My 6-Month Journey: Birth, Amputation, and Cancer Battle
A mother’s story of courage, resilience, and hope
Six months ago, I was decorating a nursery and debating between cloth and disposable diapers. I had no idea my life was about to transform completely—twice over.
The Unexpected Diagnosis
It started with a persistent ache in my thigh. Initially, I dismissed it as pregnancy-related—perhaps sciatica or a pinched nerve. As the pain intensified, I focused on enjoying every precious moment with my newborn daughter Liora. I cherished her baby scent and tiny fingers, but as weeks passed, the discomfort worsened. Mornings became especially difficult; I lacked the strength even to rock my baby.
When I finally underwent medical imaging, I recognized that look on my doctor’s face—the one that signals difficult news ahead. The diagnosis: a rare, aggressive soft tissue sarcoma. I remember clutching the hospital bed rail thinking, “I just gave birth.” Cancer was now consuming my time and energy.
Treatment and Difficult Decisions
Chemotherapy began immediately. My breast milk dried up. Most nights, severe nausea forced me to entrust Liora to my mother’s care. When the tumor invaded my femur, doctors recommended amputation to improve my survival odds. I signed the consent forms without tears, determined not to invite pity.
Post-surgery, I woke to a new reality—one leg gone and overwhelming guilt. I couldn’t carry my baby. When she learned to crawl, I couldn’t follow. I had purchased a special dress for her naming ceremony that now hung unworn in my closet.
Yet, I persevered.
A New Discovery
Three weeks after surgery, while starting physical therapy and celebrating Liora’s first teeth, I accidentally discovered something concerning in my medical file—an undiscussed scan report. Pacing my living room on crutches, heart pounding, I noticed the phrase “suspicious lesion in the right lung” among the medical terminology. My focus had been entirely on my leg amputation—no one had mentioned potential lung involvement.
I called my doctor’s office, but they were closed. With my next appointment a week away, anxiety consumed me: had the cancer metastasized?
Days of Uncertainty
The following days blurred between attempts at normalcy and sleepless nights. Liora’s bright eyes and drooly smile kept me grounded. I held her close during feedings, nuzzling her soft cheek to quiet my racing thoughts. When exhaustion overtook me, my mother stepped in for night feedings. Though I could see her worry, I pretended everything was fine—our situation was already stressful enough.
Confronting the Truth
When appointment day arrived, I wheeled myself to my oncologist’s office, my residual limb too sore from therapy for crutches. Dr. Armitage greeted me with his characteristic serious yet compassionate expression. Without preamble, I confronted him about the lung finding.
“I found a note about a suspicious lesion in my right lung. Is it cancer? Why wasn’t I informed?”
He sighed apologetically. “I wanted definitive results before causing alarm. There is a small spot on your lung, but we haven’t confirmed malignancy yet.”
The word “malignant” hit hard, but I maintained composure. At least now I knew. The plan: another scan the following week, with possible biopsy depending on results.
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