As I stepped into the delivery room, my gaze was immediately drawn to the ominous whiteboard outside my room where “B.C.” was scrawled in red letters, signifying breast cancer. This caused quite a stir among the nursing staff, who awkwardly transitioned from discussing breastfeeding to offering me sympathetic glances, their faces turning a shade of red. I despised that pity. I was determined to keep cancer out of my birthing experience.
Just moments before, I had entered the same hospital for my initial consultation with the breast surgeon. Now, the excited families around me, cradling colorful balloons and oversized teddy bears, filled me with jealousy. For me, the birth of my child felt like the beginning of a daunting journey up an impossibly steep mountain. The future seemed uncertain and blurred as I grappled with my cancer diagnosis.
My pregnancy had come as a surprise while my son, only six months old, napped. I spent much of the time berating myself for being careless, yet there was an undeniable delight in the unexpected nature of it—after all, my grandmother would say that some things are besheret (meant to be). My partner, David, and I even jokingly dubbed the fetus “J.C.” because it felt like a miraculous conception.
When my first child was born, my overwhelming concern for his well-being nearly jeopardized my own health. I would leave the light on at night just to monitor his breathing, ignoring my own need for rest. My thoughts revolved around, “I can endure this. I’m strong. My baby is fragile; I must protect him.”
Now, however, the stakes were drastically different. My diagnosis had stripped away my sense of control over my pregnancy and my body. I was facing an early delivery, just three weeks before my daughter’s due date, to accommodate a double mastectomy scheduled for that same day. The very idea of taking a step back to care for myself felt completely alien. I’d always believed that being a good mother meant giving everything I had.
As it was time to push, I struggled to keep my unruly hair in place, but all I could think about was losing it. I had inherited my hair from my father, who in turn received it from his mother. Unfortunately, along with those strong genes came the BRCA1 gene, passed down unknowingly through generations. Now, I was painfully aware that I might have passed this gene to my toddler and the life growing inside me. It was surreal to think that two opposing forces—fertility and illness—could coexist in my body.
I had debated finding out my baby’s sex, especially after my diagnosis, but David insisted on keeping it a surprise. As the baby began to crown, I was convinced it would be another boy. And then, with one powerful push, she entered the world—my perfect daughter.
She weighed in at only six pounds, a stark contrast to my son’s hefty birth weight of eight and a half pounds. I found it hard to look at her tiny feet, which reminded me that she had likely wanted to stay cozy inside for a bit longer. But she was undeniably beautiful, with rosy lips and a full head of hair, just like me.
More importantly, she was a fighter. Her very existence had prompted me to seek medical attention for the seemingly insignificant lump in my breast that I might have otherwise ignored. It wasn’t that she erased my cancer; that was impossible. But she illuminated the possibility of joy amid the struggle. Perhaps this joy was amplified because we all craved it so desperately. At that moment, I understood that my life might not unfold as I had once envisioned, but it could still be fulfilling. After all, our daughter was unexpected and she was indeed besheret.
We named her Mia, after my grandmother’s sister who had succumbed to breast cancer. In Hebrew, Mia means “mine.” Her Hebrew name, Orli, means “my light.” She became our guiding light in the darkness, our source of hope.
If you’re interested in exploring more about home insemination, consider checking out our other blog post here. Additionally, for those looking into fertility options, you might find this resource helpful. For a deeper understanding of different fertility treatments, WebMD provides excellent insights.
In summary, my unexpected pregnancy led to a life-altering discovery of my breast cancer. While I faced many challenges, the arrival of my daughter brought newfound hope and joy into my life, reminding me that even in dark times, light can emerge.