Persistent Anxiety of Childhood Cancer Survivors When I was in the third grade of elementary school, I developed osteosarcoma at the base of my right foot. In the initial surgery plan, amputation of the right leg was also considered, and at the time of cancer notification before surgery, I also experienced explanation of amputation of the right leg and confirmation of approval of amputation. I lost my word to the announcement, which was extremely heavy for me, who was only 10 years old. I was born in this world, and in just 10 years I have to cut off a part of my body to live. Yes, I could calmly understand it about a week after that day, before the surgery.
My parents asked my doctor's teacher. "That's terrible. Do you tell my child?" Before notifying me of cancer, only my parents had been informed by my doctor about my condition and the details of the surgery. I didn't know what "amputation of the right leg" meant, even on the day of surgery. "There is nothing that should be" "What does it mean to lose a leg?" "What should I do if I lose my legs?" No matter how much I thought about it, I felt like I couldn't reach the answer forever. I wasn't given time to ponder it. And, of course, I didn't come up with the answer. Childhood cancer survivors lack time to organize their thoughts on their future lives by carefully understanding and understanding their critical situation. For childhood cancer survivors, major procedures and treatments such as surgery can proceed so quickly that they get lost on the road after surgery.