Breast envy
It was hard. I know that people wanted to be positive because they thought that was supportive, but sometimes I just needed people to let me be sad, to meet me where I was. So I was grateful when a cousin of Mark's said something that others seemed afraid to: "Kelly, I'm so sad for you. Being pregnant for the first time is supposed to be this joyful time, and you're not getting to savour it because of this cancer." It was such a relief to have her get that you're not supposed to go to your baby shower with a wig on.
New life, new inspiration
I finished chemo in February. And then, on March 16, our baby was ready to be born. We hadn't had a lot of nice surprises lately, and so Mark and I decided we wanted the sex of our child to be one of them. It was just so amazing to see our little boy, to hold him! We named him Mason because it sounds strong, and he'd been strong to get through a lot even before he was born, and Vaughn after my father, who died of brain cancer in 1998.
By early July, one year after I'd first found the lump, I finished my last round of chemo. Now it was radiation's turn. They say it's easier than chemo but I found it tougher emotionally, having to go to the hospital every weekday for five weeks. And I was angry. I was bald. My chest was burned.
Aching for what other mothers take for granted
I had breast envy! Other mothers were breast-feeding, whipping it out everywhere, and I couldn't do that. (I'd had to stop once I started my second round of chemo.) And I wasn't being such a good patient anymore. I kept coming in late for my appointments. I just didn't want to be there. It wasn't fair. Even my sense of humour got dark; I joked with the nurses: "I guess since I've already got breast cancer, I can stop worrying about standing too close to the microwave."
Finally, the chemo and radiation were finished, but Dr. Pritchard had some bad news for me. Because my breast cancer responded to estrogen, I'd have to go on drugs that would lower my hormone levels and shut down my ovaries. Now I've gone into a kind of premature menopause. I'm not able to have another baby for at least five years -- or maybe ever. It's been really hard to accept that. I'm thrilled to have Mason, but whether or not to have another child is one more choice that might be taken away from me by this disease.
Click to continue for Kelly's view on the aftermath of breast cancer...
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