Against the odds

I had lunch with a fairly new friend today, but she's one of those women who you just click with from the start. We initially bonded at the neighborhood pool this past summer, when I spotted her reading a book about my beloved state of Maine and I just had to stop and discuss. From there, a friendship developed and we've become fast friends. Over lunch today, we talked about this Sentimental Sass page and how it got its start. I explained that I initially started it as a way to share my writing on a public platform without the risk of compromising my family's identity and security. And then I told her about the situation that brought it to the forefront, the catalyst for changing the way that I share my pieces. I told her about this particular post that was shared without my permission and that I felt violated by someone presenting my words as their own, without a care to how it would make me feel. Then I told her that I would share that post again soon, as it's one that is very dear to my heart. In this post, I discuss my journey to get pregnant with my son after a series of scary and serious medical setbacks. And with his 8th birthday fast-approaching, it feels worthy of a reboot.

When I got pregnant with my Pup, it was the epitome of ‘Against Medical Advice’. In early 2011, life was anything but certain. I had a brand new cancer diagnosis and my heart was still in shambles from the miscarriage I’d had a few months prior. Handsome Pants had no choice but to leave for 4 weeks in the Nevada desert for a training exercise, leaving me to parent our two year old alone and also grapple with all my many doctor’s appointments. And to make matters worse, my father suffered a massive heart attack and he was facing a long road to rehabilitation. So as I navigated all the appointments and specialists and treatments for my own diagnosis in Texas, my father was fighting for his life in NY. To say life was chaotic and scary would be an extreme understatement.

But my heart wanted another baby. And my soul knew it would happen, even as I was preparing for chemotherapy, and radiation, and the inevitable loss of my fertility. Even as I was having tough talks with reproductive specialists about harvesting and freezing my eggs, and considering gracious offers from my sister and close friends about carrying a baby for me ‘someday’ if we could get me past my current cancer. And even as everything and everyone around me was telling me, ‘Don’t do it’. I’ve always been a rebel, and for some reason this didn’t feel any different than the other whims I’d followed or larks I’d bet on. The only thing that brought me peace in the midst of the crazy was the thought of having another baby. I spent my waking hours praying about it and my sleeping hours dreaming about it.

By March, I was certain it would happen. When HP returned from the desert, I told him I wanted to try to get pregnant. Understandably, he gave me his signature ‘What are you, crazy?!’ look and I conceded that he was right. We prevented pregnancy that month. But I continued to pray and pine for a baby. And as I did, something incredible happened. The tumor on my arm, the one that led to my lymphoma diagnosis, began to shrink. This baffled my team of specialists, but they chalked it up to the biopsies they had performed. They reasoned that the tumor had been disturbed and that’s why it was shrinking. But in my heart I knew otherwise. In the deepest parts of my heart, I took it as a sign. An endorsement from God that I was going to be okay. And nearly 9 years later, I still can’t believe the peace I somehow felt in that logic. Rationally, I should have been terrified. I should have demanded answers about why my tumor disappeared. But spiritually, I was resting easier than I had in a long, long time. I felt God was answering my prayers for another baby. Or at least making a path for it.

In late March, while meeting with my team of doctors, we had a conversation about delaying chemo and radiation in favor of UVB phototherapy. With the tumor no longer present and no blood or lymph node involvement, phototherapy became a viable option. And it would preserve my fertility, which was music to my ears. Still, my doctors didn’t recommend getting pregnant any time soon, but I just couldn’t turn away from the idea. So I gave myself one month. I bargained with God for one month to try to get pregnant, and if it didn’t happen, I’d table it for a long time. And much to my surprise, Handsome Pants went along with it. We tried for a baby.

As it turned out, it wouldn’t take much effort. On my 30th birthday, in the wee hours of the morning in the bathroom of a dear friend that I was visiting in Ohio, I took a pregnancy test. And it was positive. I cried the happiest tears, alone in that bathroom, and then decided to keep the delicious news to myself for a little while. I was so afraid of miscarrying again, so terrified of my cancer going crazy and selfishly, just wanted to savor the moment. I shared the news with HP a few days later when we returned home to Texas and with everyone else when I was nearly halfway through my pregnancy.

Getting pregnant and carrying a baby while you have cancer is super scary. I continued phototherapy three times per week throughout that pregnancy, each time praying that it was going to continue to work and keep my cancer at bay. I would stand in that phototherapy booth and look down at my growing belly and just speak those prayers out loud over and over again. It got to the point that my nurses would pray with me, as they sat right outside the booth with our daughter, Blu. They graciously played with her and loved on her throughout my treatments.

And before I knew it, it was December and I had seen my pregnancy through to term. I was scheduled for a c-section on December 9th and nothing about my life or my heart would ever be the same. My children are my world. They are my reason for living and fighting and persevering each and every day. I didn’t have an easy road bringing either of them into this world. Blu was born 8 weeks too soon when I developed severe preeclampsia, we lost our second baby to miscarriage and our son might have been my biggest leap of faith, coming to join us during a season of uncertainty and turmoil. But I am ever grateful for the gift of motherhood, and even as they grow, and challenge, and test me, I am infinitely thankful for my presence and ability to be here. As a woman and as a mother, I understand the fear of numbered tomorrows and the weight of immense loss. And as much as those wounds hurt, they also make me love exponentially. I am so, so lucky.

I know this post was long. And honestly, it’s one that I could have saved for the pages of my journal. But today I felt pulled to share. As we approach Pup’s birthday in a few weeks, I feel inspired by the life we have and the worth that he adds to our little family. He filled a void in me that I didn’t fully understand was present until he was placed into my womb and my heart. So I’m sharing that joy with you today. And I’m also sharing the last photo of me as a pregnant woman, taken a few days before his birth. Blu was always kissing my belly and this will forever be a favorite photo. My God, I’m blessed...