How She Began, Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Diagnosis

It was hours later before my phone rang again, but I was ready the next time my OB called. I stood in my office cafe, a place of work and spirit and ideas and sharing, and listened to the most terrifying judgment on what lay ahead.?

Gazing downtown as I quieted my senses for impact, I listened as she urgently ticked off her list: an MRI that day, at 9 months pregnant, to rule out cancer. And if it is cancer, a hysterectomy to start, if not chemotherapy and radiation, all of which effectively create the same phenomenon: menopause.?

I was still pregnant. I was still 33 years young.?

First, the baby had to come out safely. Because of the bleeding in her office, a vaginal delivery was off the table, the one I’d so hoped could fix my unhealed disrepair over my first delivery also culminating in the same. But Ruby Ann had been healthy, and so while the surgery was a disappointment, that blow came easily. I’d had one before, I’d simply heal it again.

Time is tricky to begin with, it’s much more complicated with cancer. I didn’t just have cancer, my pathology showed an extremely aggressive, fast-growing tumor with enough interesting markings to know it couldn’t be trusted. It hadn’t been there merely months before on my cervix, but it was now almost seven cm long, cradling my womb where my body also grew my son.?

The doctors had never seen anything like it, “cases like yours are unheard of,” I was told, serving only to compound the alarm that now permeated every breathing moment. But, here we were and the only thing to do was act. That evening, my now-up-to-speed husband and I went through all our questions with my doctors, bracing ourselves for the version of “no” we’d hear every time.

No, I absolutely must have a c-section, it’s the only safe way so I wouldn’t risk bleeding out.

No, it wasn’t a good idea to breastfeed, best save my strength to recover from surgery and get ready for chemotherapy.

No, I couldn’t just have a hysterectomy, the tumor was too big and too untrustworthy.

No, best not to move my ovaries out of the radiation field nor put them to sleep during chemotherapy, lest the cancer already exist microscopically there, too, or that it may return in the future.?

No, there wasn’t time to freeze my eggs because I was still pregnant, so to return my hormones levels to normal, to then alter them to extract eggs also takes time, of which I had none.

No, there’s no way to treat my ovaries but prevent menopause.

And Yes, if I said "Yes" to the bargain of my life: trade every physical, emotional and sensual feminine experience of my body, I had a shot to keep living in this life.

I agonized over these horrific decisions already made for me about myself and my body and my family. The children I hoped I’d have more of. The breastfeeding I’d loved with my daughter, though it was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but I loved it because we did it together.?

The eggs that held the potential for so many miraculous combinations of my genes and my husband’s, for I’d already seen one version in our magnificent daughter. I went through the list trying to prioritize hurt and loss, but that list eventually gave way to my own hollow.?

So, with all the strength I could summon from the universe, I looked at the pieces of me and my life, now my chips on the table, and I chose my life and I ran.