An Unconventional Birth Announcement

Last week, I welcomed my first child into the world. About fifteen hours before I went into labor, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Now, before you worry, my doctor says it’s Stage 0 and is confident that it almost certainly hasn’t spread.  Or, as I’ve explained to the few people I’ve managed to tell about it so far: Don’t freak out. It’s just, like, a LITTLE bit of cancer. 

Still, it was not a chill day. I mean, to say the least! I woke up more-than-a-week-past-due pregnant, completely consumed by doing everything I could to get the baby out. By the middle of the afternoon, I was waddling around from appointment to appointment, talking about how to get my cancer out. I sat and listened as they told me that the best course of action would likely be a double mastectomy as soon as possible. I asked all the questions I could, including if I could get a copy of my tumor ultrasound to put on the fridge next to the ultrasound of my baby. Finally, by the middle of the night, I was crawling around on the floor of my apartment in spontaneous labor, before heading to the hospital to meet my baby, whom I’d learn at the time of birth was a son.

The good news? People who work at hospitals make excellent audiences for dark humor — and, as someone whose first book was about the power of jokes to get through traumatic situations, there was really no better place for me to be. Just minutes after my boy was born, I was talking with the nurses about what a birth announcement in my situation might look like.

Should I go with “Mom and baby are doing well, except maybe for mom’s cancer, and then maybe the baby after breastfeeding is stunted by her double mastectomy,” and then shut off my phone for a week?

Anyway! These next three months of maternity leave are going to look a lot different than I’d anticipated, and I’m still getting used to my new reality. Still, as I navigate new motherhood (and new cancer) I’m learning to celebrate everything I can. I’m lucky that we found the cancer so early; I’m lucky to be my son’s mom. I mean, I know I’m biased, but the little dude absolutely rules — and not just because he might have saved my life.

Thank you all for your support, laughter, and love as I embrace this wildly unexpected chapter. Here’s to resilience, to miracles in the midst of chaos, and to finding humor and hope even on the toughest days.

Kat