My main focus in 2006 was finishing school and figuring out my next steps. I was 21, hanging out with friends, trying to get to class on time, and doing what most people my age did: planning for a future that felt wide open. Cancer was the furthest thing from my mind.
Then I found out I was pregnant. I was shocked, nervous and unsure of what people would think, but I was determined to keep living my life. That was my first pregnancy, so I didn’t know much about what to expect, but I remember being so tired that some days just getting dressed felt like a full workout.
At my four-month ultrasound — the day I was supposed to find out the sex of my baby — the tech was unnervingly quiet and took longer than usual. She finally told me it looked like I had a fibroid tumor and sent me for a second opinion that same day. I also learned I was having a boy. I was excited, but suddenly there was an unexpected layer of worry over the joy. I was told fibroid tumors were common in young women my age, and since my mom and aunts had a history with them, I tried to reassure myself that it was nothing unusual.
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When my son was born healthy and perfect in January 2007, the tumor was still there. My doctors continued to monitor the Ping-Pong ball-size growth, and prescribed birth control to shrink it.
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