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.
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. I received multiple ultrasounds over the next several months, and I was alarmed to learn that despite the medication, it continued to grow. Four months later, I was told I should have it surgically removed and biopsied.
