Oh, not this again!
My chest heaved with dry retches, and I pressed my hand against it, trying to soothe the erratic rhythm. I felt nauseous. It was only the seventh week of my first trimester, yet morning sickness was rocking my world like a heavy metal band—one I certainly couldn’t dance to. I was grateful for the chance to create new life, but the tug-of-war between the joys of pregnancy and the shadows of illness felt insurmountable. I was now carrying two secrets: my father’s Stage IIIB cancer and my own pregnancy.
In our Indian culture, superstition dictated that we keep the pregnancy under wraps until the third month. My parents became like hawks, constantly checking in on me like overzealous referees. “Are you eating enough? Did you get good sleep? Have you felt the baby move? Are you taking your vitamins?” Those brief, 20-second phone calls became lifelines for my father, reminding us all that even amid sickness, life persists. Yet, the edges of grief lingered in our periphery, even as we sought moments of joy.
During those early days, guilt wrapped around me. I wanted to celebrate, but my thoughts kept drifting to my father and the sadness in his eyes. His responses about the baby—smiles and laughter—felt hollow, as if he were putting on a show for the sake of our happiness. I often wondered if he felt abandoned, watching us all forge ahead with our lives. My husband and I eagerly anticipated our baby’s arrival, my sister was on the verge of graduating from physical therapy school, and my mom threw herself into our joys. Meanwhile, I could sense my father thinking, “They can move on, yet I am here, fading.” Though he never voiced it, I could see he felt more like a spectator in his own life.
That first year, his symptoms crept around us like ivy, slowly suffocating the joy we tried to cultivate. Coughing fits would erupt, echoing through the house and demanding our attention. We’d rush to offer water and lozenges, only for the coughing to return like an unwelcome guest. I found solace in feeling my baby kick, as if she could sense her grandfather’s struggle. While my cravings soared—veggie sushi, baked potatoes, peppermint ice cream—my father’s appetite waned. He lost weight while I seemed to grow larger by the day. We were living parallel lives, both so different yet intertwined.
My hope was that the baby would serve as a welcome distraction. In the months following the diagnosis, we sought comfort in shared meals at my father’s favorite restaurant or cozy nights filled with board games like carrom. On some days, we successfully steered clear of discussing cancer, chemo, or any of the medical jargon that loomed over us. However, it became increasingly evident that my father’s condition was worsening, especially when he began forgetting significant events or milestones. Instead of confronting the reality, we buried it beneath the details of our daily lives.
When I hit the seven-month mark, it was time for the traditional Indian baby shower—Godh bharai. Literally meaning “to fill the lap,” this ceremony is meant to celebrate abundance. I stood there, my sari flowing as gifts were placed in my lap. Across the room, my father lingered at a distance, seemingly detached from the celebration. I didn’t ask him why he stood apart, but I did ask him to join me for a picture. The hesitation in his expression still haunts me. Was he feeling like a burden? Did he want the moment to be filled only with joy, rather than tinged with sadness? I never got the chance to find out.
He wanted to engage with life, to bask in its joys, but cancer had other plans. He chose to step back from the life he once knew. And as much as I hate to admit it, despite our efforts—driving him to appointments, being there during the rough patches—we too abandoned him in a way. We continued to chase life while he struggled to let go of his.
For more insights on navigating the complexities of pregnancy and home insemination, check out this article on Intracervical Insemination. If you’re seeking guidance on artificial insemination kits, Make a Mom is a reliable resource. Additionally, the CDC provides excellent information on fertility and pregnancy.
In summary, the journey of bringing new life into the world can be profoundly complicated, especially when intertwined with the shadow of a loved one’s illness. Navigating the joys of pregnancy while grappling with grief is a delicate balance, one that many can relate to.