As I stepped into the delivery room, my attention was immediately captured by the stark whiteboard outside my room, marked with the ominous letters “B.C.” for breast cancer. The nursing staff seemed unsettled by this designation, awkwardly attempting to engage me in conversations about breastfeeding, only to falter as they realized their blunder. Their expressions shifted to one of pity, a sentiment I despised. I was resolute about keeping the specter of cancer out of this sacred space.
Just a week prior, I had entered the same hospital for an initial consultation with my breast surgeon. Now, as I observed families joyfully entering and exiting the delivery rooms with balloons and plush toys, envy coursed through me. To them, childbirth was a moment of celebration; to me, it felt like a precursor to a challenging journey up an unforgiving mountain. The future appeared hazy, and I struggled to see beyond the shadow of cancer.
This pregnancy had come about unexpectedly while my baby boy was taking a nap. I spent much of my time during those nine months chastising myself for my perceived recklessness. Yet, there was a certain beauty in this surprise—an affirmation that life could not always be planned, which my grandmother often referred to as “besheret,” or meant to be. My partner, Jake, and I humorously dubbed the fetus “J.C.” because, in our eyes, this felt like a miraculous conception.
When my first child was born, my anxiety about his health had threatened to overwhelm me. I often kept the lights on at night just to monitor his breathing. Despite Jake’s attempts to encourage me to rest, I was consumed by the thought, “I can survive this. I am strong. My baby is the one who needs protection.”
But the stakes were now drastically different. My diagnosis had robbed me of my control over this pregnancy and my body. I was now facing the reality of delivering my daughter three weeks earlier than planned in order to undergo a double mastectomy on what was supposed to be her due date. The idea of prioritizing my own well-being to ensure I could be a mother in the future was alien to me. For so long, my definition of being a good mother was to give everything I had.
As the moment to push approached, I was inundated with thoughts about losing my hair. This trait, passed down through generations, felt like a part of my identity. I realized that the BRCA1 gene, which had quietly traveled through my family line, was now a glaring reality—one that I may have passed to my son and the new life within me. It was surreal to think of both fertility and illness coexisting in my body.
I had debated whether to learn the sex of the baby, especially after my diagnosis, but Jake insisted on keeping it a surprise. As the baby began to crown, I was convinced it was another boy. But with one powerful push—she arrived. The daughter I had always dreamed of was here.
At just six pounds, she was smaller than her brother, who had weighed in at eight and a half pounds. I found it hard to look at her tiny feet, a reminder that she may have preferred to stay in the womb a little longer. Yet, she was beautiful—everyone remarked on her rose petal lips and dark skin, saying she resembled her mother. More importantly, she was strong. She had defied the odds of conception, arrived with determination, and quite literally saved my life. Had it not been for my frequent OB appointments, I might not have sought help for the small lump in my breast.
While my daughter didn’t erase my cancer diagnosis, she illuminated the possibility of joy amidst the struggle. Perhaps this joy felt even more profound because we all craved it. In that moment, I understood that my life was shifting from what I had envisioned, but it might just turn out okay. After all, she was unexpected and meant to be.
We named her Maya after my late aunt, who lost her battle with breast cancer. In Hebrew, Maya means “water,” symbolizing life and renewal. Her Hebrew name, Orli, translates to “my light,” representing the hope she would bring during dark times.
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Summary:
Emily Carter shares her poignant journey from discovering her breast cancer diagnosis during pregnancy to the birth of her daughter, Maya. The experience underscores the intersection of life, illness, and unexpected joy, revealing how motherhood can provide strength even in the face of adversity.
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