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Being Cancer Mom (she’s like Super Mom, but on the couch)
When I was 32 years old, I became pregnant for the first time. I have always wanted to have kids, but seeing as how I was getting “old” and had been through a divorce a year or so earlier, thought it may never happen. Then I met my husband Chris in 2007, and immediately got pregnant with my son Riley. I was overjoyed! Never did I think I could love someone so much as I did that little munchkin. My joy at being a mother made me long for another child, so when Riley was 9 months old, in January of 2009, I became pregnant again. Things were a little more complicated this time around. I had gestational diabetes, so my go to drug of choice, chocolate, was off limits. I was super tired. I was achy. I attributed all these things to being pregnant again so soon after having a baby, plus the added stress of a 1 year old running around the house.
In July, 2 months before I was due, I found a lump in my breast. Not terribly big, but it was there. I showed my OB/GYN, who examined it manually and declared that it seemed triangular and it was probably a blocked milk duct. She advised me to put hot compresses on it, which I promptly forgot to do. Two months later, my little man Eli was born. I was super stoked, but super exhausted, and had a fairly rampant case of postpartum depression to boot. So when I went for my 6 week checkup after having him, never once did I even think to mention that the lump was still there. And never once did they ask about it.
Fast forward another year (!) to my annual checkup... the lump is still there. The alarmed look on my OB/GYN’s face did nothing to alleviate my anxiety about it. It’s now been a year and a half since the lump presented itself, and it’s begun to grow and cave in my nipple area a bit. They sent me for a mammogram and ultrasound, then a biopsy and PET scan. All showed cancer... EVERYWHERE. My skeleton was riddled with tumors. I was devastated. My thoughts immediately went to my boys, who were 1 and 2 at the time. Would they know their mother at all? Would they remember my laugh, my sense of humor, my fits of anger? Would Chris remarry and the boys think that this “new” mom was their mother, the one who carried them lovingly in her belly for 9 months singing to them? I just couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t.
Having had the BRCA genetic test done, I found out that I do indeed carry the BRCA 2 mutation. So now not only do I have myself to worry about, but my family as well. In my mind, I just kept thinking, “what have I done?” I decided then to have my breasts and ovaries removed to give myself a fighting chance. I had 16 rounds of chemo to stave off the monster. When I realized that my hair was falling out, we had a head shaving party and let my boys cut my hair off so it seemed like a fun time rather than a scary one.
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| Stock image. Photo credit www.candygibbs.com |
They loved it! To this day they ask if they can do it again (hopefully not, but realistically it’s probable).
We just try to live one day at a time as a family, and take things as they come.
How does this affect the boys you might ask? Well, they’ve never known anything different. They’ve grown up knowing that Mommy goes to the doctor a lot, and sometimes has to have stuff done like surgeries to help the doctors fix her. They know I take my meds every day. They don’t really know what cancer is, per se, but I’ve explained to Riley when he asks that Mom has something inside her that’s messed up, but that it isn’t something he can catch, and we can still hug and give sugars all the time. I’ve learned to appreciate little things that most people take for granted... the first day of Kindergarten, first lost tooth, first “girlfriend”. I’m hoping to see a first date, first dance, weddings, and grandkids, but know realistically that it isn’t likely. As my boys grow up, I try to make life memorable. I am relieved that I’ve lived as long as I have, so I know they’ll have some memory of me now (they’re currently 5 and 6).
It’s difficult sometimes knowing that I can’t do all the things “normal” moms can do. I can’t run in the yard with them for more than a minute or two without being completely exhausted. I suffer from serious fatigue, so much so that my patience is nil, and I’m known to yell at any given time, completely hurting their feelings. I hate that this is the life they’re living, and hate that they now have to worry if they have daughters that they too will get this shitty disease.
Please let there be a cure soon so this legacy I’ve imposed on them ends.
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