Today I nursed my baby for the last time. This day has come for me before. Twice. But on those occasions, it was on mine and my baby's terms. Not cancer's. I think that is what makes it all the more harder; it is the first thing cancer is taking from me. Soon it will be my hair. My energy. Possibly my breasts. And, ever looming, the ominous threat of my life. Even 10, 20, 30, 40 years from now, I will always wonder if it has come back for me. And I cannot handle it. Breastfeeding means a lot to me. I love tummy to tummy, putting my baby in milk comas, him holding my finger in his little hand. I love all of *our* quirky, nursy things that we do. I love wearing him in a carrier close to me where he can just nurse and fall asleep to the sound of my heart. I love when he wakes up in the middle of night and just nurses back to sleep in my arms. No bottles. No formula. No water. No pacifier. Just us. We are enough for each other. Until I became a breast cancer warrio...
Join me on my journey down the rabbit hole of Cancer Land! Treatment, divorce, parenthood, teaching and dating while learning to navigate my new life as a metavivor. My sordid tale begins on April 17, 2017 at age 33 when I was diagnosed with Stage II Invasive Ductal Carcinoma Triple Negative Breast Cancer and continues with my new Stage IV diagnosis exactly two years later on April 17, 2019.