Six months ago, I was choosing between cloth and disposable diapers, decorating a nursery in soft pastels, and imagining lullabies under dim nightlights. Life felt full of new beginnings, warm with expectation. I had no idea everything was about to shatterโtwice.
It started with a dull ache in my thigh. I chalked it up to pregnancy discomfortโsciatica, maybe a pinched nerve. But after my daughter Liora was born, the pain sharpened. Still, I ignored it. I was too busy inhaling that newborn scent, counting her perfect little toes, getting lost in her sleepy sighs. I didnโt want to miss a single moment. Until one morning, I couldnโt even stand to rock her.
I went in for scans. When the doctor came in, his face told me everything. He didnโt need to say a wordโI knew something was very wrong. It was a rare, aggressive soft tissue cancer. The kind that doesnโt wait. The kind that demands everything.
Chemo started immediately. My body turned against me. My milk dried up. Nausea stole my nights. Most evenings, my mother had to take Liora so I could collapse into sleep or pain, whichever won first. Then the cancer spread to my femur. They said amputation would increase my chances. I signed the forms without tears. I wasnโt going to let cancer take my dignity too.
I woke up with one leg and a thousand invisible wounds. I couldnโt carry my baby. Couldnโt dance with her. Couldnโt wear the dress I bought for her naming ceremony. I didnโt cry then either. I saved my tears for the quiet moments, when no one could see.
But I was still alive.
Three weeks out from surgery, I started physio. Liora was teething. And then, in the most ordinary moment, I found something that shook me againโa note buried in my medical file. Words I wasnโt supposed to see. A โsuspicious lesionโ in my right lung. No one had told me. No one had even mentioned a scan.
I paced my living room, crutch under one arm, that piece of paper clutched in my hand. My heart was thundering. Was it a mistake? A clerical error? Or another storm on the horizon? My oncologistโs office was already closed. My next appointment wasnโt for a week, but I couldnโt wait that long. I didnโt sleep that night. Or the next.
Lioraโs laughter became my lifeline. Every time she reached for me, every giggle, every gummy smile kept me grounded in the present. I held her close and prayed for normalcy. Mum took the night shifts again. She knew something was wrong, even when I pretended it wasnโt.
By the time my appointment arrived, I felt like I was walking toward a verdict. My body was too sore for crutches, so I rolled myself through the hospital halls, familiar smells bringing back too many memoriesโchemo, surgery, waiting rooms filled with silent dread. When I saw Dr. Armitage, I skipped the pleasantries.
โI found the note. The lung lesion. Is it cancer?โ
He looked genuinely regretful. โWe were still reviewing it. I didnโt want to worry you until we had more information. Thereโs a small spot. We donโt know yet if itโs malignant.โ
Malignant. That word struck like lightning, again.
We scheduled another scan and a potential biopsy. The days leading up to it were unbearable. I couldnโt stop thinking: would I be healthy enough to watch Liora grow up? Could I do another round of chemo? Would I ever feel whole again?
At physical therapy, I met Saoirse. Sheโd lost her leg in a car crash. She moved with ease and confidence I didnโt recognize in myself yet. She taught me how to pivot, how to catch my balance, how to live in my body again. More than that, she shared her storyโsingle mother, widow, survivor. Her strength gave me permission to find my own. โKeep your heart open,โ she told me one day. โPeople will surprise you. So will you.โ
The day of the scan arrived. Mum drove. We didnโt speak muchโwe already knew all the fears by heart. Liora stayed with my aunt. I remember the antiseptic stinging my nose, the sterile lights above me, the mechanical whir of the scanner.
Then came the wait.
When Dr. Armitage finally walked in with the results, his face was unreadable. My hands clenched in my lap. My throat burned.
โGood news,โ he said. โThe lesion appears stable. From what we can see, itโs benign. Weโll monitor it, but for now, no further treatment.โ
I broke. Relief flooded me like sunlight. I laughed and cried all at once. Mum wrapped me in a hug, and for a moment, we just breathed. Together.
In the weeks after, I poured everything into healing. My prosthetic leg became less of a foreign object and more a symbol of progress. I learned how to stretch to ease the phantom pain. I figured out how to hold Liora standing up again. That first timeโwhen her little arms hugged my neck and I swayed us gently across the floorโI felt like I had taken back a piece of myself.
Life didnโt go back to how it was. It moved forward into something new. Liora didnโt see my missing limb. She just saw her mama. The one who held her, laughed with her, sang her to sleep.
We had a small celebrationโjust a few friends, a cake with bright pink frosting, lemonade in mismatched cups, and stories that made us laugh until we cried. Even Saoirse came, smiling like she knew how hard Iโd fought for that moment.
That night, as I watched Liora sleep, I realized the nursery walls werenโt just decorated with rainbows and elephants anymore. They were soaked in resilience. Painted with grace.
We donโt get to choose every battle. But we get to choose our response. I had moments where I wanted to give up. Moments I did give up. But every time, I looked at my daughterโs faceโand found my way back.
If this story leaves you with anything, let it be this: you are stronger than the worst day of your life. Even when your body breaks, even when fear consumes you, even when you lose pieces of yourselfโyou can rebuild. Love is still there. So is hope.
And sometimes, the greatest victory isnโt just surviving. Itโs choosing joy anyway.
