Parenting

Toddlers Don’t Care

/ Jennifer / 6 Comments

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Last night was a rough one at my house. And for once, it really didn’t have much to do with cancer.

My son is almost two years old. And, yes, he is in the throes of the “terrible twos.”

Toddler parents–you know what I’m talking about. The screaming. The refusal to sleep. The teething. The utter nonsense.

Last night was a perfect storm. He’s cutting about three teeth right now (two of them molars), he’d napped about 20 minutes total and it was waaaay past bedtime. Yet, instead of going to sleep like everyone else in the house longed to, he had a full-on meltdown the likes of which I haven’t seen in ages. So. Much. Screaming.

In the olden days, I’d soothe him with hugs, a calm voice and most likely, the boob. Of course, those days are long gone. The hugs and calming voice did nothing. It finally took strapping him to my body in a baby carrier (thanks, LILLEbaby!) and walking him around outside in the dark, a technique I hadn’t been forced to use in many months.

These nights are hard. And like everything else, they’re especially hard when I’m tired and a little loopy from chemo. I pray tonight is better. I pray he goes down without a fight (and sometime before 10 p.m.). Because even though I’m tired and a little out of it, toddlers don’t care.

 

Parellel Lives

/ Jennifer / Leave a comment

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One of my nurses during my first chemo session was pregnant. She was one of those lucky women who stayed slim with little more than an adorably round belly to let others know she was expecting.

Judging from the size of said belly, I surmised she was likely due around the same time I had my son. Sure enough, she told me her due date was Oct. 2, the day before my son’s birthday (his due date was Sept. 30, but like his mama, he’s not exactly on the punctual side).

After making this realization, we laughed and swapped some war stories about surviving the third trimester in North Carolina during the hottest part of the year. As she and I talked, I had the odd feeling once again of being on two opposite, but sort of parallel journeys, just two years apart.

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Oh, sushi. I already miss you so.

The first time I felt this way was during chemo class (yep, that’s a thing) when the nurse gave us the rundown of all the foods we should avoid while in treatment. The list was almost the exact one my OB had given me two years prior when I was pregnant with my son–sushi, undercooked meat, unwashed fruit and veggies, etc. In both cases, the risk of infection can cause major problems, so it’s better to be safe than sorry.

There are other little things, too, like counting weeks of pregnancy vs. weeks of treatment, feeling intense cravings for fruit and vegetables and, of course, being hyper-aware of my changing breasts.

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Baby’s first beach trip

I loved being pregnant. And even though I was as swollen as the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man by the end of it, it was one of the greatest experiences of my life. Feeling a living being grow inside you is almost indescribable, it’s that amazing. I’ll never forget the feeling of kicks turning into rolls and, my favorite, when he would get hiccups. It was all so wonderful (well, except those bladder kicks–I could have done without those).

So, to think that just two short years ago I was over the moon with excitement over becoming a mom, experiencing this miraculous process of creating another human being inside me, is kind of hard for me to wrap my mind around. Because over the past few months my body has been creating something else inside, something I neither wanted nor suspected was there. To live inside a body capable of both these things is scary and confusing. How did this happen? How did I go from one extreme to the other so quickly?

That’s the thing about both pregnancy and cancer–they both remind you that you have very little control over your own body. Sure, there are plenty of things about ourselves that we can manage, but at the end of the day, our bodies will do what they do, whether we like it or not. We can react to those changes and either go with or fight them, depending on the scenario. While I was definitely a go-with-the-flow woman in pregnancy (and I am in life, in general), this time around I’m fighting, and I’m fighting hard. Because that little baby needs me, and I plan to be here for him as long as I can.

Boulders in the Road

/ Jennifer / 3 Comments


This has been a week of proverbial bumps in the road of my journey. But those “bumps” felt more like giant boulders.

The first came in the form of a spot near my tumor picked up on an MRI. A biopsy this week (which was a barrel of fun in itself) confirmed everyone’s suspicion that it was indeed more cancer.

But it was smaller, and my lymph nodes and right breast still looked OK, so I rolled with it.

Then came the call from the genetic counselor: I am positive for the BRCA2 breast cancer gene mutation.

I did not handle this one quite as gracefully. While this answers the question of why this is happening now, it also changes things quite dramatically.

The lumpectomy is off the table. I’ll get a bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction. And I’ll also have my ovaries removed, since the gene also is linked to ovarian cancer.

My sister will need to be tested. And when he’s older, my son will, too (the gene also is linked to prostate and pancreatic cancers).

That last part just destroys me. I can handle my own shit, but knowing he might have to deal with this risk is almost too much.

I know that in many ways, I’m lucky. Knowledge truly is power, and that’s even more true when you’re fighting a shady beast like cancer. But knowing also hurts, because there’s no delusion or denial of how hard this is going to be.

The End of Breastfeeding

/ Jennifer / 3 Comments

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I was one of those lucky moms who was able to breastfeed their child. We hear all this stuff about “breast is best” and women feel an incredible amount of pressure to breastfeed their children. The reality is that, yes, breastfeeding is great for babies. But it’s also incredibly hard. And sometimes, it just doesn’t work out. Babies won’t (or can’t) latch correctly, moms don’t produce enough milk, etc., etc.

The first couple of months were really hard for my son and me. There were plenty of tears from both of us as we found our way, but eventually we did, and established a pretty good groove. So good, in fact, that I breastfed much longer than I ever intended to–21 months.

I always said I’d be thrilled to be able to do it for six months. I never thought I’d be an extended breastfeeding mom. But my son never lost interest, and honestly, I’d backed myself into a corner using the boob as a crutch to soothe him and get him to go to sleep at night. I was actually ready to stop, but afraid I’d never get him to sleep again.

Then cancer intervened. Once I found out about it, I stopped letting him nurse on that side. And this week, the other side had some weird spots on an MRI. My doctor asked if I’d been breastfeeding on that side, and when I said yes, he let me know that was the culprit. I knew I’d have to quit altogether soon anyway because I’m about to start chemo, so I decided that day to pull the plug.

My son was not pleased. He’s too little to understand, so he cried a good bit when I told him no. And then I cried because I never expected our breastfeeding journey to end this way. Even though it was certainly time, we were forced to stop, unable to end it on our own terms. I know it’s the best thing for us both, but it still hurts.

Cancer takes so many things away from a person. I’ve just begun my journey, so I haven’t lost the biggies yet, like my hair or even my breasts, but these little losses are still pretty tough. They serve as constant reminders that my life is no longer in my control, and that things will never be the same again.