Two years ago, I wanted another baby. Instead, I got breast cancer.
It was the day before Thanksgiving when the surgeon who performed my biopsy called me at home with the news. And for the en
tire Thanksgiving holiday — that seemed to last an eternity — I grappled with the fear and confusion and uncertainty that accompanies the discovery of a life-threatening illness.
It’s been a long road — complete with surgery, chemotherapy, hair loss, two hospitalizations, one blood transfusion, radiation, a year-long drug therapy, physical therapy, counseling, and more. But it also seems like a short trip. And today — two years after I learned the tiny, hard lump in my left breast was in fact cancer — it’s hard to believe so much time has passed. But it has. And the passing of time is marked by the scars under my armpits, a scar where my port once lived, hair that has grown so much it almost reaches my chin, and the growth of my two little boys who two years ago were 18 months and almost four years old. Now three and a half and almost six, it’s clear time has stormed right by.
Two boys are all I have. Cancer took the place of a third child. And while I still want another baby, I don’t know if I will have one. Because I am still grappling with the fear and confusion and uncertainty that accompanies life after cancer.
If I never have another child, I will be okay. Because I have my life. And I am thankful to simply be alive.
