As I stepped into the delivery room, my gaze was immediately captured by the stark letters written in red on the whiteboard outside my room: “B.C.” — breast cancer. The nursing staff seemed unsettled by it, awkwardly shifting from discussing breastfeeding to casting me pitying looks that made my skin crawl. I despised pity. I was determined to keep the specter of breast cancer from overshadowing the joy of my birthing experience.
Just a week earlier, I had walked through the same hospital entrance for my initial consultation with a breast surgeon. Now, I was surrounded by families celebrating new arrivals, their colorful balloons and oversized stuffed animals filling the halls with happiness. I felt a pang of envy; the birth of my child felt less like a joyous occasion and more like the start of a challenging climb up a daunting mountain. The future appeared hazy, clouded by my diagnosis.
My pregnancy had come as an unexpected surprise while my baby boy was napping. I spent countless hours chastising myself for being careless, yet a part of me found joy in the notion that life is unpredictable — some events are simply besheret, as my grandmother used to say. My partner, Max, and I jokingly referred to the fetus as “J.C.” — it felt like an immaculate conception.
After the birth of my first child, I became obsessively concerned about his health, even sleeping with the light on just to monitor his breathing. Max understood my need for rest, but my worry overshadowed everything. “I can handle this. I am strong. My baby is the one who needs protection,” I thought. Now, the stakes felt drastically different. My diagnosis had stripped away my control over this pregnancy, forcing me to deliver my daughter three weeks early to accommodate my upcoming double mastectomy on her original due date. The idea of needing to rest to ensure my future presence in my children’s lives felt utterly alien to me, as I had always believed that a good mother must give her all.
The moment to push arrived. As I fumbled with my hair, trying to tie it up, my thoughts lingered on the impending loss of my hair. I had inherited my thick locks from my father, who had gotten them from his mother. Unfortunately, it turned out that the BRCA1 gene, which ran in our Ashkenazi lineage, had also been passed down, and now its presence was painfully evident. The thought that I might have passed this gene to my son or the child growing within me was unsettling. How peculiar that two such contrasting aspects — life and illness — could exist within me simultaneously.
I had debated whether to learn the sex of the baby, especially after receiving my diagnosis, but Max insisted on keeping it a surprise. As the baby began to emerge, I was convinced it was another boy. But with a final push, SHE arrived — the daughter I had always dreamed of.
She weighed in at just six pounds, smaller than her brother, who had been almost eight and a half pounds. I couldn’t bear to look at her tiny feet, reminiscent of the fact that she could have benefitted from a few more weeks in the womb. Nevertheless, she was stunning, with rose petal lips, dark skin, and a full head of hair, resembling me in so many ways. More importantly, she was a fighter. Against all odds, she had entered this world and, in doing so, had saved my life. Without her, I might not have sought medical help for the seemingly insignificant lump in my breast during my routine OB visits.
While my daughter didn’t erase the reality of my cancer, she illuminated the possibility of finding joy amid adversity. Perhaps this joy was intensified by our need for something positive in our lives. I sensed that my life would deviate from my expectations, but it might just be alright. After all, our daughter was a surprise — a true besheret.
We named her Eliana, after my beloved grandmother’s sister who had succumbed to breast cancer. In Hebrew, Eliana means “my God has answered,” symbolizing hope and light in our darkest moments. She would guide us through this journey.
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In summary, my unexpected pregnancy led to the discovery of my breast cancer, reshaping my journey into motherhood. The birth of my daughter, Eliana, brought not only joy but also a renewed perspective on life, reminding me that even in the face of adversity, there can be light.