When I was diagnosed, I shed a few tears, but I never felt sorry for myself. I never asked why and I never complained. Instead, I put my big girl panties on and went into fight mode.

My stance was whatever I gotta do to live I would do. The most aggressive chemo, the most aggressive surgeries, whatever I gotta do, I was willing to do. Except that one time when they told me I didn’t need radiation after my bilateral mastectomy. Then came back a month later and said I needed it but couldn’t give me a clear reason. I hit them with the Rosa Parks… Nah.

Because I declined chemo, my oncologist told me to do six months of a chemo pill. Okay cool. So, I did that. Later, I had a diep flap which is considered the most intense reconstructive surgery there is to have. (It really wasn’t that bad, except that eighty degree room, but that’s another story).

So here I am, two years out since getting the all clear and now I’m faced with one more hurdle… total hysterectomy. See, I’m BRCA1 positive. My paternal grandmother and three of four of her daughters have had either breast or ovarian cancers. Within the last year, three of my first cousins have been diagnosed with reproductive cancers. Talk about bad juju!

So, I’ve agreed to the total hysterectomy, but I was hoping there would be some glimmer of hope that I could meet the man of my dreams, settle down and have a child before the last big procedure. Well the mister must still be going through Husband 101 boot camp because I haven’t met him yet, not to mention to marry him and have a kid.

So, today my oncologist told me it’s not a matter of if, but when I, too, will be diagnosed with ovarian or Fallopian cancer due to my strong family history. It’s not like this is new to me or something I did not prepare for.

But in that moment, it became real and I was devastated. Not because I can’t be a mother. I’m already a mother to many of my kids who I have served over the last thirteen years as a school counselor. I was devastated because the harsh reality that I would never have the opportunity to know what it feels like to have a life grow inside of me.

I have always looked at pregnant women with admiration and longing for the day that I ,too, would find the joy in being a mother…the natural way.

It sucks and I’m angry that this stupid disease has taken my dream from me. Not my boobs, not my hair and definitely not my overlapping belly that was used to reconstruct my chest. I’m pissed because it took what I thought would be, what society has told me would be one of the greatest natural accomplishments of my life.

My parents always go with me to my appointments and I did my best to not allow them to see me cry. I’m the baby girl and believe it or not, I hold everyone together. If I break, they break. So, I walked outside and sat on the bench in the shade and allowed the tears to flow.

Lost in my emotions and thoughts, one of my nurses came out to check on me. I cried in her arms and told her how I felt. Told her how I felt like I had been robbed by #*%*% cancer. She rubbed my back and just let me vent and get it all out.

For the first time, I was allowing myself to feel. Once I was done, she told me about how she first became a mother at seventeen, when she and her mother raised her oldest niece. She said, “It was like something lit up inside me when I saw her for the first time. I was drawn to her and although she wasn’t naturally mine, she was mine.”

She gave me peace in that moment. I can’t say I stopped crying, but I felt a little better — a little bit of a relief. I dried my tears, got off the bench and headed back into the center for my last appointments.

So what the heck do I do now? Well, I am going to take some time and grieve. Grieve for my unborn babies. I’m going to take the time to cry, scream, sleep and do whatever I need to do to mourn and heal from this loss of my ability to be a natural mother. And while I grieve, I’m going to think about all of my beautiful overcomer sisters like Ebony, who gave life but was taken before they could see her babies grow and mature into adults.

Although I am sad, I’m going to re-purpose my pain by sharing my story and waiting for God’s perfect timing to make me a mother any way He sees fit. ️