I can put up with the medical aspects of cancer treatment: the pinch from needles to draw blood or infuse drugs into me, the noisy MRI and other scans for which I must stay perfectly still for long periods. I can deal with the outsized bills and confusing insurance statements for the many tests and treatments. And I can put up with the pitying looks people give me when I tell them I have cancer. What got me was having to tell my children -- Alex, who’s 14, and Stella, just 11 -- that I have a particularly dangerous form of cancer. It was by far the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.