We stood in the kitchen. My daughter excitedly told me about her school day, which happened to be abnormally interesting, as she claimed every day to be. I watched her attentively, bracing myself for what I was to tell her.

I didn’t want to say it.

I had debated whether or not to tell my children since my hospital visit this morning.

Unbeknownst to them, I had spent my morning in those hospital walls, not as the nurse that I am, but instead as a patient.

I nodded and smiled as my daughter’s story seemed to conclude.

This was the perfect time.

Time to execute my perfectly rehearsed reveal.

But… why weren’t the words coming out?

I froze, suddenly unable to speak.

This was a lot more difficult than I had anticipated.

She looked curiously at me, as if expecting me to say something.

I placed my phone down on the table, and the words came tumbling out my mouth.

“I have cancer.”