I was on a flight to Atlanta, on my way to California to visit a dear friend and meet her newborn, when I struck up a conversation with the mother-daughter duo sitting next to me. They were both breast cancer survivors. What! Why! The three of us sitting side by side put into perspective just how prevalent this diagnosis is. Who else on this flight had fought, is fighting? They both had a lumpectomy, which always makes me think, why did I have to get a double mastectomy? Was that necessary? Was it too extreme? Then I take a long exhale and remind myself that, yes, that was the recommendation from multiple doctors and the best choice for me. Everyone’s diagnosis and treatment plans are different. I had positive lymph nodes and cancerous margins after my lumpectomy (spoiler alert). The mass had more than doubled from the time it was found to when it was removed.

I don’t remember much about the lumpectomy, and I was pretty out of it after the surgery. Before going under and as soon as I woke, all I cared about was if my baby was well and safe, and he was. A nurse on deck, ready to listen to his heartbeat before and after the procedure. I cared about nothing else; the rest was routine procedure for the doctors, and I trusted our care team. One of the few things I do remember after surgery was my surgeon saying it all looked bad. She couldn’t tell where the lines were; it wasn’t clear where the cancer started and ended. So, she took out a larger chunk of tissue, hoping to get it all. I was lactating, which she thought might have something to do with why it was difficult to see. Also, because I was lactating, I bled a lot. Looking back, that was quite scary, being pregnant and all.

Background story: Earlier in the year, I had laparoscopy surgery to diagnose and treat endometriosis (which eventually helped us conceive. A story for another time. Yes, 2023 was quite the year!). It took longer than expected to wake up from the anesthesia. Bryan was worried while he and my family all waited. It was good to know that this might happen again after the lumpectomy, especially with two lives to worry about now. It did take me a bit longer to wake up again, and Bryan worried, still. But all was good. There was someone right there ready to listen to the baby’s heartbeat. And it was right where it needed to be – our strong little boy. 

Five weeks post-lumpectomy, Bryan and I were (happily) stuck in the DR because of a hurricane on the Atlantic directly along the flight path to return to New York. We were there for a week visiting my family and celebrating our baby news. I wanted my family to see me pregnant, my grandmother, aunts, uncles, cousins, the neighbors, everyone! I didn’t know when I would be able to fly back once treatment started. So as soon as I was healed enough from surgery and before starting chemotherapy, we took the trip. I wanted my family to see me healthy with my full mane of hair, especially my sister and niece, who might have the hardest time understanding.

The trip was wonderful! My parents had just finished building their home, and the week was filled with family events: house blessing, niece’s Quinceañera, baby blessing, gathering in prayer, and a baby moon! I felt so loved and protected the entire time. It was wholesome and just right. The baby celebration was off to a rough start when, out of nowhere, it started to pour, and the wind blew the decorations down. My poor mami, who worked so hard to get every detail right, had to quickly pivot, and it was all hands on deck to move everything indoors. Later in the evening, when the rain stopped, we settled back outside. My aunt planned fun baby shower games; everyone split up into teams and made name suggestions with all the letters of the alphabet. They took a string and guessed at the roundness of my belly, which my sister Andry won! Surprisingly, the tailors in the family were the most inaccurate! There was also the blind spoon-feeding game that was crazy messy and hilarious. Bryan and I were surrounded by such loving energy that I forgot about our situation. My uncle, pastor Rolando, led a beautiful healing prayer. My cousins are in a band for their church, and they gave a concert for all of us. We were on the back deck of the house under the stars, surrounded by palm trees, the breeze of the mango trees, and all the love in the world. I can’t imagine anything sweeter.

Bryan and I squeezed in a few days for a baby moon at a beach resort in Puerto Plata. It was so relaxing and simply blissful. I spent much of the time reading birth stories by the beach, shaded under a tree, and in the shallow pool. Accounts from women who had unmedicated births that got me so pumped for my own experience (which was everything but unmedicated. More to come.). There are a lot of elective cesareans in the DR. I think partially due to fear, and reading these stories enlightened and empowered me. I believe our bodies are designed for childbirth, no matter what our size or the size of the baby. Bryan is a foot taller than I and was a big baby. People commented on our baby being big, but I brushed that off, knowing my baby is the size he needs to be. I wasn’t afraid of childbirth. I trusted that my body was smart, and so was his, and we would work together. I also know there are instances where c-sections are the only way, and I am glad we have that lifesaving option. In most cases, though, we can do it, and it’s one of the most powerful experiences on earth. I certainly hoped to avoid a c-section and prayed I was strong enough to push after four rounds of the red devil (chemo). A c-section would not be in my favor because it would delay my treatment by weeks, maybe months, as I would need to heal completely before resuming chemotherapy. And after learning that I had positive lymph nodes, I was terrified of the cancer spreading as we waited for the bun in the oven to fully bake.   

That week in the Caribbean was a precious time. I still felt like myself; my hair was long and curly, my belly was popping, and I flaunted it! I wasn’t worried about what was coming up next. I knew things would be difficult, but I tried not to focus on any of it because right at that moment, I had all I needed, and I was happy. I remember walking out of the airport, flowers in hand that my mom, sister, and niece brought me at pick-up, and I felt like a superstar in my black and white horizontally striped dress. I was joyful because I had a baby growing inside me, and I was surrounded by loving family. I trusted my medical team and the plan, and my chances were very good. Over 90% survival rate. I felt very lucky. My oncologist was frank with us from the beginning and said that ten years ago, this was a death sentence for many women. I often think about that and am so grateful I have better chances thanks to those who came before me. 

As we waited for the storm to pass, I didn’t mind extra time at home eating papaya and laying our clothes to dry in the heat of the sun. On one of those lazy mornings was when my surgeon, Dr. Skinner, called. Biopsy results were back from the lumpectomy. She said even though she took out a sizable amount, there was still cancer in the margins. Ultimately, we’ll have to go back and do a mastectomy, she said. That was difficult news. I thought, okay, well, at least I’ll have one boob, not my favorite of the two, but better than nothing. But how odd will that be, though? Running or jogging will be so uncomfortable. Over time, my poster would be off. Lopsided. On the other hand, I also felt like I was being punished. This was my punishment for not embracing my chest when I was younger, for hiding them and being embarrassed by them, and taking those breast reduction pills I found on the internet. If this is what the universe was giving me, then I must have deserved it. 

It didn’t occur to me right away to have a double mastectomy. My boobs were a big part of my sexual health, and to be honest, I was a bit lost without them for a while. But I am not a risk taker, and I knew that a double mastectomy was the right choice. Having a boob felt like a liability. I felt threatened by them. A double mastectomy meant better chances of being around to raise Des, and I did not want to worry about having all this breast tissue and the potential for cancer coming back. I’ve heard of this happening to multiple people, and I did not want to take that chance. From the start, Bryan’s opinion was for a double mastectomy. But he let me come to this conclusion on my own. He did not influence that very personal decision, and I thank him for that space and for showing sensitivity. He knew it would be a big hit on me. If I ever find myself missing my chest, I remind myself I chose to stick around and that was the tradeoff.

I didn’t realize until later that I had so much time to process this news. Being pregnant gave me that time, nearly a year! It was September, and I wouldn’t have my surgery until the following July, a day after my birthday. By then, I would have given birth and completed fourteen rounds of chemo. I did not need to get a mastectomy in the next days or weeks, as I’m finding out is the case for some women. I didn’t need to decide on reconstruction options after a crash course. I could let that new information seep in, and for that I was grateful. I could give my thanks and apologies and say farewell to my boobs. I had time to nurse our baby and pump as much as I could. One and a half very short months, but time, nonetheless. Silver linings.

I did all of it for my baby. All the treatment and any additional protective measures I could take. He was my focus and motivation. I don’t know if I would have had the same attitude if I were doing it just for me. I guess it’s never just for you, thought, it’s for your loved ones and family, your partner. Part of me feels it would have been harder if I weren’t pregnant; to not have that sparkle meant more time on the dark side. I was sad and cried many times during my journey, worrying that I might not be around too long and my baby would grow up without his mami. Feeling him grow inside me, reading and singing to him, playing with him, and preparing for his arrival was such a joyous experience that there wasn’t too much space for other thoughts. And if they came about, I tried not to let them linger long.

But I am also that type of person who accepts situations for what they are and tries to move forward with that knowledge. I thought, if I’m going to be defeated, I will live the best way I can, leave behind the best of me, and give the best to my loved ones now. I did not want to spend energy dwelling on why me and fighting a destined fate. Thankfully, I am still here to tell my story. But even now, what I do I do to leave some sort of legacy and provide for my family in the long term. Because even though I am cancer-free (woot woot!), I don’t know if I will ever feel completely in the clear. I feel I still must always be vigilant and live wholesomely. I’m figuring out ways to deal with that. Being a busy mama to an eager and curious toddler helps for sure! Long ago, my mother-in-law went to a medium and was told Bryan would have two kids. I gotta be around if he’s having a second one! Though I don’t know if the medium specified it would be with me! (Of course it is.) So, I feel in the clear until then, and I hold on to that. It’s silly, but it helps me mentally.

Being pregnant helped me keep a positive attitude and perspective. I had a very important role: to grow a healthy baby. And that was my sole focus. To do that, I needed to take care of myself better than I had ever before.