There are moments in life when you think, This is it I’m the happiest I could ever be. And then, in the blink of an eye, everything changes. For me, that moment came when I was fifteen, and cancer decided to rewrite my story.
High school for me wasn’t about dances or football games it was about hospital rooms, IV poles, and radiation sessions that stripped away both my hair and my innocence. I was a shy teenage girl lying shirtless under bright hospital lights, surrounded by strangers. It was humiliating and terrifying. But after six long months, I heard the words “You’re in remission.” My parents had fought right beside me, though I think the pain of watching their child suffer cut even deeper than the cancer itself.
After treatment, I wanted nothing more than to be normal. I graduated high school and college, determined to leave behind the identity of “the cancer kid.” Then, at twenty-five, I met the kindest man gentle, funny, everything I’d ever prayed for. We married on the hottest July day imaginable in a church whose air conditioning broke the night before. It was chaotic, sweaty, and absolutely perfect.
Soon after, we bought our first home and began talking about starting a family. My doctors had warned that my treatments might make pregnancy difficult, but we conceived immediately. When our blue-eyed, dark-haired baby boy arrived in the winter of 2008, I felt like the luckiest woman alive. Life was finally what I’d dreamed it would be.
Still, a small part of me remembered the risks. Studies had shown that girls who had chest radiation as teens faced a high chance of breast cancer later. I was thirty now fifteen years since that first battle but I convinced myself I was fine. Then one day, after hearing about actress Christina Applegate’s diagnosis, something pushed me to get checked.
An MRI showed something suspicious. A biopsy came back benign, but I asked for the area to be removed anyway. That’s when I heard it again cancer.
I shaved my head while my baby sat playing in his pack-n-play beside me. I counted down my chemo sessions and tried to stay brave. Once again, I fought, and once again, I won. After my mastectomy and five grueling years on tamoxifen, my oncologist finally told me I could move forward even try for another baby if I wished.
When I learned I was pregnant again, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. And when the nurse told me I was having a girl, I cried. I had prayed for a daughter a little best friend to braid hair with, to take for pedicures, to share life with.
But just as life seemed perfect again, I found a small bump along my mastectomy scar. I was thirty weeks pregnant. I tried not to worry, but my gut told me something was wrong. The scans confirmed it: the cancer was back.
During my first chemo session while pregnant, I sobbed uncontrollably. I wasn’t afraid for myself anymore I was terrified for my baby. By the third treatment, I developed pneumonia and was placed in critical care. I remember wanting to give up. But my husband my rock wouldn’t let me. He gently helped me shower, washed my bald head, and brought our son to my bedside to remind me why I had to keep fighting.
Weeks later, our daughter arrived tiny, beautiful, and perfectly healthy. Seeing her breathing, crying, and full of life gave me the strength to keep going. She became my “chemo baby,” cheering me through every remaining treatment until I reached remission once more.
Today, that baby girl, Carolina, is six years old fierce, sweet, and full of light. My son, Cole, is a thoughtful teenager who still holds my hand. And my husband remains my greatest supporter, my steady calm in every storm.
The journey left scars both seen and unseen. I battled crippling anxiety, the kind that whispers you won’t live long enough to grow old with your family. But I sought help, found healing, and discovered a new purpose. Through writing, photography, and volunteer work with children fighting illnesses, I’ve found meaning in what once felt unbearable.
I still wonder why God kept me here. Maybe the reason isn’t me at all maybe it’s one of my blue-eyed children, destined to change the world because of what we’ve survived together. Either way, I’m ready to see how the rest of the story unfolds.
