In an instant, everything changed.
In an instant—everything changed.
It was a warm, sunny Spring day and I was on a walk with my 2 year old and 4 month old. Our little house was barely out of sight when my cell phone rang. I had no idea, in that moment, that my life would change forever. Or even more shockingly, just how much it would change…
Rewind about 2 months. After a very normal bedtime routine with our two littles, who were 22 and 2 months old at the time. I was standing in the kitchen with my hubby and we were about to call it a night ourselves. Tired, I stretched my arms above my head and when I brought them down, I pushed my hair behind my shoulders and that's the moment I discovered a lump that I was sure was not there the day before. If I am honest, I knew right away that it was cancer. I had been down that road before, with both my Mom and my uncle, her brother. My uncle went through grueling treatments and came out victorious. My mom wasn't so lucky. She had fought cancer for 9 years and ultimately lost her battle just 4 years before I found my own lump.
The next day I went to my doctor, who coincidentally my mom had worked for when she was alive. He has known me since I was a child and obviously knew my mom's story, so he didn't hesitate when I said I didn't want to waste any time and wanted to have tests done ASAP. He scheduled an appointment for me to meet with a specialist that week to have a biopsy done.
Long story short I ended up having 3 biopsy surgeries. They couldn't seem to identify exactly what I had. After the first two failed biopsies, they sent me to a new specialist to remove the entire lump and have it sent away for testing. That was the phone call I was waiting for, the results of that third biopsy.
On that sunny day, while pushing my 2 year old and 4 month old in their double stroller we had just bought, I got the news I knew was coming but had been dreading. I had Stage 2 Hodgkins Lymphoma and needed to see an oncologist.
I remember shortly after my diagnosis, we took the kids to an indoor waterpark. We were ascending the stairs to the waterslide and I stopped and looked at my husband with tears in my eyes and said "I don't want to die. I know what it's like to be without a mom and I don't want my kids to have to grow up without me."
Through it all, the surgeries, diagnosis, chemo, driving up for day after chemo shots, radiation, scans, doctors appointments where you hold your breath waiting for news...I can remember certain moments so vividly but then there are entire blocks of time where I remember nothing. Not how I was feeling, not who was taking care of my babies, not what I was thinking...not how I was surviving day to day...nothing.
There is so much more to this story & maybe one day I will write a part two, but my friend Skye suggested that I share this part of my life with you. As she so eloquently put it, this part of my story is really the lens through which I make a lot of my life choices! My choice to leave my 9-5 career, my desire for time freedom, my parenting choices (and fears), the choices I make about our family's wellness, the products we now allow (and don't allow) in our home, my intense desire to live life with passion because I know just how short life is and how it truly can change in an instant.
All of that feels like both yesterday and a lifetime ago. It has now been 12 years since I got the amazing news that I am cancer free. There have been both good and bad things that have come from going through my battle with cancer. It is an experience that shapes you and your perspective on so many things, you carry the byproducts of it with you for a lifetime.
But overall I am grateful for what I went through. It has led me to where I am today and helped mold me into the person I have become. And it ultimately led me to my people- I find so much joy in helping educate people on wellness and making better choices for their families. I am so lucky to be a part of an incredible community of supportive women who have become like family. And for that, I am eternally grateful.