by Candis Vargo
I tried not to worry, but that proved to be nearly impossible. Joel did his best to comfort me as I did my best to be strong for him. I’ve always known how much he loved me, and I never wanted him to go through the pain of seeing me hurt in any way. I always said that I wanted him to die before me, so I could keep him from feeling that type of pain, so I pretended to be strong.
We worked on unpacking over the next several days, and when Monday finally rolled around, I was a nervous wreck. I kept telling myself that whatever it was I would be fine and my baby would be fine because I
wouldn’t let anything happen to my baby. I couldn’t.
When Pam walked in, a sad smile crossed her face, and I knew the news wasn’t good. My body went cold as I tried to prepare myself for whatever it was she had to say.
“What is it?” I croaked, and Joel wrapped his arm around me and kissed my head.
Pam slid her stool over in front of my chair as she sat down and placed a hand on my knee. “I’m afraid there’s no easy way to say this, Cara. You have acute myeloid
leukemia.”
CHAPTER TWO
I was confused. At first, I didn’t understand what she was saying. But when it hit me, my world went blank and my head grew dizzy. As the blood drained from my face, images of the future I had dreamed of flashed through my head. How could you feel so numb yet feel the aching of your soul at the same time?
“I’m sorry, what?” Joel asked.
“Acute myeloid leukemia, or AML. It’s a type of cancer of the blood and bone marrow where abnormal white blood cells, we’ll call them leukemia cells, are formed and accumulate in the bone marrow itself. When too many of these cells accumulate, that leaves no room for any of the good cells. Basically, your bone marrow cells aren’t maturing the way they’re supposed to.”
“So what is it, cancer or leukemia?” Joel yelled.
“Leukemia is a type of cancer. I’m
sorry, but it is treatable.”
I couldn’t make sense of all of the words she was saying. Leukemia. I had leukemia. I was pregnant with leukemia. But…what about my baby?
“My baby,” I snapped. “Does my baby have it? Is the baby okay?”
“Well, yes, the baby is okay. But there are a few things we need to discuss.”
Joel and I both let out a breath we didn’t realize we were holding. He pulled me tighter to him, and I did my best to hold back my tears as I saw one fall down his cheek. Pam kept talking, telling us everything we needed to know before we made any decisions. But there was really only one I could make.
Apparently, AML is treatable by chemotherapy, and if it isn’t treated right away the chance of survival severely diminishes. She said that AML is a type of leukemia that progresses rapidly, and she was adamant that I agree to the chemotherapy.
“Okay,” Joel’s voice shook. “So if she agrees to chemo, what’s next?”
“It’s not that simple of a decision, considering your current condition, Cara.”
“What, you mean the baby?” I thought she said the baby was okay?
I was given three choices, and I could only choose one. The first choice was to get the chemotherapy while pregnant, which she wasn’t fully for, but also wasn’t against. Chemotherapy while pregnant is extremely touchy, and there are clashing studies on it. Some studies say it doesn’t hurt the baby if you have the chemo in the second and third trimester. Others say it can cause deformities, low birth weight, premature delivery, and stillbirth. But all of those studies agreed on one thing: chemo in the first trimester will severely hurt the baby.
I was ten weeks along. Even if I waited a few weeks until I was in my second trimester, my leukemia would be ten times worse, and there would still be a chance of it hurting my baby…
My other two options? I could have an abortion and go through with the chemo, or I could ultimately face my death and not do the chemotherapy and keep my baby.
I’m sure you can guess which one I chose.
“So, you’re saying either I die, or my baby dies?”
“We could start the chemo-”
“Still risking killing my baby!” I snapped. I get that she didn’t want me to die, I do. But there was no way I was going to allow anything to hurt my baby.
The real kicker was being told that I might not even make it to my due date. With as rapidly as AML spreads, the best we could hope for was to make it long enough that my baby would be able to breathe on its own when it was born.
I was scared and heartbroken. I realized that everything I had imagined for the past few weeks was gone. Every dream I had for our baby and us- how could those dreams be so short lived? I didn’t want to die. God, I didn’t want to die. I don’t really think there’s an easy way to wrap your head around the fact that you’re going to. Death is the harsh truth everyone spends their lives trying to avoid and having a timeframe for mine terrified me. But if there was any emotion stronger than fear, it had to be determination because I was hell bent on giving my baby life.
Pam started to talk again, but Joel wasn’t having any of it. “No,” he shouted as he stood up, causing me to jump. I’d seen him angry before. Hell, I’ve been the one to make him angry on several occasions. But I’d never seen him like this. There’s no textbook way on how people should react to getting this kind of news, and it’s natural to want control of your life, but when something like this comes along, and you lose that control, it’s petrifying.
Your entire world crumbles to your feet and every hope, every dream you’ve ever had goes right along with it. The things you would put off until tomorrow suddenly became things you wanted to do today and everything you kept putting off until next year, well, that was pretty much gone. That vacation I never took, I wasn’t going to get. The traveling I wanted to do and the things I had wanted to see; I wouldn’t get to do that either.
I could only assume that when someone gets told that they’re dying, they finally decide to cross off their bucket list, or at least as much of it as they can. But I
wouldn’t be able to bungee jump off of any bridges because I had my baby inside of me that I had to worry about. It would be worth it, though. I didn’t care how many things didn’t get scratched off my bucket list as long as I got to have my baby.
“But if it’s bone marrow, can’t she just get a transplant or something?”
“We really don’t do those during pregnancy. The procedure you’d have to go through and the anesthesia… it would essentially be the same as the other treatment options.”
“No,” he yelled again. “You can’t do this! You can’t come in here and tell us we have to choose between her or our baby.”
One of the nurses came running to the door and asked if everything was okay. Pam nodded and told her it was fine.
“Let me give you guys some time,” Pam stood up and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
“No, no. I’m not having it. They can’t do that. They can’t come in here and do that shit.”
I knew it was best to let him run his course when he got angry, but we were still in the hospital, and I didn’t like causing a scene. “Joel, please…”
“Cara, did you not hear what she said?”
“Joel, please,” I repeated more sternly.
“Cara,” he was still yelling.
“Damn it, Joel. Will you knock it off?" I finally yelled back, shutting him up. He stalked back and forth in the room, something he only did when he didn’t know what to do.
“I’m sorry,” Joel whispered as he came over and knelt down in front of me and placed his head on my lap and began crying.
I was lost and numb. I didn’t want to die. I was too young to die. I had so much left to do. I tried fighting back my tears, but with Joel crying on my lap, I let it all out. I began to sob uncontrollably as I thought about all of the dreams that were shattered, all of the chances that I didn’t take. All of the plans I had been making for my baby went up in smoke and slowly faded from my reality.
<
br /> My mind raced with questions. Who was going to help take care of my baby? Joel couldn’t raise our baby alone, teach our baby all it will need to know before school even starts and go to work to take care of everything financially. Who was going to be there to help him? Who was going to help raise my baby? Who was going to replace me eventually?
But I knew what my decision was without even thinking about it. Some might call me crazy, but I call it a mother’s instinct. I always thought that as women, we are ultimately born with the instinct to protect, well, most of us anyway. We hear a baby cry, and we instantly want to take care of it or watch on eagerly as their mother tends to them. I saw that as what I was doing. I was protecting my baby the only way I would ever be able to.
I wasn’t going to abort my baby. I knew that meant there would be a good chance of having a premature labor but that was much better than not having my baby at all. I knew women who had lost their babies while pregnant and that they would be more than willing to trade their lives for their child’s.
But I wasn’t going to do the chemotherapy either. I couldn’t, not knowing that there was a risk that it would kill my baby. I couldn’t do it. Some might think it selfish of me, but I’d find it more selfish if I aborted my baby to save my life. I’d had the chance to live, and my baby hadn’t. My baby was relying on me to give it life, and that’s what I was going to do. I knew not everyone would agree with my choice, but it was my choice to make.
It was hard for Joel to accept it. He didn’t want me to terminate the pregnancy. But he also didn’t want to lose me, and I understood that. He knew there was no right decision… there was only my decision.
“There has got to be another way,” he cried. I ran my fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him as he continued. “There has to be. I can’t lose you. Oh God, Cara, I can’t lose you. I want you both. I want you and our baby, why can’t I have both? It’s not fair. It’s not fair!”
But there wasn’t another way. The only thing we could do now was pray. Pray to God, whatever God may be out there, that I would somehow survive. I thought that maybe I could be that miracle that everyone reads about in the newspapers, the one who does the impossible and survives against all odds. My luck had never been particularly good, but luck could change, right?
My pregnancy was now considered high risk, so I had to switch to a doctor that specialized in that. Pam had recommended a doctor by the name of Dr. Lynn, so I took her on her word and chose Dr. Lynn when I switched. Pam wished us the best of luck and hugged us before we left her office for the last time.
Joel started to put on a tough shell for me, trying not to let me know he was hurting, but I could read him like a book. He wasn’t acting like he didn’t care, but it was more like he wouldn’t let me see him break down again. At night he would hold me tighter, and he spent every moment he could at home. He even tried to give up his Thursday night wing night with the guys, though I wished he wouldn’t have. I didn’t want to see him give up things he liked doing. Though I had cancer, I didn’t feel like I was dying yet, so instead of letting him give it up I started to go with him. I thought the guys would be upset even though Joel said he didn’t care if they got mad or not, but they weren’t. They were a little too excited to have me there, if anything.
Anyway, hugs became tighter, and each time he held on a little longer. In the mornings I usually got up with him so we could have coffee together before he went to work. On the rare morning he had to leave early, he let me sleep, but he would kiss my cheek before he left. It wasn’t just one kiss, it was several, so I would start to come out of my sleep and wrap my arm around his neck to try and hug him. Sometimes I even tried to tell him I loved him but it came out so mumbled that he would laugh, but he knew what I was trying to say so he would tell me he loved me too.
Our nights were spent either laughing and talking or cuddling on the couch while watching a movie. Most of the time I’d fall asleep on him if we watched a movie, but he didn’t mind. He enjoyed watching me sleep with my head on his lap and I couldn’t blame him…he wouldn’t get to sleep next to me for the rest of his life. Just mine.
That was on the nights that we actually could sleep, anyway. For the first few weeks, at least, I couldn’t sleep. And the nights I could…well, if anyone asked, I’d tell them the hardest part was when you woke up. It was usually in the middle of the night, and you immediately remember what you were trying to forget the night before— the cancer. It happened to him too. He didn’t think I knew, but I did. He tried to stay quiet, but in the middle of the night when he woke up and started to cry, I woke up too. I just laid there, silently crying tears of my own as I listened to him asking God why this was happening.
I didn’t want to tell our family and friends. I knew a sympathy train would come and I didn’t want that. Not to mention, people never knew what to say when they found out. They would just look at you with a mixture of shock and sadness. It put them in as awkward of a position as it did you. I mean, what are you going to say? Sorry, you have cancer while you’re pregnant? Plus, I wanted the last of my time to be spent with dignity and happiness. I kept thinking, “Who knows? Maybe after the baby is born, there’ll still be time for chemo.” I knew there wouldn’t be, but I wasn’t going to tell them that. I didn’t want everyone to see my funeral every time they looked at me. Joel and I knew we’d have to tell them eventually, and not at the last minute either. I just wanted to wait a little bit longer.
Besides, you couldn’t tell I was sick just by looking at me, not yet anyway.
I did decide to tell my best friend, Beth, first. She knew me almost as well as Joel did and would figure everything out sooner or later. Yeah, I probably should have told my mom or dad first, but could you imagine finding out you’re going to lose your child? I knew how that felt and I didn’t want them to go through that. Selfish? Probably. But I just couldn’t tell them yet, and Joel respected my decision.
I should have expected Beth to react the way she did; she knew I wasn’t on any sympathy train. We’ve known each other since high school, and people used to think we were sisters. The only thing our appearance had in common was our height or lack thereof. Her hair was dirty blonde, and she had hazel eyes, but we acted like sisters, so maybe that’s why. She was over for dinner one night, and that’s when we told her. Her reaction was the best of them all.
“Well,” she said. “I just ask for your passwords to your social media sites, so I’m able to post things like, ‘Why am I so cold?’ and send messages to people that say ‘I like to watch you sleep.’”
Joel and I both busted up laughing. Though there was sadness in her eyes, she did her best to keep us smiling. That was just one of the many ways she was like me. She swore to come over more and help me out as much as possible with whatever I needed, even when I became stubborn. We both knew that was inevitable.
Joel insisted I leave my job and stay home. I was a certified nurse’s aide, and I was going to school to become a nurse at the same time. I wanted to spend as much time with him as possible, so I agreed, and I left my job. It was harder than I thought it would be to say goodbye to my friends there, telling them that I was leaving for personal reasons. It wasn’t a lie, but it felt like one.
It was even harder to say goodbye to my residents. I worked in a nursing home, and I know you’re not supposed to get attached to your residents, but I couldn’t help it. Some of them just grew on you. It didn’t help that the nursing home was its own wing of the local hospital, so it was small. That meant there weren’t a lot of residents there, which gave you more one on one time with them. I was hesitant about dropping out of school, but I knew that after everything—if I made it through everything - I would be able to go back. So after a little thinking, I ended up quitting school too. I figured it was better to have the time with everyone now just in case I didn’t make it, and all the odds were stacked against me.
After a few weeks of staying at home, I was going stir crazy. I wanted…no, needed, so
mething to do, or I was going to lose my mind.
“Joel,” I whined like a child.
“Yes, my love?” He came up and wrapped his arms around my waist.
“I want to start on the baby’s room.”
He laughed.
“We don’t even know if it’s a boy or girl yet.”
“I know, I know, but I’m going crazy. There’s only so much cleaning and cooking that can be done.”
“Ugh, I beg to differ. You can keep baking those amazing cookies of yours. I can’t get enough of those.”
“Joel,” I whined again as I shook him.
He finally agreed to let me do a few things and start buying items for the baby’s room but insisted I be careful. I knew he was worried. For the most part, I felt fine. As long as I didn’t get any new bruises and stopped when I got winded or dizzy, I was okay. I didn’t feel sick. I felt pregnant.
It took everything I had to unpack the piles of boxes that sat in our house. At first, I didn’t want to touch them, but then I realized that I needed to make sure our house was a home, especially before our baby came. Not to mention, if I left any decorating up to Joel, he would be satisfied with a TV mounted on the wall, a couch, and a coffee table. I remember the first time I saw his ‘bachelor pad’ before we moved in together. It certainly needed a woman's touch because it was empty of any personal items and his laundry basket was his old sofa. As long as his recliner was clear so he could sit in it, he was happy. Not a single item hung on a wall, and there wasn’t so much as a photo on the refrigerator.
I walked around our house, hanging our photos on the walls. I loved our engagement and wedding photos, but there was always something extra special about the candid ones… the ones with the smiles that you can see in our eyes. Eyes truly were the pathway to the soul. They could tell you everything someone was feeling and you really don’t need to look that hard.
