In the autumn of 2019, our family received both incredible and devastating news within the span of a month. Late in July, we learned I was pregnant with our third child, a daughter. Just weeks later, I received the shocking diagnosis of cancer. Two monumental events—one joyful, one terrifying—hit me all at once, leaving me feeling utterly overwhelmed.
In August, during a family game night, we were engrossed in Monopoly. As I reached for my winnings after passing “go,” I accidentally dropped the money. While bending down to pick it up, my hand brushed against a lump beneath my skin. Panic surged through me; my heart raced as I forced myself to consider the possibilities. It could be a simple bruise or a pulled muscle, but deep down, I knew I had to get it checked. I scheduled an appointment for the next morning.
Walking into the doctor’s office, I tried to quell my anxiety with hopeful thoughts, convincing myself it was probably just a harmless cyst. However, when the doctor remarked that the lump looked suspicious, my heart sank. She recommended a biopsy that same day to rule out any serious issues. We both reassured each other, insisting, “I’m sure it’s nothing,” but I sensed the gravity of the situation.
After being sent to a nearby hospital, I learned that the biopsy would take place within the week. My anxiety intensified; we were set to leave for our annual trip to the Jersey Shore the very next day, and I wanted to resolve this matter quickly.
The waiting was excruciating. As we headed to the shore, I tried to dismiss the prior day’s events from my mind. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that hovered over me, and I longed for a phone call that would put my worries to rest.
On the third day of our trip, while my son and I were enjoying shuffleboard, my phone rang, and I instantly recognized the number—my heart dropped. I stepped away from the game, my heart racing as I answered. I was not prepared for the words that followed: “You have breast cancer.” The rest of the conversation blurred as I stood there, tears streaming down my face. I struggled to comprehend the situation, my thoughts racing to our children. How would I explain this to them? What would I say when I didn’t even have answers for myself?
I attempted to conceal my tears, but my son noticed and asked, “Why are you crying, Mom?” At that moment, I knew I had to be honest with him. I asked if he understood what cancer was, to which he responded, “It’s when someone loses all their hair and has less than a 1% chance of living.” I explained that there are many types of cancer and that mine is treatable. I assured him I had excellent doctors and that we would navigate this together. Our younger daughter received a simpler, age-appropriate explanation.
We decided not to share the news of the pregnancy with the kids until my treatment plan was established. I wanted to learn everything I could about my diagnosis, not just for myself but for the future of my unborn child. When we finally revealed the news of their new sibling, the kids were ecstatic. We organized a scavenger hunt, leading them to discover the message: “We’re having a baby!” Their joy was a blessing amidst the uncertainty we faced.
Now, a year and a half into my treatment, we maintain a tradition at our family dinners where we share our “high” and “low” moments of the day. This practice has helped us process our challenges and appreciate the lessons they bring. Throughout this journey, my children have been involved every step of the way, even taking turns shaving my head. Being open and honest has been crucial in helping us all cope with the weight of this experience.
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In summary, my journey through pregnancy and a cancer diagnosis has been filled with immense highs and lows. By maintaining open communication with my children and cherishing our family moments, we’ve navigated this challenging path together.
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