Today I was able to soak up some sunshine, take my baby boy out and about and spend time with my mom. Overall a good day, where I got to dream my dreams, make plans, see the sun one more time, and kiss my baby on his little round head as many times as I wanted. Yes, cancer did rear its ugly head this morning. It always manages to impede some part of my day. Today it was in the shape of a doctor's appointment. It was a simple follow-up with my oncologist, no scans, no bloodwork, nothing to be spooked about. I went alone because I wanted to just have a conversation with the doctor about my diagnosis, the thoughts that the GI specialists at Roswell passed along, and to go over some of the things I have changed in my every day life in order to get myself healthy. It was a good conversation, he was proud of me for the exercise I am doing and he felt my abdomen where I was having pain, and didn't feel anything to be concerned about. This is my new normal. Going to the doctor and talking symptoms, energy level, planning new scans. I left cautiously optimistic that I am in a good place. I have taken ownership over my diagnosis and am actively involved in the decision-making for my treatment. I'm finally back in charge of myself and healthy enough to speak up and ask questions for myself. For a while I was relying upon my family and Bill to listen to the doctors and give the ok. I just wasn't there mentally to do it. I put a lot of faith into them, into the doctors, that if I gave myself wholly to this fight, they would be doing right by me and doing their part to keep me alive. I left the office today, glad for how far I have come and hopeful for where the journey will go next. I felt like I had a handle on the cancer, a leg up if you will. That I was getting somewhere. The sun was shining and I was confident for the first time in a long time.
Of course this was short-lived. I had a nagging feeling all day about cancer. That it was going to take a life today, hurt someone, devastate a family, break hearts. And unfortunately, I was right. Jenna Hinman, a local woman who thousands have prayed for over the past two months, lost her brave battle with cancer this afternoon. For those of you that don't know Jenna's story, it is intense. Jenna delivered twin girls prematurely in March and it was quickly discovered that she was full of cancer, a rare cancer of the placenta had ravaged her body. Her girls were transferred to the NICU here in Syracuse while Jenna was placed on life support in the ICU. Her husband, a soldier out of Fort Drum, was by her side every day. Jenna's fight to stay alive became the community's fight. It became a national story with thousands praying for her recovery and following her progress. The news was usually upbeat, with small steps toward recovery seeming to happen regularly. But then this weekend, Jenna took a turn for the worse with a serious case of pneumonia. She was fighting valiantly, but her body gave out and the world was informed today that she passed suddenly this afternoon.
I read the news with a lump in my throat. I had some idea it was coming, but that didn't make it any easier. Did I know Jenna? No. Did I pray for her? Every day. She was a part of my "list." The list of women who I feel a kinship to, who are young moms that were dealt with the most difficult of circumstances. Bring a child into this world while waging a war against cancer. Sounds easy, right? (sarcasm). I, unfortunately, am not alone in circumstances. Throughout this journey, many have shared with me the stories of friends and relatives who found their cancer while pregnant or had a child and found out the devastating news as I did a few months in. Some of you are familiar with Dr. Jen Arnold from the show "The Little Couple." She actually developed cancer from a miscarriage. She had to fight with her all after bringing home her adopted daughter. And there are many others.
I found myself getting angry tonight. Not at my doctors or their doctors, but just finally saying this is bullshit. One of my friends on Facebook said it best. This is supposed to be the celebration of a wonderful beginning, of becoming a mom, celebrating all your "firsts." And what has happened? Myself, Jenna, Jen, and all of the others have been forced to ask for help, hand over the care of our babies to others while we give our everything to be there for our children for the long haul. It is bullshit,(sorry I am swearing, but it is the only word that does it justice), that these women, myself included, have missed out on the joy of first teeth, first words, first steps because we are in the hospital, at a specialist in another city, or even just in bed completely wiped out from therapy.
What kind of God does this? Throughout my fight, I have had faith. I have said prayers, gotten on my knees and said novenas, prayed to St. Jude, carried crosses, worn blessed beads. I've surrendered myself, put myself in God's hands and stayed true to my faith when the world seemed to crumble. But with Jenna's death, I have no perspective. I have to reasoning. There is no rationality to it. A young, beautiful woman with two baby girls who needed her, has died. Where is the greater plan in that? I can't rationalize this one, God. I can't see how this is for the best. And I call bullshit.
We as women, new moms, already have our hands full. And I can't say or hear again "God gives us that which we can handle." Again, bullshit. At this point, with all I have seen, the friends I have made along the way, the kinships I've formed with women I have never met, who walk this same path with me, you can understand my anger. Guess what? There are days when I cannot handle all that I have been given. There have been days of exhaustion, where I have been hovering over a toilet of puke or lying in my bed throbbing in pain, where I have wanted to say ENOUGH! I'm not that strong, and why, why WHY have you chosen me to walk this path? Why can't I have the "normal" pregnancy? Why can't I have the regular new mom problems? Like whether to breastfeed or formula-feed?
No, instead I have had to be separated from my baby for 24 hours when I have PET scans, figure out who was going to watch him because daycare was out due to germs being brought home to my weakened immune system. I had to pack my baby and husband up and move in with my parents. I had to become a burden.
Today, I had to get in my car and just drive when I heard of Jenna's death. I wanted to push the accelerator into the floor of my car, go as fast as I could, to unleash my rage. I was angry crying, wanting to beat things. I felt like a little girl who was having a tantrum. I was. I was an adult throwing a tantrum. It was as if I was asking "why?" only to have my parents say "because!" Just infuriating.
My poor husband, he didn't know what to say, what I was going to do. No one could possibly know what to say. This was between me and God. My mom said, "Something good has got to happen soon." And she's right, enough is enough with the loss, the tragedy, the sadness. As I drove today, I looked to the sky, I demanded answers. Of course, I knew they wouldn't come. The universe remains a mystery, and no one will ever know why we end up on certain paths toward certain destinies. Shedding tears, raging within, none of this will answer my questions. I will never know why I got cancer. Why I got cancer four months after Sam blessed my life. Why I have had successful treatments while others have suffered and lost. I also will never know why in those moments of feeling defeat, I was able to pick myself up and soldier on. We just don't know. I just know that despite the pain I've gone through, the exhaustion, the needles, the tears, I have learned that I am a survivor. I have been told by many that I've been through more in 9 months than most go through in a lifetime. My baby, Sam, is the reason I am alive today. If not for him, I don't know if I would have had the same amount of fight in me. I stay positive, for Sam. I choke down vitamins and smoothies, for Sam. I was poked with needles over and over again, for Sam. And now I exercise, research new treatments, seek out knowledge, for Sam.
They say there is no stronger love than that of a mother. And they are right. Nothing can knock out cancer more than a pissed off mama bear. I have waited my whole life to be Sam's mom. I will be damned if cancer takes that away from me. The loss of Jenna resonates with many of us mothers. She won't be able to see her girls grow up in this world. But she fought longer and harder than many of us could have.
As I drove today and thought of Jenna, I glanced toward the sky. I found my answer in the form of a rainbow coming through the clouds, assuring me that her battle was not fought in vain. That rainbow didn't answer why, but it illuminated the darkness of the moment. It was as if Jenna herself were telling me that there is hope, that this isn't all for naught. That rainbow eased my pain, reassured me and made me see again. Thank you, Jenna. You're right, us moms, we got this!
