How dressing like Spock helped me and my daughters survive my cancer The following day the girls were at school and I was in a whirlwind of biopsies and appointments. We knew that I would definitely have to undergo a mastectomy of my left breast so I was booked in for surgery a week later. I was only 44 years old, and had lost my mother to breast cancer six years earlier, and a very dear friend just three months earlier; how on earth were we going to tell our girls without frightening them when we were so terrified ourselves? Mr Gui reassured me, explaining I was not my mother, he was not my mother's surgeon and he would do everything he could to help me fight this. I decided the best way was to break the news gently to the girls was to tell them as much of the truth as I thought they could handle. However, do not underestimate the intelligence and sixth sense of your children, no matter what age they are. They carry a strength within them so much stronger than adults, due to their innocence and honesty. I began by not mentioning the word cancer, just stating that a little lump that shouldn't be there needed to be removed, so that meant a few days in hospital. They nodded in understanding but I could see they knew there was more to it than what I was telling them. Within a day or two, they must have discussed the situation between themselves, talked to friends and googled some sites. They came into my bedroom and looked me straight in the eye saying: "Mummy, you would tell us if you had breast cancer, wouldn't you? You wouldn't hide the truth from us? I looked at those two earnest faces and knew that I had to say yes. Mia immediately followed with: "So that means you'll have a mastectomy to remove it all, then?" Gosh, they seemed to know it all! They accepted this news almost matter-of-factly, but my husband and I were careful to show them that we were not scared, and that I was going to be taken care of by the best doctors and nurses that we could find. The surgery went as well as I could have hoped; however, I was then given the devastating news that the cancer had travelled to my lymph nodes. This meant that I would now have to face several months of chemotherapy and all the horrible side effects that go with it. Gaining strength from my daughters Those long six months of chemo were when I truly saw how incredibly remarkable my wonderful daughters are. They seemed to know it all before I did. They were more prepared for my hair falling out than I was, and cheerfully told me that it would be fun to see what I would look like bald. The first few sessions of chemo were extremely tiring, and I would find myself torn between utter exhaustion or wild restlessness. Each of my daughters seemed to find her way of being there for me. Mia was brilliant at distracting me with stories from school and acting like there was absolutely nothing strange about having a bald, weird-acting mum. Gracie has inherited the mothering instinct and seemed to know when I needed a cup of tea, a bite to eat, or just have a cuddle. Together, they were such a powerful force that gave me the strength to get through those ghastly months positively and often with a great deal of humour. They took the opportunity to encourage me to have fun with wigs - and not always natural looking ones! I wore red, orange and even a purple wigs, not to mention the wild leopard print scarves and wacky eyelashes. When you are totally bald, it's very very scary. But my girls never once made me feel I was ugly or sick and continually told me I was the most beautiful mummy in the world. I had been a model back in the 1980s, so to them all I had to do was dress up and act as if I was back in front of the camera. We started our game by messing around with different looks on the computer with photoshop. Then, around Halloween, Raymond surprised me by bringing back two Star Trek t-shirts while on a short business trip to New York. To this day, he thinks the best look the girls gave me (with the help of their very creative cousin Kyla) was when they made me up as a bald Mister Spock. For the end-of-chemo party I threw for myself, the girls dressed me up as a flapper. The wonderful thing about my girls is that they didn't let me go out the front door without thinking "you look gorgeous." But when I walked back in the front door, the first thing the girls would say to me was: "you don't have to dress up for us, take off your wig." They didn't make me feel I had to hide the fact In January this year, 18 months after my diagnosis, I had a full body PET scan and it came up clear. I don't think I could have got through the challenges of breast cancer without the support of my husband and my girls. I'm so, so proud of my daughters and will be forever grateful to them for just being them; the most honest, caring wonderful girls a mother could ask for. Suellen Khoury, a full-time mother, lives in London with her husband and daughters. She was treated at The London Clinic