The best and worst of times

One month before my mother found the lump, I found out I was pregnant with my 3rd child.   My mother had cancer 2 other times before in her life.  Neither time was fun.  I'm here to tell you it's even less fun when you're pregnant.    And if it's less fun when you're pregnant, it's exponentially less fun the more pregnant you get and the more hormones you have raging through your body.

Being pregnant at 40 didn't help.  I'm sure there are lots of women who rock pregnancy at 40, I'm not one of them.  I didn't rock pregnancy when I wasn't 40 and I'm here to report I rocked it even less at 40.

My last day being pregnant.  

I was quickly the size of a house.   Some of that was definitely Taco Bell drive through related.   But

some of it was also because I carried extra amniotic fluid throughout.  That led to trouble breathing when I laid down from 26 weeks on.   Just when you thought sleeping while pregnant was hard, try feeling like you're not getting enough air.   I don't care how much Tylenol PM you took, the panic you start to feel when you can't breathe really throws off your mojo.  I started binge watching Law & Order reruns late into the night.   I watched so many I actually had to set my DVR to "record all" so enough recorded all day to last until I was ready to fall asleep.  That's a lot of episodes.   

Worst photo from the worst angle of me looking as big as I felt.   Super tempting to delete but also a motivating "before" photo.  

I was also the size of a house because I was carrying the worlds biggest baby.  She was 10 pounds when she was born.  And she was born at 39 weeks!  Unfortunately, the doctor was guesstimating more like 9 pounds so she didn't schedule me for a c-section.   Shoot me now.   She's lucky she's cute.

1 day old.  

But in the meantime, I was visiting oncologists and surgeons with my mother.  On the bright side, everyone at the hospital is really, really nice to you when you are six month's pregnant with the world's largest baby and pushing your mother in a wheelchair.  On the downside, it's hard to lift a folded up wheelchair into the trunk of a 4 door sedan when you are the size of a house.   I had a little lift and bump maneuver with my hip that worked for awhile.  And when it worked less well, my husband only asked once about the scrape on the bumper and we didn't discuss it again.

Meeting grandma

At 7 months, I finally had to arrange for someone else to drive her to radiation because it was physically just too much for me. That's a hard call to make.  But you do it.  And because your mother is kind and sweet and never wants to be a burden, she assures you it's fine and even looks on the bright side that the other person agrees to hit the Krispy Kreme drive thru for a hot now afterward.   But you still feel like a crappy daughter so sometimes you close your office door and cry at your desk at work.

Blue eyes.   My husband and I both have brown eyes.  Who dis?  

A new baby on the way brought my mother a great deal of happiness.  I firmly believe she lived as long as she did after the diagnosis because of the new baby.   I think it lifted her up and carried her during some difficult days.  And I think sometimes I felt lifted up, too.   Three days after having a baby, I drug my tired, swollen and emotional self to the cell phone store and upgraded my mother's crappy 10 year old flip phone to an iPhone 6 Plus so I could text her photos and videos every day.  Money well spent.   

Photos of babies with giant hair bows are good for you.

I was 2 months pregnant when my mother had the biopsy.  5 months pregnant when she had the double mastectomy.  7 months pregnant when they said she needed chemotherapy but that chemo wasn't medically recommended because she'd had chemo two times before.   I was also 7 months pregnant when my mother told me she figured she'd had 69 years and 69 Christmases and that that was pretty good and made her peace with her prognosis.

A 70th Christmas

I gave birth to my third child in the midst of radiation.  My new baby was 6 months old when the cancer returned.   9 months old when I had to pick a hospice company.  And  11 months and 21 days old when I held my mother's hand for the last time.

7 month photos taken in her hospital room. 

My two older kids actually had their first day of school the day before.   I'd taken their pictures in front of the house.   Four hours later the amazingly kind hospice lady called to tell me the end was near and that I should come.    Nothing highlights how the world keeps turning even when your own life is falling apart like showing your mother photos of the first day of school on her deathbed.  Celebrating a first birthday just a couple days after the funeral is pretty surreal, too.

That first day of school photo.  Also the last photo I showed my mother.

Life is complicated.   Rarely convenient.  And sometimes the worst stuff happens at the same time as the great stuff.  The story of my mother's death is intertwined with the arrival of this third child.  She is cute and sweet and arrived when I needed her.  There are days when she is a tyrant who saps my will to live.   But there are also days she restores me.   And that's life.

The cutest dictator on the block.