When Should a Parent Tell Their Offspring That Other Parent is Fatally Ill?

[jbg]

I didn't know whether this fit into psychology, this forum or some other forum or existing thread, so here goes.
Roughly 50 years ago, on December 15, 1972 (also a Friday) I was a 15 year old high school sophomore. I came home from school that icy day, hoping that the Holiday concert I was due to perform in wasn't going to be snowed or iced out.

My father had had a rectal cancer re-sected in late August 1971. After a promising start he began developing pains in July 1972. He had a liver scan and his doctor flat-out lied to him about the results; they told him it was "clear." While he had his good days, many days were increasingly painful by October. My doctor said he told my mother the outlook and at some level I think he was telling me the truth. When he gave my mother a surprise party on November 7, 1972, her 40th birthday, I think she was pretty sure it was near the end, though he still went to work in NYC every day.

He had another liver scan on November 24, the day after Thanksgiving. His doctor told my mother that he was close to death, though that day he felt well enough we even talked about his returning to the ski slopes that winter. His last day of work was December 8; he was checked into New Rochelle Hospital on December 11, a Monday. One of the doctors there told my mother "don't you think it's time you told your son"?

I had done a lot of library reading about the disease. In February 1972, about six months before he became obviously sick, we were on vacation with my family in Barbados. I went to the night club myself to listen to calypso music. I struck up a conversation with a doctor who explained the likely, or inevitable course of the disease. He said, in simple English, there was no way of "getting it all" in an operation for that kind of cancer and the main hope was that recurrence occurred later rather than sooner.

When I came home from school on December 15, 1972 she tried to be indirect. It didn't work, since I knew from my research the grave outlook for his disease. I insisted on calling his doctor, since the lack of candor seriously bothered me. He told me he had told her in October 1972, but that he knew from before the 1971 operation my father was finished. I called my cousin in another state, who confirmed that I had read the literature correctly. That night, since my mother didn't feel up to driving, I took a cab to the High School to play at the concert. It was too icy to bike the six or so miles.

I wanted to tell my father what his fate was to be. My mother would not permit me to do that. My father died on January 5, 1973, exactly four weeks later.

The question I throw out there is, in that kind of situation, when should a son or daughter know what's going on? I did my own reading and came to my own conclusion. Thoughts?

 

[exchemist]

I didn't know whether this fit into psychology, this forum or some other forum or existing thread, so here goes.
Roughly 50 years ago, on December 15, 1972 (also a Friday) I was a 15 year old high school sophomore. I came home from school that icy day, hoping that the Holiday concert I was due to perform in wasn't going to be snowed or iced out.

My father had had a rectal cancer re-sected in late August 1971. After a promising start he began developing pains in July 1972. He had a liver scan and his doctor flat-out lied to him about the results; they told him it was "clear." While he had his good days, many days were increasingly painful by October. My doctor said he told my mother the outlook and at some level I think he was telling me the truth. When he gave my mother a surprise party on November 7, 1972, her 40th birthday, I think she was pretty sure it was near the end, though he still went to work in NYC every day.

He had another liver scan on November 24, the day after Thanksgiving. His doctor told my mother that he was close to death, though that day he felt well enough we even talked about his returning to the ski slopes that winter. His last day of work was December 8; he was checked into New Rochelle Hospital on December 11, a Monday. One of the doctors there told my mother "don't you think it's time you told your son"?

I had done a lot of library reading about the disease. In February 1972, about six months before he became obviously sick, we were on vacation with my family in Barbados. I went to the night club myself to listen to calypso music. I struck up a conversation with a doctor who explained the likely, or inevitable course of the disease. He said, in simple English, there was no way of "getting it all" in an operation for that kind of cancer and the main hope was that recurrence occurred later rather than sooner.

When I came home from school on December 15, 1972 she tried to be indirect. It didn't work, since I knew from my research the grave outlook for his disease. I insisted on calling his doctor, since the lack of candor seriously bothered me. He told me he had told her in October 1972, but that he knew from before the 1971 operation my father was finished. I called my cousin in another state, who confirmed that I had read the literature correctly. That night, since my mother didn't feel up to driving, I took a cab to the High School to play at the concert. It was too icy to bike the six or so miles.

I wanted to tell my father what his fate was to be. My mother would not permit me to do that. My father died on January 5, 1973, exactly four weeks later.

The question I throw out there is, in that kind of situation, when should a son or daughter know what's going on? I did my own reading and came to my own conclusion. Thoughts?

My wife and I faced exactly that dilemma with our son, concerning the recurrence of her ovarian cancer. When she first got it, we explained it in terms suitable for a small child (he was seven). When it came back, she was opposed to telling him much, just that she needed more treatment for it, which in fact she did at intervals, eventually for seven years before it got her. He of course was growing up during this time and becoming more aware of what she had. It fell to me to tell him finally, about 6 months before she died, that she was starting to get really ill and would not recover. He knew by then of course, as he is not an idiot. I think probably we should have talked more about it sooner, but it suited my wife to maintain a facade of normality as long as she could, and we went along with it. (She took her last work conference call, from home, a week before she died.) Before telling him, I recall speaking to a nurse I know through church about it. She said "He will know."

The lesson I would draw is that, like you, most children will indeed know, long before the parents can face saying it. Probably the conversation can be had earlier, to clear the air and to prepare a bit. My son's reaction, by the way, was to become more solicitous of my feelings and state of mind. He seemed to grow up a couple of years on the spot. His attitude to her remained unchanged, probably because she had made it clear she wanted it that way.

 

[ChristineM]

Been nearly there... My husband wes diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2017.the children were 11 and 7

We told the children soon after the diagnosis that surgery is often successful but there it a chance that he may not make it.

Luckily the surgery was a success, the cancer was (mostly) removed.

Two years later tests showed the cancer was returning, again we told the children right away.

This time radiation therapy was the way forward. That worked.

As of today he is still clear.

 

[Quintessence]

There are no simple answers to such a question, so instead I find it beneficial to consider context.

Growing up in American culture, I've gotten the impression that Americans as a whole are absolute garbage when it comes to dealing with death. I won't go into the depressing litany of examples that demonstrate this, but it means that most of us have little cultural maturity in handling death, dying, and bereavement. Some are fortunate to have good role models in our immediate surroundings to help us through this cultural deficit. I feel each of us has a personal obligation to stop running away from death so we can be that person for others when the need arises. Doing this helps these sorts of quandaries resolve themselves, for we have the skills and maturity to navigate them (but don't mistake this for saying it will then be easy to navigate).

Beyond that, the nature of a particular interpersonal relationship will end up coloring how death and dying are navigated. Whose wishes are most important to honor right now, and why? What is in someone's best interest, and is that telling you this directly or you making an assumption that you know best? Is what they are telling you clear-minded, or is your knowledge of their character deep and accurate? What will or won't help them in the future bereavement process? At what point might it be wise to work with a specialist, like a psychopomp, priest, or grief therapist? What happens when the other person isn't ready for this conversation and cannot process it? When you make mistakes on how you approach this topic with another, what support will you offer?

 

[Bird123]

I didn't know whether this fit into psychology, this forum or some other forum or existing thread, so here goes.
Roughly 50 years ago, on December 15, 1972 (also a Friday) I was a 15 year old high school sophomore. I came home from school that icy day, hoping that the Holiday concert I was due to perform in wasn't going to be snowed or iced out.

My father had had a rectal cancer re-sected in late August 1971. After a promising start he began developing pains in July 1972. He had a liver scan and his doctor flat-out lied to him about the results; they told him it was "clear." While he had his good days, many days were increasingly painful by October. My doctor said he told my mother the outlook and at some level I think he was telling me the truth. When he gave my mother a surprise party on November 7, 1972, her 40th birthday, I think she was pretty sure it was near the end, though he still went to work in NYC every day.

He had another liver scan on November 24, the day after Thanksgiving. His doctor told my mother that he was close to death, though that day he felt well enough we even talked about his returning to the ski slopes that winter. His last day of work was December 8; he was checked into New Rochelle Hospital on December 11, a Monday. One of the doctors there told my mother "don't you think it's time you told your son"?

I had done a lot of library reading about the disease. In February 1972, about six months before he became obviously sick, we were on vacation with my family in Barbados. I went to the night club myself to listen to calypso music. I struck up a conversation with a doctor who explained the likely, or inevitable course of the disease. He said, in simple English, there was no way of "getting it all" in an operation for that kind of cancer and the main hope was that recurrence occurred later rather than sooner.

When I came home from school on December 15, 1972 she tried to be indirect. It didn't work, since I knew from my research the grave outlook for his disease. I insisted on calling his doctor, since the lack of candor seriously bothered me. He told me he had told her in October 1972, but that he knew from before the 1971 operation my father was finished. I called my cousin in another state, who confirmed that I had read the literature correctly. That night, since my mother didn't feel up to driving, I took a cab to the High School to play at the concert. It was too icy to bike the six or so miles.

I wanted to tell my father what his fate was to be. My mother would not permit me to do that. My father died on January 5, 1973, exactly four weeks later.

The question I throw out there is, in that kind of situation, when should a son or daughter know what's going on? I did my own reading and came to my own conclusion. Thoughts?

I think honesty is the best policy. One should never prevent the Truth from others especially one's children. Who knows, sometimes children can come up with ideas that can extend a life or maybe make life better with the time left. Lack of communication has never been a good choice.

I have a friend whose doctor told him: "What do you want me to do? You should have been dead two years ago."
I asked my friend: Do you what this is a sign of? My friend did not know. I said it's a sign that you need to find another doctor. Further, if a doctor isn't being honest with you, this is surely a time to find another doctor.

Sometimes doctors aren't always right. It's hard not always knowing what to choose. Let me tell you the cancer stories I have and decide what were the right choices.
Story 1. The true love of my life developed lung cancer and never smoked. The doctors decided to remove a lung. Removing a lung puts great stress on a person. Her immune system was so stressed that the cancer quickly took over the rest of her and she died. Question: would she have lived longer keeping the lung and just getting radiation on the cancer?

Story 2. A friend developed prostate cancer. The doctor put him on chemo. The guy was sick as a dog and miserable. The chemo killed some of the cancer but the cancer that wasn't killed replicated cancer that was stronger. The doctor changed chemo. Once again he was sick as a dog, loosing his hair and throwing up all the time. The cancer finally killed my friend. My question: Would my friend been better off not taking chemo and maybe just getting radiation thereby having a better quality of life in those last days?

I understand the choices are not always easy.

I know mankind is surviving longer in life than they ever had. That is a remarkable feat for mankind. On the other hand, it seems so very many are developing cancer. Question: Is it genetics of old age, chemicals in the food or water, or maybe the pollution in the air that is causing so many to get cancer? I realize cancer is a tough problem, however I think we can do better at least solving some of the problems along the way.

What do you think??

Of course, there is the conspiracy story. They do not want to cure cancer because they make too much money on it. Somehow, I could never believe that since so many families have been at least touched by this.

What do you think??

That's what I see. It's very clear!!

 

[Subduction Zone]

I didn't know whether this fit into psychology, this forum or some other forum or existing thread, so here goes.
Roughly 50 years ago, on December 15, 1972 (also a Friday) I was a 15 year old high school sophomore. I came home from school that icy day, hoping that the Holiday concert I was due to perform in wasn't going to be snowed or iced out.

My father had had a rectal cancer re-sected in late August 1971. After a promising start he began developing pains in July 1972. He had a liver scan and his doctor flat-out lied to him about the results; they told him it was "clear." While he had his good days, many days were increasingly painful by October. My doctor said he told my mother the outlook and at some level I think he was telling me the truth. When he gave my mother a surprise party on November 7, 1972, her 40th birthday, I think she was pretty sure it was near the end, though he still went to work in NYC every day.

He had another liver scan on November 24, the day after Thanksgiving. His doctor told my mother that he was close to death, though that day he felt well enough we even talked about his returning to the ski slopes that winter. His last day of work was December 8; he was checked into New Rochelle Hospital on December 11, a Monday. One of the doctors there told my mother "don't you think it's time you told your son"?

I had done a lot of library reading about the disease. In February 1972, about six months before he became obviously sick, we were on vacation with my family in Barbados. I went to the night club myself to listen to calypso music. I struck up a conversation with a doctor who explained the likely, or inevitable course of the disease. He said, in simple English, there was no way of "getting it all" in an operation for that kind of cancer and the main hope was that recurrence occurred later rather than sooner.

When I came home from school on December 15, 1972 she tried to be indirect. It didn't work, since I knew from my research the grave outlook for his disease. I insisted on calling his doctor, since the lack of candor seriously bothered me. He told me he had told her in October 1972, but that he knew from before the 1971 operation my father was finished. I called my cousin in another state, who confirmed that I had read the literature correctly. That night, since my mother didn't feel up to driving, I took a cab to the High School to play at the concert. It was too icy to bike the six or so miles.

I wanted to tell my father what his fate was to be. My mother would not permit me to do that. My father died on January 5, 1973, exactly four weeks later.

The question I throw out there is, in that kind of situation, when should a son or daughter know what's going on? I did my own reading and came to my own conclusion. Thoughts?

I can understand your mother's reluctance, but she waited too long to tell you. What appears to be even worse to me is that your father did not know. At least that is what I got from your account. It is simply wrong to withhold medical information away from the person that is directly affected by it. At any rate I am sorry that you had to go through with this at such a young age. It is not easy when any of our parents pass.

 

[SomeRandom]

I didn't know whether this fit into psychology, this forum or some other forum or existing thread, so here goes.
Roughly 50 years ago, on December 15, 1972 (also a Friday) I was a 15 year old high school sophomore. I came home from school that icy day, hoping that the Holiday concert I was due to perform in wasn't going to be snowed or iced out.

My father had had a rectal cancer re-sected in late August 1971. After a promising start he began developing pains in July 1972. He had a liver scan and his doctor flat-out lied to him about the results; they told him it was "clear." While he had his good days, many days were increasingly painful by October. My doctor said he told my mother the outlook and at some level I think he was telling me the truth. When he gave my mother a surprise party on November 7, 1972, her 40th birthday, I think she was pretty sure it was near the end, though he still went to work in NYC every day.

He had another liver scan on November 24, the day after Thanksgiving. His doctor told my mother that he was close to death, though that day he felt well enough we even talked about his returning to the ski slopes that winter. His last day of work was December 8; he was checked into New Rochelle Hospital on December 11, a Monday. One of the doctors there told my mother "don't you think it's time you told your son"?

I had done a lot of library reading about the disease. In February 1972, about six months before he became obviously sick, we were on vacation with my family in Barbados. I went to the night club myself to listen to calypso music. I struck up a conversation with a doctor who explained the likely, or inevitable course of the disease. He said, in simple English, there was no way of "getting it all" in an operation for that kind of cancer and the main hope was that recurrence occurred later rather than sooner.

When I came home from school on December 15, 1972 she tried to be indirect. It didn't work, since I knew from my research the grave outlook for his disease. I insisted on calling his doctor, since the lack of candor seriously bothered me. He told me he had told her in October 1972, but that he knew from before the 1971 operation my father was finished. I called my cousin in another state, who confirmed that I had read the literature correctly. That night, since my mother didn't feel up to driving, I took a cab to the High School to play at the concert. It was too icy to bike the six or so miles.

I wanted to tell my father what his fate was to be. My mother would not permit me to do that. My father died on January 5, 1973, exactly four weeks later.

The question I throw out there is, in that kind of situation, when should a son or daughter know what's going on? I did my own reading and came to my own conclusion. Thoughts?

Sorry for your loss

My father had cancer (not entirely sure what kind it was.)
He was given six months to live when he was first diagnosed. Through sheer stubbornness and medical intervention, he lived for a further 15 or so years.

I pretty much grew up in the oncology ward. In some ways I became desensitised to it all at a young age. I think though it haunts me in others. Even if I can’t articulate how.

I knew my father was sick and he had good days and bad. Sometimes he would end up in the hospital. It became something of a routine, really. So I don’t know if I truly fully understood the actual reality happening. Like the full weight of it, I mean. Because he’d always get better
And partially because my father was an extremely proud man who was loathed to show weakness in front of others. Especially women and children. And he would purposely shield his pain from me as often as he could
He was progressive in many ways but he also had some very old fashioned ideas of masculinity deeply entrenched in him, I guess.

I think honesty is the best policy. I don’t remember my parents actually telling me my dad was terminal. Until he was actually on his deathbed. Like literally
But that might have been because all the treatments usually worked. And he usually outlived various predictions the doctors gave him over the years
(Although this one time they burnt him badly with Chemo. They wanted to speed up the process and put him through it at a dosage that was pretty harsh. The hospital very quickly “cleaned him up” afterwards. Likely fearing a lawsuit from us.)

Kids should be given time to prepare themselves. They often can’t because not even adults can really. But it’s better to be honest I think. Even at a young age

 

[Brickjectivity]

I didn't know whether this fit into psychology, this forum or some other forum or existing thread, so here goes.

I found this:
How Children Understand Death & What You Should Say

It says:

"infants and toddlers do not understand death, but they can feel what their caregivers are experiencing....Preschoolers see death as something temporary. Their misconception is reinforced by cartoons...Because young children are concrete thinkers, seeing things exactly as they appear and hearing things literally, it is important that they are told about death in simple, clear language. Do not use euphemisms...School-aged children begin to understand death as a final event but may not understand that it is universal....Adolescents understand death on the same level as adults, but they may be resistant to expressing any emotions about it...."​

If you aren't familiar with it: read about child development and theories of personality in children and ways of strengthening children's sense of identity.
Helping Children Develop a Positive Identity

 

[jbg]

My question: Would my friend been better off not taking chemo and maybe just getting radiation thereby having a better quality of life in those last days?
I understand the choices are not always easy.

I incline toward less aggressive treatments for brain, lung, pancreatic and similar cancers. For colorectal, I would go for one surgery and then cut the treatments. Death by primary colorectal can be particularly horrible. For that reason they did another removal on my Dad about 3 and a half weeks before he died to avoid that excruciating end.

I know mankind is surviving longer in life than they ever had. That is a remarkable feat for mankind. On the other hand, it seems so very many are developing cancer. Question: Is it genetics of old age, chemicals in the food or water, or maybe the pollution in the air that is causing so many to get cancer? I realize cancer is a tough problem, however I think we can do better at least solving some of the problems along the way.

What do you think??

My view is that the endless prolongations are mindless. Doing cancer surgery on someone in their 90's? Really. I think the aim of making life endless has blindly taken over from other objectives.

I can understand your mother's reluctance, but she waited too long to tell you. What appears to be even worse to me is that your father did not know. At least that is what I got from your account. It is simply wrong to withhold medical information away from the person that is directly affected by it. At any rate I am sorry that you had to go through with this at such a young age. It is not easy when any of our parents pass.

The silver lining was that my Mom met my stepdad almost immediately and they married 1 1/2 years later.

Back in what must have been late 2006 I took my stepfather of more than 30 years out to see the movie "Flags of Our Father." He had fought in WW II, in North Africa and I believe Europe. That was a major part in our almost lifelong bond. I believe, but am not certain, that I got the book from his shelf. I may have purchased it as a holiday or birthday gift. His life in many respects echoed that mantra of decency, integrity and kindness that I have cherished while he was alive and for the more than six years since his passing.