Mommy Mode

Today starts week two of not being able to hold my son. I can “see the light at the end of the tunnel,” and yet my entire being aches for those baby snuggles! Last week, I moved forward with my breast reconstruction. Those annoying tissue expanders came out, and I got my squishy implants. The pain has been very minimal, especially compared to recovery post mastectomy. Still, I am not permitted to lift anything over 5 pounds. My son, the tank, being one of those heftier things.

I debated making this blog post about the reconstruction surgery to educate folks on how it is different than augmentation and how it has affected me, but instead I need to shift focus from the cancer and all the treatment and surgery and kick it into mommy mode. I’ve been talking to a lot of my fellow moms recently and I have some insight to share. A few “ah-ha” moments, if you will.

Most mothers cringe when they hear that I can’t hold my baby boy. I shrug it off, explaining that it’s only temporary, and then they proceed to tell me how strong I am. Which I also shrug off because honestly, I don’t know how to respond. This weekend though, it dawned on me that I don’t know how to respond to a fellow a mother who tells me how strong I am, because I do not see myself as any stronger or braver than she. As moms, we endure any/all things for our children. Isn’t that the epitome of strength?

In regards to not being able to hold my son, I think the sadness comes in knowing that our snuggly days are limited. Eventually, he will not want to be held. As patient as I try to be, I know that this phase will be over too soon. Cancer or no, I think that is something all moms can relate to. I have several mommy friends who shared that their babies never really wanted to snuggle, or that as soon as they started sitting/crawling/standing they were constantly on the go and no longer wanted/needed the safety of mommy’s arms. We simultaneously cherish and lament these milestones!

When my little guy started pulling himself up more, I knew it was time to lower the crib mattress and remove the mobile. My husband and I were very casual about it, and he set the mobile aside with the rest of the things that the baby had outgrown. The following day I was tidying up the nursery when suddenly the pile of stuff hit me like a tidal wave. He’ll never again be that small… I’ll never have another child that small… I’ll never have another child. I had hoped to be one of those moms bitching about an over accumulation of baby stuff in storage for “when the next one comes,” but instead, looking at all the stuff set aside that needed to be dealt with, I finally had to accept reality (or what felt like accepting defeat) and admit to myself that it was time to donate this stuff and keep moving forward.

I picked the mobile up off the pile and, standing in the middle of the room, in an empty house, in what felt like an empty universe, wailed like a fucking banshee (sidebar…I told myself I would try to avoid cursing in my blogposts and work on a better vernacular, but really, in describing that moment, nothing is more accurate or satisfying than the “F word.” Plus, I did just follow it up with “vernacular” so that probably counts for something).

I wailed and I screamed, tears streaming down my face, until I collapsed into a soggy puddle on the floor. My dog, Tukus the WonderPuggle, charged into the room and began licking my cheeks. Moments prior, he hid on the stairwell with his ears low, not sure what to make of my raucous outburst.

And then, just like that, I started laughing. How ridiculous must I look, I thought. And yet, I know I am not the first or the last mom to ever have such a break down. Every emotion just comes so much easier, so much more intense for me. At first, I attributed this to my hormone therapy. While I am sure that’s a contributing factor, I believe that the raw vulnerability (and intense strength you can achieve from being so real) came several months back when my son was born and just continues to grow as he grows. This is not limited to a mother with cancer, but something I am willing to bet all moms experience.

Just the other night I was having dinner with a close friend who recently went back to work after maternity leave. We talked about the trauma of childbirth and how it stays with you long after the physical wounds have healed. With the cancer diagnosis postpartum, I went on to wreck additional havoc on my body, but I knew that she could relate to a lot of the same feelings from that one shared experience. We were talking about the physical changes and also how stress can really affect a nursing woman in particular, when suddenly her voice caught, and I knew what she was going to say before she did. My heart broke for her, and all I could do was hug her and tell her, “I know.” Sometimes our bodies just betray us.

I made some joke about how postpartum depression is actually more like post-traumatic stress, but really, I wasn’t joking at all. And I could tell that she wasn’t either. Tears started to well up in her eyes again as she spoke about the transition going back to work, how everything is the same and yet, she is not the same. Cancer patients talk about this a lot too; some like to call it the “new normal,” but there’s nothing “normal” about what we go through and the constant heightened anxiety that we live with. I think moms also get a taste of this, I really do. With my stage IV diagnosis, I have a very heightened sense of my own mortality, but I also fear for my son like other mothers do for their children. We have to be ever vigilant, on constant guard. It’s fear, but fear that comes from such an intense place of love.

Yesterday, yet another one of my mommy friends and I were talking about how nice it is when they start sleeping through the night. And then she told me that she still doesn’t ever get a full night’s sleep because she periodically needs to checks in on her son, just to make sure he is breathing. And I smiled and said, “I know.” I do the same thing.

Will that ever go away? I’m not sure that it does, but I am sure that it’s all worth it. With a smile on her face, she started to tear up and to tell me how strong I am and how she can’t imagine what this must be like. And that’s when it hit me, and I told her, “Sure you can. I am strong because I have to be strong… you’re a mom, so you know.”

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