M is the mama to 7-year-old J and 4-year-old S.
I am a type A, organized, plan-ahead kind of person. Becoming a mother was something my husband and I had planned, yet I had anxiety about exactly how it would feel and how it would disrupt our happy status quo. Early in my pregnancy, I read countless books and did as much research as possible to prepare myself for pregnancy, birth, and the early days of having a newborn. I had to-do lists, registries, pediatrician interviews. I even test-drove strollers before deciding on one.
My introduction to motherhood was nothing like I’d expected. I learned quickly that the romantic, idyllic version of being a new mom and a new young family was not at all true. When I was six months pregnant, my husband was diagnosed with cancer. I took a leave of absence from work to care for him during his surgery and chemotherapy treatments. In the midst of his treatments, I was diagnosed with placenta previa which required me to be on hospital bedrest at 32 weeks. Then, at 34 weeks, my son was born – dramatically and unexpectedly. Fortunately, he was healthy and strong and miraculously did not need to spend any time in the NICU. We went home after three days in the hospital. Not only was I a new mom, but it had happened much sooner than anticipated. Since I had been caring for my husband and then had been in the hospital myself, we were not at all “ready.” To make matters worse, I had a fourth-degree tear and could hardly walk. My parents flew in the day my son was born, and I had no choice but to immediately surrender to my need for help. There was no way I could handle all of it by myself. They bought groceries, cooked meals, assembled the swing and pack ‘n play, did laundry, and held the baby so that I could sleep. Since my husband was sick, he was not able to provide much assistance, although he tried his best. He slept in a separate room, since sleep was critical to his healing. I slept alone in our master bedroom with my tiny six pound baby in a bassinet nearby. I had never imagined that I would be so alone – literally and figuratively – during my first days as a mother.
None of my anxio
us preparations had prepared me for the reality of having a newborn. I could not believe how my life had literally changed overnight. I was so overwhelmed, and so exhausted that I couldn’t even focus on what was overwhelming me. But somehow, I got through it. I read blogs until the wee hours of the morning, which helped reassure me that I was not the only one facing these challenges. I let the baby sleep in the swing – because it was the only place he would! I took a walk every day. I didn’t focus on the negatives – like the fact that we hadn’t bought a crib yet, or that I didn’t have time to get a haircut. I literally took things one day, and sometimes one feeding, at a time. I learned that those early days and weeks were about survival. Just getting through each day felt like a success. And I continued to accept help. As the days passed, I realized I was not alone at all.
My mom slept on an air mattress on the freezing cold floor of my Chicago condo for many weeks that winter. My father-in-law flew in repeatedly to take my husband to chemo. Shipments of food arrived in packages of dry ice, and we stocked the freezer thanks to the generosity of friends both near and far. My sisters came to visit, and were fine to just sit on the couch, watch movies, and laugh with me. Friends invited us over for Thanksgiving, even though we were not the best company – given the crying baby, the struggling nursing mother, and the nauseous cancer patient. Every day the mailbox was filled with cards, both congratulating us on the baby’s arrival and encouraging me and my husband through his treatments. My girlfriend designed the birth announcements for me. A single male friend who had no experience with babies took a morning off of work to sit with my three-week-old son in a hospital waiting room while we met with a doctor for a second opinion. All of these acts of selflessness and kindness nurtured my soul in ways that have forever changed me. Feeling loved and supported got me through every single one of those dark days.
Through all of this, I hardly cried. I found a strength within myself that I didn’t know existed. There was no time for self-pity or fear. I just had to push through it. And somehow I did. I looked at that little baby and knew that I could, and would, do anything to be the best mommy I could be for him. As strange as it may sound, I am grateful for the chaos of those early months of my son’s life. I learned some invaluable lessons about myself, and I will never be the same person I was. I’m still Type A, and I still make a lot of lists, but I’ve learned not to sweat the small stuff. My son is now seven, and I also have a four year old. (Needless to say, my postpartum experience with him was much different from the first time around). My husband has been cancer-free for seven years. We both know that every day is a gift. We are both survivors.