My Gratitude for Brighter Moments as a New Mom With Cancer

Angela Patterson is a two-time breast cancer survivor. She received her first diagnosis of breast cancer when she was 36 weeks pregnant. Catch up on Angela's blogs here!

My first breast cancer diagnosis came on March 3, 2006, when I was 36 weeks pregnant. With an aggressive, fast-growing cancer that showed evidence of invading my lymphovascular system, my medical team wanted me to receive treatment as soon as possible. Childbirth was induced a mere 10 days after my diagnosis (March 13). Chemo started 17 days later on March 30.

Life with a newborn is exhausting because babies are cute little sleep assassins.

Life during chemotherapy is exhausting. The treatments and side effects can induce fatigue, and for me, it was an endless parade of different body parts hurting or feeling weird and severe nausea.

Put a newborn and chemo together and you have a marathon of bone-deep exhaustion. With a helpless, innocent new life wailing from hunger or a dirty diaper, the inclination to be a caregiver contradicts the reality of being a patient with cancer. It was a confusing and difficult time.

The medical costs for treatment blended with the baby (and mommy) checkups. The diapers, wipes and formula dented an already aching bank account. I had to give myself permission to either hand wash the bottles or wash one load of laundry today. I did not have the energy to do both. It was a conscious choice that I made repeatedly to stop striving for perfection.

In the evenings after an infusion, the warmth from my infant’s little body would make the nausea immediately worse. I couldn’t hold her for long and it broke my heart.

I joined a support group of fellow breast cancer sisters who discovered their tumors while nursing. I wasn’t allowed to nurse. Knowing chemo would follow so soon after childbirth, my OB/GYN sat on my bed the second day of my child’s life while I was attempting to sneakily nurse from the one breast that hadn’t had the surprise lumpectomy and she said flat out, “You have to stop.” The resentment over losing the choice of nursing to bottle feed took a long time to leave me, but my husband said he was glad we bottle fed so that he got to be a part of that. I felt grateful that he handled about 2/3 of the middle-of-the-night feedings.

One infection I caught during treatment made me sick enough to be hospitalized. Instead of watching over me in the hospital, my husband had to be home with the baby. That choice just about killed him because he truly thought I was going to die that night.

Throughout treatment, friends and family took turns babysitting so that we could have time to ourselves to leave the house (or take a nap). Their generous gifts of time meant so much to us and helped to preserve our sanity.

As the moments ground into months during treatment, I was cheered by the many milestones of a growing infant. There was the first smile, the first time to roll over, the first time to eat solid food. It felt amazing to see all of these moments of discovery and new things for this tiny person. I was treated to babbling, baby giggles and silly antics. I loved it. Those moments lifted my spirits to that place of the wordless warm glow, the smiling contentment of simple domestic life.

We could stare at our baby’s sleeping face in the dim light from the hallway and wonder how we didn’t burst with happiness.

I would never wish chemo on anyone, much less the added stress and sleeplessness that accompanies caring for an infant during chemo.

However, I’m grateful that we noticed and snatched all those moments of joy that brightened up an otherwise devastating, grim time in our lives. I now feel empowered for having survived it.

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