I haven’t been publicly updating folks often about my pregnancy and coinciding breast cancer, and it is for a variety of reasons (previous post here if you haven’t read it). One is, I keep wanting to go back and tell the whole story from the beginning. I have lots to share, have learned so much, and chronologically seems like the way I’m supposed to do it.
I feel I should share in proper order about the roller coaster of those early weeks and how we came to make our plans, how we challenged a lot of what was being presented to us and made and continue to make choices that feel the most in our best interests and in line with what’s important to us… about the early pregnancy celebration my friends and sister held for me, about the day I emergency-paged my midwife and friend crew to come over and have a head-shaving pizza party with me when my hair suddenly started falling out in handfuls from the chemo (my mom facetimed in), and how I’ve been finding ways to add beauty and love and ritual to even the shittiest of moments.
But, I don’t want to go way back to those early days of being diagnosed right now or get toooo much in to my educator-mode. Pregnancy is a raw and vulnerable time and I want to stay focused on each present moment without going too far back or looking much into the future. What works best for me to stay in a strong mental space is taking the advice I would give my clients about the birth process: one breath, one wave, one moment at a time. “You can do anything for sixty seconds” is what I say to them, and that’s symbolically the frame of mind I’m in right now.
So instead, I will update you about the present, and save going back to tell parts of the full story for a time when I feel ready to share them, when it feels like a healthy and inspiring thing for me to do.
I’m over half way through the pregnancy now, and part way through phase one of cancer treatment. I am proud of myself for my strength. I feel like it’s okay to admit that. I feel my work in birth and in life HAVE given me the skills to stay in the present and to believe in myself. Being surrounded by others who believe in me helps, too. The midwife caring for my pregnancy knows how to keep me strong and confident and nourished, and I’m still being SO well cared for by my community, who has been feeding me and contributing to me in various ways since hearing the news, and by Gary who thanks me almost every day for “working so hard to grow us a baby.” This is a good line – partners of pregnant folks out there reading this, I highly recommend stealing it. Every time he says it, it reminds me that my body is doing a lot of really incredible things right now, and that all the rest and nourishment and self and care I am getting are not unearned, even if in some ways they feel like a luxury.
The cancer is responding remarkably well to the treatment. What pre-treatment was a 5X4cm mass in my breast protruding out visibly and painfully against my skin in a way that felt like it was trying to burst out of my body is now barely palpable, and the lumps in my lymph nodes have shrunk as well. My bloodwork is all normal, meaning my body is handling the treatment well enough. My symptoms are manageable, likely because I have the privilege of taking time to care for myself and having a family and community caring FOR me, and a healthcare system we don’t have to pay out of pocket expenses for. There is not a day that goes by where I’m not deeply aware that this is not the reality for many others in similar situations.
Who it’s probably hardest on in some ways is my parents, who live a province away and don’t get to see me every day to know that I’m really mostly just fine! It’s hard for those who love you to feel like there isn’t anything they can “do” daily from afar. But there isn’t anything TO do but love me and know that *I know* that anything I need from them will be provided in a heartbeat if I need it.
Meanwhile, my belly keeps growing, and I’m starting to get the standard comments that pregnant folks have to deal with and often scare them into thinking they are growing a giant. “You are huge! Are you sure you know how pregnant you are? You look so much more pregnant than you should!”
Luckily I know what a normal pregnant belly is, and I know not to be afraid of growing a “too big” baby (if anything I find it reassuring to know my magical placenta is doing a good job of letting nutrients in and keeping medicines out). I love my growing belly and I love thinking of my baby growing and gaining weight and strength. Words of advice though, we have a saying in the birth world that “telling someone they are SO BIG stops being a compliment at the age of 10”, so unless you KNOW with certainty the person you are talking to is like me and going to love you saying “you are huge!”(or the opposite, commenting on how small someone’s belly looks), stick with “Wow, what a beautiful belly. How cool is it that your body knows just how to grow a perfectly sized baby in there!”
I can feel rolls and kicks now, still movements felt mostly just internally but Gary has felt a couple strong kicks from the outside, too. A friend commented that she used to think of her baby’s movements as a fish moving around in her belly when she was pregnant, and that was the first analogy that resonated with me. I started picturing a little baby coho salmon flopping around in there, but that analogy grosses Gary out so I’ve stopped saying it out loud.
The movements remind me of my other-lifetime of sailing across the Atlantic ocean in a sail boat, usually the only vessel to be seen as far as the horizon in every direction. Every day, dolphins, and once a baby whale, would pop up in the distance, and swim towards our boat to play in our wake. I remember feeling like those beautiful mammals were giving us such a gift; choosing to let us have a small and temporary glimpse of them by coming to the edge of the divide between their world and ours to say hello. That’s what these intermittent baby movements feel like; a gift and a hello from our baby playing with the edges of their salt-water-filled world and my external one.
I’m tired a lot (and no, it’s not just normal pregnancy fatigue, though there is some of that, too). The week or so post-chemo (once every three weeks) is an exhausting one, and an emotionally taxing one that leaves my nerves feeling like they are teetering on the edge of a cliff. And after each round the fatigue is stronger and the recovery longer than previous ones. The chemo-induced nausea lasts about a week as well, though it’s relatively mild and I’m managing it well with very minimal medications, drowning myself in peppermint oil, and home acupuncture treatments. I have enough time in between treatments to get “back to normal” and to have more energy for a while before doing it all over again (my breaks between my metaphorical contractions), but I have to admit with each treatment it is taking longer to get there. I’m not used to needing (and taking!) so much sleep and rest and I don’t love it, though I know it’s what my body needs.
I’ve been told more than once over the years that I have “loving but firm boundaries”, which I choose to believe is a compliment though I know not everyone loves this side of of me, and I notice that side of me is stronger than ever. I’m not shy to say “I don’t like when people ask me that question.” Or “Nope, that part of me doesn’t need to be fixed. It’s okay that I feel that way.” Some people say “That makes sense, I get how it would feel that way!”, and some people blink at me with saucer-wide eyes in disbelief that I don’t feel like I need to accept the odd comment or word of unsolicited advice that comes my way that I don’t like, even if I know intentions are good. I can’t be bothered to tip toe around the things I like and don’t like, and feel I am well deserving of being vocal about what responses do and don’t sit nicely with me.
I feel I am a strong and generally happy person overall, and I still am. So when the odd time I express “today is a hard day” or “I don’t like this part” or “It still feels like a long road ahead”, I want to be given credit for the fact I am able to see and focus on all the things I have going for me as well as being able to honestly acknowledge the hard things, and for what I believe has been an over all extremely strong attitude if I may say so myself. It at least feels that way to me, which is enough. It’s not helpful to be told to “look on the bright side” or told to be even more accepting or positive than I’m already being. I am going through a combination of really big challenges and having an incredible amount to be grateful for and happy about at the same time, and it’s okay if I don’t love every single part of it. *I’m* okay with and realistic about not loving every part of it, and want others to be okay with that, too. It’s true now and I’m sure it will be true postpartum and in my parenting lifetime, as well.
For the most part, I’m blessed to be surrounded by people who simply listen and express understanding without minimizing my experience, or projecting pity or “you shoulds” on to me. Everyone should get to have my wise group of friends; I highly recommend them.
The days or weeks where I have lots of medical appointments are hard, and the ones where I’m surrounded by amazing people to drink tea with me, share food with, go on forest walks with, have family facetime chats with, and jump in freezing cold ocean water with (this has become a pre-chemo ritual that is so far still going strong even in the fall weather) are good days. Most days end with Gary and Piper piling into bed with me, snuggling up all together while the growing human rolls around inside of me. My loosening pelvis makes it harder to roll over in bed without a few grunts (that Symphisis Pubis joint moving around against itself is sure something!), but we are otherwise mostly comfortable and I am still so in love with everything about being pregnant and feeling all of these cool changes. Most days are good days.
The changing weather has meant a fading of the easy distraction that summer brings, and brought more indoor reflective time, though I’m still getting out into nature as much as possible. I’ve missed out on several births of clients, and that’s been feeling hard (not that their births are all about me!). I *did* manage to sneak out to part of one close-by birth for a few daytime hours on a day I was feeling energetic: making an appearance at a repeat client’s birth that it was SO HARD to not be there for in its entirety but felt so special to be there for, if even briefly. I love my repeat clients so much, PLUS it was inspiring and emotional to think “I’m going to get to do this (give birth) myself!”.
I’m increasingly aware of how long I have been away from attending births, my life passion and a primary part of my identity, for, and of how much longer I WILL be away from it as I continue my treatment, pregnancy, and then enter postpartum. The quietude of of the grey and rainy skies that are starting to make their appearance makes this feel daunting at times. At the same time, I’m so grateful for and proud of Talia and Meena who have stepped up to care for so many of my clients, old and new, and who have been doing a phenomenal job, and for the other birth workers who took over some of my client load. Births can happen without me, it seems.
I’m doing a little bit of teaching to feed my birth soul: co-teaching a Birth At Home Class at the moment alongside Talia, a guest teaching spot at Teresa Campell’s Sacred Cycles Training, and our final Wise Woman Way of Birth Doula Training of the year with Gloria. I am thankful to be able to do a bit of teaching with support; a way to work at least a little in my passions without sacrificing my sleep and my energy and my health. I miss my long and luscious hair, but it turns out demo-ing how the crown of a baby’s head moves through the pelvis is easier when you are bald. Who knew.
Side Note: there is still space in the upcoming Wise Woman Way of Birth doula training if you want to send anyone our way! This will be the LAST training before I have a baby of my own! Details Here.
There is a bit more chemotherapy to go to keep shrinking things, and then on to surgery sometime in December to remove whatever is remaining. Then the plan is for a treatment break before birth. I look so forward to these phases of the treatment to be over, and at the same time want to relish the pregnancy and not have it go by too quickly. Wishing for time to go quickly and slowly at once and for different reasons, which I’m told is just the beginning of what will now be a lifelong sentiment as a parent.
Once again, I’m not looking for advice or resources. I’m simply sharing for those interested in what’s been going on with me. If I ever feel I’m struggling to cope with something I will reach out to this incredibly supportive community I am grateful to have and ask for advice and see what folks have got, but don’t want unrequested advice or resources please. Also, once again, please don’t ask for details about what’s coming next or specifics about the what’s and why’s of our plans and choices, as that pulls me into the future or the past and what works for me is staying in the now.
Dawn is still doing the coordinating of community care for me; you can reach out to her if you feel inspired to offer any additional support to our growing family (email Meena at birthtakesavillage@gmail.com if you don’t have her info). But also know we are being extremely well cared for already, and are grateful beyond words to be so loved and supported, and I appreciate all the messages I’ve been receiving of your trust in me, of telling me I am strong and resilient, and of being excited for us for our pregnancy (my original post shares the types of comments I do and don’t find helpful).
My mom sent me this poem recently, and it struck a cord with me. Embracing my inner wolf with my mini domesticated wolf-dog by my side.
WOLF PRAYER
Spirit of the Wolf,
You who wanders the wild lands,
You who stalks in silent shadows,
You who runs and leaps
between the moss covered trees,
Lend me your primal strength,
And the wisdom of your glowing eyes.
Teach me to relentlessly track my desires.
And to stand in defense of those I love.
Show me the hidden paths and the moonlit fields.
Fierce spirit,
Walk with me in my solitude,
Howl with me in my joy.
&
Guard me as I move through this world.
-Travis Bowman
If you missed the previous post, you can find it here.
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