How My Daughter Saved My Life
A Mother's Battle with Mesothelioma
"I saved my mommy's life." This phrase, in response to being asked about my battle with cancer, has become my 7-year-old daughter's standard reply. As natural to her as declaring that she is thirsty or has an upset tummy, these words have become an integral part of Lily's reality. And while some people may not fully accept such a dramatic claim from a young child, I can confirm the truth in those five beautiful words.
After waiting seven years
to have children, I was understandably hesitant when my husband Cameron and I
decided to begin the journey toward parenthood. At the age of 35, I was
concerned about complications due to my age, and about how long it might take
before we conceived. As it turned out, my fears were unfounded: just three
short months (and three pregnancy tests) later, we got the news that would
change our lives forever: we were having a baby! In retrospect, I am
amazed at how quickly I took to the idea of becoming a mother, and to the belly
rubbing. Of course, I was simultaneously shocked and nervous, but more than
anything I was excited and curious. What would our sweet baby be like? And what
kind of mom would I be? Fun? Strict? Cool? I knew none of those things ultimately
mattered: beyond anything else, I just wanted to be a good one.
Initially, my pregnancy was
so smooth that I joked about doing it 10 times over. However, Lily was breech,
and needed to be delivered by emergency c-section. Always the optimist, I remember
joking to Cameron, "At least she will have a round head!" When I
finally got to hold her, I was overwhelmed by emotion. I knew in that moment
that I would do everything I could to provide her with an abundance of love,
protection, and happiness. I would nurture her toward her very best--teaching,
coaching, and loving her in a way I couldn't have begun to understand just five
minutes earlier. As I studied her lovely face and inhaled her sweet baby scent,
I knew that nothing else mattered: my life was about her. Little did I know
that this perfect moment would soon be shattered by terrible news.
I was diagnosed with
malignant pleural
mesothelioma when Lily was 3.5 month old. If I began treatment immediately,
the doctor explained, I would have 15 months to live. As I attempted to absorb
this news through my complete shock, I could only think about one thing: how
could I leave Lily and Cameron alone in this world without me? My
husband, meanwhile, conferred with the doctor, listening to the various
treatment options. Without pause, he chose the most aggressive form of
treatment. And so we headed to Boston to meet with one of the world's top
mesothelioma specialists, who recommended an extreme procedure in which my
entire left lung, and the lining of my heart and diaphragm, were removed.
The recovery was long: 18 days in the hospital, followed by two weeks in
an outpatient facility, and two months of care at my parent's home in South
Dakota, where I was at last reunited with Lily. Over three months since we'd
left Minnesota, we finally returned home where I began chemotherapy and
radiation treatments.
Choosing this particular
treatment option meant making a huge sacrifice. Missing Lily's entire sixth
month was the hardest thing I have ever experienced--far harder than surgery,
chemo, radiation and anything else cancer hurled my way. And so it was Lily's
need for her mother that gave me the courage to face the uncertainty ahead.
Mesothelioma kills nearly
95 percent of those diagnosed with the cancer. When I consider how I came to be
part of the lucky remaining five percent, I know that being Lily's mother, and
knowing her great need for me, gave me the strength to keep fighting every
single dark day. When Lily proudly proclaims, “I saved my mommy’s life,”
I can confirm her absolute truth. We continue to save each other every day.
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