saving a life
by Gloria Cunningham
Gloria lives in Whittier with her three children and loving husband. She attends Mosaic in Pasadena, and celebrated one year in remission this past March. |
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"You're pregnant!" my doctor announced with a smile.
How long I had waited to hear those words! As the doctor proceeded with a routine exam, my head filled with images of little fingers and toes.
However, words that the doctor said during that same office visit soon ended my joy. "I think you have breast cancer," he declared. CANCER. My chest tightened as I thought about the ramifications of his statement. Because I was pregnant, I could not get a mammogram. I had a breast ultrasound that did not show a tumor; so I got hopeful that the mole-like bump on my breast was just some kind of skin condition. In fact, a doctor said that might be all that it was. Still, it was recommended that I get a surgeon to do a biopsy.
After I got my biopsy results about a month later, I was barely able to drive myself home. Tears filled my eyes and made it difficult to see the road. Phrases that the doctor had said ran through my mind; "Inflammatory Breast Cancer … most aggressive … doubles at twice the rate of most cancers… no way both you and the baby will survive this cancer … we'll need to evacuate your womb …" Even though he avoided the word "abort," I knew he meant I needed to kill my baby! How could I end the life of the child my husband and I had tried so hard to start? I couldnt!
But what could I do? The doctor said that if I waited until the baby was born to start my cancer treatment, I would not live to see his first birthday. If I started the cancer treatment, the baby would not survive. I decided to get a second opinion.
After the second opinion, my husband and I went to see a surgeon at the City of Hope. She was the first to say that it was possible to try to deliver the baby, but that we needed to realize that at any time during the treatment we could lose the him/her. I needed to do everything I could to protect my baby's life. I knew that I could do all things through Christ who strengthens me, but wondered if my little baby could withstand chemo when adults could barely get through it. When I was just four months pregnant, I was told that I must have a total mastectomy with removal of all my lymph nodes. As I was wheeled into the operating room, I feared that I would wake up from surgery to find out that my baby had miscarried. There was a good chance that the general anesthesia I needed for the surgery would cause that to happen. When I awoke from surgery, however, I was thrilled to learn that my baby was still alive.
However, the lab report stated that the tumor, which had not been detectable through an ultrasound just six weeks earlier, was now six and a half centimeters. Of the 16 lymph nodes that were removed, 14 had cancer and two of them were the size of golf balls. Because of the size of the tumor and how many lymph nodes were involved, I was told it was probable that my cancer was at stage four. That is the most advanced stage of breast cancer.
I was advised that there was a high risk that I would go into early labor once I started chemotherapy. I was given chemo for the next three months. Though I kept losing weight instead of gaining like I should, my baby remained safe inside of me. I imagined God's angels' wings wrapped around my tummy protecting my baby. I knew that God would take care of both of us.
The next round of chemo was too dangerous to administer while pregnant. The doctors decided to deliver my baby early so that I could continue with my treatment. A cesarean section was scheduled for May 24th, 2006. My baby would be delivered at thirty-three weeks.
Though a normal baby delivered at seven months should weigh between three and four pounds, I was told to expect my baby to weigh between two and three pounds because of the chemotherapy. We asked God for a three-pound baby and knew that with Him, all things were possible. I was put under general anesthesia and my baby was delivered. The first question I asked when the anesthesia began to wear off was, "How much did he weigh?" I kept asking the same question over and over again because I couldn't understand why my husband kept saying the number five. I shook my head and asked again. Was I so drugged that they could not understand me? Was my speech slurred and only I knew what I was saying? Again my husband answered five and this time he held up five fingers. My precious baby boy weighed five pounds!
I was told that my son would not cry at delivery because his little lungs would be too weak. My family said he cried and then they cried. God is so merciful. We named our son David because he had fought a giant and won.
I wish I could say that I was strong in my faith throughout this ordeal; but my faith was stretched to limits and there were days that I just cried for hours at a time. But even on those days God was faithful. He provided everything I needed to get through some very difficult months. For many days, I couldn't even get out of bed. The pain was excruciating. My husband often had to make the difficult decision of who to help first … his crying wife, or his crying baby. My husband's love and care for us during that time was amazing. God also gave me six sisters who also helped me substantially. I remember one particular day one of my sisters took the day off work just to cry with me. Another of my sister's got me to join a Mosaic small group soon after I was diagnosed. The women in that group prayed for me and provided my family with meals every night for three weeks. Yet another sister took it upon herself to provide me with a nutritionist evaluation and organic food. Other caring people helped with transportation needs and wrote encouraging cards.
In addition to providing me with many people to help me, God also provided some things that helped to protect my family financially. When I started my chemo treatments three weeks after my mastectomy, I was told that most health insurances didn't cover the expensive anti-nausea medication I'd need. God knew that with my pregnancy, I couldn't afford to be vomiting. He ensured my insurance covered the medication, which, at a cost of a thousand dollars per week, I could never have afforded. Not only did my health insurance cover above and beyond what I could even hope for, but I was also able to get "catastrophic leave pay" through the Teacher's Association that paid my entire salary for three months. God's provision for all my needs and His protection of my baby helped to strengthen my faith through what was to be the hardest trial of my life.
After six months of chemo treatments, two stem cell transplants that consisted of five weeks in the hospital and seven weeks of radiation treatments; my cancer was declared to be in remission on March 21, 2007. Today, as I chase after my perfectly healthy two-year-old David as he drags chairs across the floor to climb up on my counter, I can't believe how blessed I am. I have given up trying to count how many years I may have left in my life; instead I try to make the years I have left count. I no longer take things for granted. I thank God for my life, the life of my son, time with family, His provision, and most of all for His love. I am more alive now than I ever was before. |
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