My husband Pete, who’s an editor, has always been good at metaphors. He does him self proud a couple nights ago, while we are all sitting at dinner.
“So you know Mommy’s going to start chemo soon?” he says.
The kid pushes her ramen noodles around in her bowl. She would live completely on starch if we let her.
“Well, you know when you put a blue sock into a load of whites? What happens?”
“The blue from the socks gets all over the white stuff.”
“Right. Then what do you do to get the blue out?”
“You use bleach.”
“Right. And do you bleach some things, or everything?”
“Everything. Except the sock!”
“Right. Well that’s kind of what’s going to happen to Mommy. They’ve taken the sock out, the cancer. But they want to make sure that none of the blue stays inside her. So they’re going to use strong drugs, kind of like bleach, to clean her whole system.”
“OK,” the kid says. “Can we talk about my day, now?”
I’ve never thought about myself as a load of laundry, but it works.