart out.&amp;quot; Great. Now my child \u2013 the one who was in the choir at Christmas and aspires to be his generation&amp;#039;s first American Idol \u2013 thinks you can get cancer from singing. &amp;quot;Actually, no,&amp;quot; I corrected him. &amp;quot;He smoked a whole lotta cigarettes.&amp;quot; I felt like I was letting a fellow cancer sufferer down by placing the blame on him, and yet I was grateful for the anti-smoking cautionary tale. He sat quietly for a while, while I imagined what he was thinking: If smoking causes cancer, and my mom doesn&amp;#039;t smoke, how come she got cancer? I thought about explaining that some researchers and doctors believe that the incidence of my cancer, non Hodgkin&amp;#039;s lymphoma, has increased 70% over the past 20 years, possibly because of exposure to pesticides and chemicals, but I didn&amp;#039;t want to scare him. I&amp;#039;m frightened enough for both of us. I contemplated telling him that my immune system may have been weakened from endometriosis, thereby adding to my risk, figuring that he&amp;#039;d feel relieved because he can&amp;#039;t get a &amp;quot;girl&amp;#039;s disease&amp;quot; like endometriosis. Instead, I took him for ice cream. While he was enjoying his cone, I checked my phone messages at home. My oncologist had called with the results of my first post-remission PET scan. &amp;quot;Jennifer!&amp;quot; he cheered. &amp;quot;I hope you feel as good as this scan looks.&amp;quot; That, I decided, I&amp;#039;d share with my son.   "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/parenting/a22141/talking-about-cancer/>