“The moment I realised it was cancer and not just pain.”
It all started with what seemed to be a little thigh discomfort. I thought it might be sciatica or a pinched nerve, just something that happens during pregnancy.
However, the agony continued to worsen. I made an effort to move past it with the birth of my daughter, Liora. I wanted to cherish every small moment we spent together, including the delight of late-night embraces, her tiny fingers curled around mine, and the lovely scent of a baby. However, the agony quickly became intolerable. I couldn’t even bear to rock her one morning.
I eventually went in for scans at that point. I will always remember the doctor’s expression. The sort of glance that alerts you before a word is exchanged.
A uncommon and dangerous form of soft tissue cancer was discovered by the scans. “I just had a baby,” was my initial thinking. Cancer is not something I have time for.
“The moment I realised it was cancer and not just pain.”
The Conflict Starts
Chemotherapy began right away. As I struggled with constant bouts of vomiting, I had to give Liora to my mother most nights after my milk dried up.
To make matters worse, the tumour has spread to my femur. My best chance of life, according to the physicians, would be an amputation. I was resolved not to let sympathy define me, so I signed the documents without crying. “I was still alive when I woke up with a mountain of guilt and one leg.”
I awoke with a mound of remorse and one leg. I was unable to wear the dress I purchased for my daughter’s naming ceremony, hold her, or chase her when she began to crawl. But I was still here, I told myself. And it must have been plenty.
A Novel Fear
A statement concerning a “suspicious lesion in the right lung” caught my attention in my medical file three weeks after surgery as I was getting used to crutches and physical therapy. My heart pounded. Was the cancer getting worse? Why hadn’t I been informed? “Sleepless nights—torn between fearing the unknown and taking care of my baby.”
My oncologist’s office was closed when I called. Sleepless nights, acting “normal” for my mother, and relying on Liora’s smiles for support made that week unbearable.
I challenged my doctor when my appointment finally came around. He acknowledged that he didn’t want to worry me until he knew more. A biopsy was considered, and another scan was requested.
The Power of Strangers
I put myself into physical therapy as I awaited findings. I got to know Saoirse there, who had also lost a limb in an automobile accident. I sorely needed the calm strength she possessed.
She reminded me that life carries on after bereavement and gave me small balancing tips and coping mechanisms for phantom anguish. I found hope in her account of raising her son by herself. Her advice to “keep your heart open” has stayed with me. You will be surprised, as will other people.
“Relearning to walk and drawing strength from another survivor’s wisdom.”
The Findings My mother drove me in silence on the day of the scan. I informed her that I wasn’t certain I could handle receiving chemotherapy again. “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together,” she said in a whisper while holding my hand.
My oncologist eventually broke the news to me after what seemed like an eternity: the spot on my lung was benign. It was not spreading. I was crying uncontrollably and half laughing. I felt a rush of relief that I had been waiting months to experience.
“My future rested on a single scan while I waited for answers.”
Taking Back Life My attention then turned to recovery and reconstruction. I felt like I was taking back a piece of myself with every stride I took on my prosthetic leg.
I discovered how to massage my stump before bed, stretch to relieve phantom pain, and, most importantly, stand and embrace Liora once more. Just that moment was worth every bit of effort.
Even a little “victory party” was held. We toasted, primarily with lemonade, to resiliency, survival, and love as my mom made a vanilla cake with pink frosting and close friends brought balloons and flowers. Although it wasn’t a lavish event, it was ideal.
“A silent toast to survival, resiliency, and life’s little pleasures.”
A Resilience Lesson That night, as I put Liora in her cot, I came to the realisation that she didn’t give a damn about my scars, my prosthetic, or the fact that I was becoming fatigued more readily than usual. All she wanted was me, her mother. And it was sufficient.
We don’t have the luxury of picking our battles in life. However, it does offer us the opportunity to choose how we will respond to them.
I wanted to cuddle up and cry till I vanished on certain days. But then I would remember why I had to keep fighting when I looked at Liora.
This trip has shown me that life may alter drastically in an instant. We may lose limbs, our peace, or even our health, but we are stronger than we think.
We can continue to move forward with the support of friends, family, or even complete strangers. Resilience, love, and hope will always triumph over fear.
“Love and resiliency define me, not scars and hardships.”
I appreciate you reading my tale. Please share it with someone who might be in need of hope today if it touched your heart. Together, we can serve as a constant reminder that there are always reasons to persevere, regardless of how uncertain life gets.