On May 10, 2020, I found myself in the backyard with my son and two of my nephews, capturing selfies to celebrate Mother’s Day. In a moment of joy, tears filled my eyes as I silently prayed, “Please, God, don’t let this be my last Mother’s Day.” Just weeks earlier, I had discovered a lump in my breast that didn’t feel right. Despite my instincts, I hesitated to see my doctor until after the holiday, scheduling an appointment for May 14. Deep down, I feared the worst and wanted to cherish that one last joyful moment.
Sadly, my fears were confirmed. The moment I guided the nurse practitioner’s hand to the lump, I could see the shift in her demeanor. No words were necessary; we both understood the gravity of the situation. Less than a week later, during a mammogram and ultrasound, I received the devastating diagnosis: stage three breast cancer, with the disease present in both breasts and spread to my lymph nodes.
I had to face my son, Lucas, with the weight of this harrowing news. Just recounting that moment brings tears to my eyes. Lucas, only 13, immediately sensed my distress and began to scream, “No! No! No, Mom!” He curled up, completely overwhelmed by pain. We held each other, crying until there were no tears left.
Lucas had already been grappling with the isolation of the pandemic, missing his friends and family for two months. Now, he had to cope with the reality of his mother battling cancer. It was an unbearable burden for anyone, let alone a child. Reflecting on that time, I am relieved I didn’t know the extent of the challenges that lay ahead. The pain, both physical and emotional, was unimaginable, especially as a solo mom.
The pandemic made everything even harder; we couldn’t lean on our loved ones for support. It was too risky to have anyone around while I was sick. I ended up in the emergency room last November, with a dangerously low white blood cell count. Because of COVID restrictions, Lucas couldn’t be by my side, and I can only imagine the impact that had on him. Those are scars that will stay with him forever.
Thankfully, I am fortunate to have my mother living with us. She stepped in when I was too ill to care for Lucas, preparing meals and providing support during my darkest days. I recognize how blessed I am to have her; though I don’t have a partner, my family and friends rally around us.
After my double mastectomy, my mom helped change my bandages when I couldn’t bear to look at my new reality. Losing my D-sized breasts was traumatizing. Waking up from surgery and realizing they were gone, I screamed in heartbreak. The sight of a tear rolling down a nurse’s cheek haunted me; I never want any woman to experience that moment.
Then came the hair loss. I initially tried to wear hats to shield Lucas from my sickness, but they only made me feel hotter. My specific type of breast cancer was due to excess estrogen, which led to the removal of my ovaries and early menopause alongside chemotherapy. Eventually, I allowed Lucas to see me without hair. His support was unwavering; he reassured me of my beauty and told me that I was still the same mom who made him laugh.
Despite appearing brave, I know he carries fear. The risk of recurrence looms heavily over us. With my chemotherapy finishing on March 3rd, I’m new to aftercare and each test brings anxiety. I’m determined to find a semblance of normalcy again. Lucas relies solely on me as his parent, and I refuse to entertain the thought of him losing me. I will survive this and move forward.
This Mother’s Day marks my first as a woman who has faced the challenges of breast cancer, but it also symbolizes my resilience as a survivor.