Cancer

Cancer.

It’s one of those words you hope never becomes part of your life, and unfortunately, it touches far more people than anyone wishes it did.

My beautiful son Logan was born in July 2020, right in the middle of the chaos of Covid.

The world felt divided and uncertain, but honestly, all I cared about at the time was making sure my husband and doula would still be allowed to be part of his birth experience with me.

The weeks after his arrival went by in a blur.

I was determined to bounce back quickly, stay active, and keep moving. By the time my 6 week postpartum appointment arrived, I felt great physically and was mostly focused on getting cleared to exercise again and return to normal life.

If only that had been my biggest concern.

I still remember getting the call that my pap smear had come back abnormal.

And if you know me, you know I don’t sit around waiting when it comes to medical things. I made sure I was in the doctor’s office the very next day trying to understand what this actually meant.

The doctor performed a biopsy and reassured me that it was extremely rare for anything serious to be going on.

I left that appointment feeling comforted by his words.

Then a few days later, around 5pm right before a holiday weekend, I received another phone call from him.

He bluntly told me there were cancer cells in my cervix and that I needed to see a gynecologic oncologist.

Before I could even process what he had said or ask questions, the conversation ended.

And just like that, I was left sitting there completely terrified.

Rich was beside me through all of it, equally shocked and overwhelmed, and then came the worst part:waiting.

Because of the holiday weekend, I had to wait four more days before I could even schedule an appointment with an oncologist.

And let me tell you something.

When doctors say:“Stay off Google,”they are not joking.

But of course, like most people, I searched anyway.

Part of you wants reassurance, but another part desperately wants to understand the absolute worst case scenario so you can somehow emotionally prepare for it.

Honestly, looking back now, I still cannot believe a doctor delivered news like that over the phone so casually and then disappeared for an entire holiday weekend.

Bedside manner feels like such a lost art sometimes.

Thankfully, I had a newborn to keep me distracted during those endless days of waiting.

But if I’m being honest, the fear completely consumed me.

I hate admitting this because those first months of motherhood are supposed to feel magical, but cancer stole so much of my ability to fully be present during Logan’s first six months of life.

Learning how to breastfeed, navigate sleep deprivation, and become a new mom is already overwhelming enough without carrying the constant fear of cancer in the background of your mind.

Eventually, I met with my oncologist.

And from the moment I met her, I trusted her completely.

She is one of the best in her field, and to this day I am endlessly grateful for her care.

The first step was a conization procedure to try to remove the cancerous cells from my cervix.

We waited anxiously for pathology results.

Unfortunately, the margins came back positive, meaning the cancer had not been fully removed.

The procedure had failed.

Then came another four week wait before we could attempt a second surgery.

The second conization procedure carried significantly more risk.

At that point, my cervix had become so thin from the first surgery that there was concern about potentially puncturing my bladder during the procedure.

But I trusted my doctor fully, so we moved forward.

And somehow, heartbreakingly, the second surgery was unsuccessful too.

No matter how hopeful I tried to remain…No matter how healthy I had lived…No matter how organic, disciplined, or intentional I had been with my lifestyle…

None of it felt like it mattered anymore.

Cancer has a way of making you feel betrayed by your own body.

I also began working with a naturopathic oncologist because I desperately wanted to feel like I was approaching this from every possible angle.

But eventually, the reality became unavoidable.

The only path forward was a hysterectomy.

My surgery was scheduled for December 28th.

Just two days before surgery, I underwent an MRI to determine whether my ovaries would also need to be removed.

My oncologist was incredibly thorough in discussing fertility preservation and egg retrieval options with me, but at that point I emotionally could not handle adding another invasive process on top of everything else my body had already endured.

Still, knowing I would never be able to carry another child naturally again was devastating.

There’s no easy way to describe the grief that comes with losing part of your identity as a woman and mother so suddenly.

It’s hard not to feel broken.

It’s hard not to feel insecure.

And it’s hard not to search for something, anything, to blame.

The day of surgery felt incredibly heavy emotionally.

My mom had flown in to stay with us for the next eight weeks because after surgery I wouldn’t be allowed to lift anything heavier than 10 pounds.

Which meant I couldn’t even carry my own baby boy.

That reality alone shattered me.

As they prepped me for surgery, it finally hit me fully:this was really happening.

Thankfully, my ovaries were able to stay, which felt like one small piece of hope in the middle of everything else.

But as the anesthesiologist wheeled me toward the operating room and prepared to put me under, an overwhelming wave of grief, fear, and loss completely took over me.

I sobbed all the way into the operating room until the anesthesia finally pulled me under.

Thankfully, the surgery itself was successful.

Recovery was physically and emotionally difficult, but slowly, little by little, I made it through.

Now I continue seeing my oncologist every six months, eventually transitioning to yearly follow ups for the rest of my life.

And while this experience changed me forever, I’m incredibly grateful to be standing on the other side of it.

Stronger.

Softer.

More grateful.

And more aware than ever of how precious life truly is ❤️