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As I stood in my backyard on May 10, 2020, with my son and two nephews, capturing joyful moments with selfies, a wave of anxiety washed over me. I couldn’t shake the thought: “Please, God, don’t let this be my last Mother’s Day.” Just weeks earlier, I had discovered a lump in my breast that felt alarming. I hesitated to see a doctor before the holiday, opting instead to schedule an appointment for May 14th. Deep down, I sensed that the news would not be good, and I wanted to savor that final moment of bliss.
My instincts were sadly correct. The moment I brought the nurse practitioner’s hand to the lump, her expression revealed the truth before any words were spoken; it was bad news. Less than a week later, I faced my worst fears—diagnosed with stage three breast cancer, which had spread to both breasts and my lymph nodes.
I had to return home and face my son, Leo, with tears streaming down my face. In silence, we both understood the gravity of the situation. He erupted in despair, crying “No! No! No!” and curled into a ball, overwhelmed by anguish. At just 13 years old, Leo was already grappling with the isolation of the pandemic, and now he was confronted with the reality of his mom battling cancer. It was a burden too heavy for anyone, especially a child.
Looking back nearly a year later, I am grateful I didn’t fully comprehend the challenges that lay ahead. The emotional and physical turmoil was unimaginable. Being a solo mom amidst this turmoil made it even more daunting.
The pandemic made it especially difficult to find support, as having loved ones nearby posed risks during my illness. Last November, I ended up in the emergency room, my white blood cell count dangerously low at 400—far below the normal range. Hospitalized for several days, COVID restrictions meant Leo couldn’t be by my side. I can only imagine how that must have impacted him, leaving scars that will shape his view of the world.
Fortunately, my mother lives with us and stepped in to help. She prepared meals when I was too sick to eat, and I can’t express how fortunate I feel to have her support. While I may not have a partner, the love from friends and family fills that void.
After my double mastectomy, my mom had to change my dressings because I couldn’t bear to look at my reflection. Losing my size D breasts was traumatizing. When I woke up from surgery, I screamed in despair, realizing my body had changed irrevocably. It was a moment I wouldn’t wish on any woman.
Then came the hair loss. Initially, I wore hats to shield Leo from the harsh reality of my appearance, but they made me uncomfortably hot. My breast cancer was driven by excessive estrogen, which led to early menopause after my ovaries were removed. Eventually, I had to let Leo see me bald. He was incredibly supportive, reassuring me that I was still beautiful and that none of the external changes defined who I was. His words meant everything.
Beneath his brave exterior, I know Leo was terrified. The fear of recurrence looms large. Having recently finished chemotherapy, I’m still navigating the aftercare process, and the anxiety of each blood test and scan weighs heavily on my mind.
Leo relies solely on me as his parent. I refuse to dwell on the thought of recurrence; I am determined to overcome this. This upcoming Mother’s Day may mark my first as a cancer survivor, but it also symbolizes my strength and resilience.
I am more than just a solo mom. I am a survivor.
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In summary, my journey through cancer as a solo mom during the pandemic has been filled with heartache and resilience. With the love of my family, especially my son, I am determined to overcome the challenges ahead and embrace life moving forward.