October 27, 2025

One of the biggest silver linings in my journey was spending more time at home with our baby. Watching him grow by the hour, seeing his face light up as he began to see in color, witnessing him learn to smile, laugh, giggle, and soaking in the long, warm contact naps. All of it felt like a gift. I was able to enjoy all these things, even as I went through treatment. He was my distraction from the hard stuff, what I looked forward to the most after long hours on the chemo chair. Hours spent thinking about him. Scrolling through the videos and photos and showing all the nurses. Making plans for photo albums, jotting down in his baby book all the new things he did that week. (It’s quite honestly the only reason we have a baby book!). The future is never promised, and I was going to take every minute I was given to play and sing and snuggle my baby.     

If I hadn’t gotten cancer, I most likely would have had to drop off our four-month-old baby at daycare for 9–10 hours a day, like most other families. My heart aches just thinking about that scenario. I honestly don’t know how I would have coped. When we decided to have a baby, one of my biggest concerns was the limited parental leave. I even secretly hoped for twins, thinking that might somehow increase my chances of being a stay-at-home or part-time-working mom, at least for the first few years until preschool. It breaks my heart how little time most families get to spend together. A full-time work schedule feels like overtime to me. But that’s a conversation for another day. 

I’ve seen how hard it is for some moms. Just recently, I was comforting a friend from work who was sobbing on the walk from the parking lot to the office after dropping off her baby at daycare. It’s never sat right with me that other people often get to spend more waking hours with our kids than we do, even if they’re wonderful caregivers. Those infant years are so precious, and the bond between parent and child is foundational for healthy development. And to think that 18 weeks (22 with four unpaid weeks) of parental leave is considered an improvement compared to not long ago, and that many people get even less that. We still have a long way to go.

For a little while after Desi was born, I was simply recovering from birth and doing the things new mothers do. Before restarting cancer treatment, I had a brief taste of health, of life without chemo’s side effects. Of just being a loving and tired mami. My hair began to grow back, and I was starting to look healthy again. But the waiting before treatment resumed was its own kind of torture. It was a terrifying time. Had the cancer grown? Had it spread? Will it be just Bryan and Des? I remember saying to Bryan, “Babe, please take a video of us.” Just in case, I thought, so he’ll have something to remember me by. A capture of my voice, my words to him, the way I looked at him, and cared for him. I wanted him to know he was not without a mother. When the tears came, I let them flow, then focused on my breathing as I made a gratitude list. Sometimes in my head, sometimes out loud, sometimes on paper. It helped.    

I was dually exhausted from treatment and the everyday demands that come with caring for an infant. But for me, being a mom is the best kind of exhaustion; I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t mind being tired, losing track of when I last showered, or living off toddler leftovers. I love that life. It’s purposeful, joyful, deeply rewarding, and so much fun! I love taking care of my baby, and I’m so incredibly grateful that I’ve been able to do it longer than I might have otherwise.

Of course, I had wonderful community support and family help at home; I’m no superwoman! People showed up for us in the most loving and thoughtful ways. We had a meal train with friends dropping off dinner 2-3 times each week. Three friends at the time were nursing, and they pumped extra milk for Des once I could no longer nurse (that story deserves its own post; I tear up every time from their generosity). Mami (my mom, aka mama Eva) dropped everything to basically move in with us, returning home for a few days at a time and then coming right back. Bryan’s mom, Gammy, would also come stay with us for weeks at a time, taking turns with Mama Eva; she needed some grandson time, too! They both poured so much love and care into helping us through that season. Bryan took the first night shift with the baby and days off here and there when we needed him to. Unfortunately, he had to go back to work sooner than we expected. It was hard for him to be away. I felt he was robbed of time with his son those first few months. To help brighten his day, one late morning after a round of doctor’s appointments in town, Desi, Mama Eva, and I surprised Bryan at work; the joy on his face was everything! 

I had support, and I knew how lucky I was for that. I did as much as I could, and sometimes more than I should have, but I wanted to. I wanted to be the best mami to Des, partner to Bryan, and daughter to Mami. They were doing so much for me, I wanted to reciprocate that with the little details that I could manage. Mama Eva helped with Des, the house, cooking, everything. Having her by my side was a gift in itself. We spent so much time together, and despite the circumstances, that, too, was precious.

Desi was shy of two months old when I resumed chemotherapy. I drove myself to weekly infusions. Even though I was tired and dealing with side effects and scary complications (more on that later), nothing lifted my spirits like spending time with my chacho! I read and sang to him all day long. We rattled toys, made animal sounds, played with mirrors, and practiced tummy time. We lay outside on the lawn and went for stroller walks. I held him while he napped and took it all in; the way he’d chuckled in his sleep, sucked his thumb, or twiddled them gently during feedings. I danced bachata with him in my arms to help him fall asleep and to give him rhythm, claro. It’s very important in Dominican culture that babies are danced. You don’t want to be that person who can’t stay on beat; poor thing wasn’t danced with when they were a baby, the elders would say. Now, my problem is that Desi associates bachata with bedtime, and I’m inadvertently conditioning him to fall asleep at parties! It won’t matter that he has rhythm if he’s fast asleep! A worry for later on. For now, I keep that un-dos-tres-pa beat until his little body melts into mine. 

When Desi was six months old, I had my double mastectomy. He was just starting to sit up and try solid foods. During my four weeks of recovery, when I couldn’t lift or hold him, I sat beside him and rolled toys his way, read him books, sang to him, and spoon-fed him his first solids. He was still a bit wobbly and would topple over, so when Mama Eva wasn’t looking, I’d hold his tiny hand to steady him and gently shift my weight back and pull him back up to sitting, using my feet to prop pillows around him. Mami and Bryan would bring Desi close to my face, and I would plant long kisses on him. We made the most of it and adapted. The anticipation of surgery and knowing I wouldn’t be able to hold him for weeks was agonizing. I missed him even before it happened. It was three and a half weeks post-surgery that I was finally able to somewhat hold him. I placed a thin pillow on my chest, and Mama Eva set him in my lap. It wasn’t a very long hold, but enough to make my smile stretch from ear to ear. 

After recovering from surgery came four weeks of daily radiation. By then, I could mostly do everything Des needed. As time passed, though, my skin became more and more burned. It was late summer, and I’d often walk around the house topless or in a cut-off tee, slathered in Aquaphor. Many shirts were ruined, but it was effective in soothing the pain. 

Then came more infusions. These were more spread out, every three weeks, and thankfully, they didn’t knock me over as badly. Time passed, and I hit milestone after milestone: last chemo, last radiation, last immunotherapy infusion. Before I knew it, Desi turned one, and a week later, I started working part-time.

I had been home with my baby for an entire year! (And I didn’t even need to have twins! Just cancer.) We got to enjoy slow mornings, waking up without having to pack up and rush out of the house to daycare and the office. We’d wander around the kitchen and living room, saying good morning to the furniture, the appliances, and everything with a name. There was a calm rhythm, a gentleness to our days. An opportunity to slow down. He had no idea what his mami was going through. All he saw was love, songs, and smiles. Looking back, I can see that while cancer took so much, it also gave me something I’ll cherish forever: time to simply be with my baby. To witness his many firsts, to create a bond.  Those days weren’t easy, but the tender moments are what I remember most.