In September 2023, at the age of 35, during what should have been a joyful and desired first pregnancy, a routine prenatal genetic test (NIPT) incidentally detected something terrifying: suspicion for cancer. I was supposed to be glowing and preparing a nursery, but instead I was living in terrifying limbo.

The questions consumed me: How aggressive is this cancer? Is it spreading while we wait? Am I choosing my baby's life at the cost of my own? What if I wait too long?

But I clung to hope like a lifeline. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe the prenatal test picked up something benign. Maybe the circulating DNA was just... wrong somehow. They said it was suspicious, not confirmed. Suspicious isn't the same as certain. This could all be a terrible false alarm. Labs get mixed up all the time.

I had to wait until the Thanksgiving of 2023 to enroll myself in a National Institute of Health (NIH) study based on how abnormal results from NIPT test could indicate cancer. Those three months of waiting, of bargaining with reality, of desperately hoping the nightmare would just... evaporate—they were their own kind of hell. A full-body MRI conducted through the study revealed abnormal masses suggestive of "some type" of lymphoma. Following a referral to an oncologist based on these imaging findings, a biopsy performed in December 2023 delivered the crushing confirmation—I had cancer.

At least I could stop hoping for a miracle that wasn't coming. At least I could start fighting back.

But which cancer?

Because I was pregnant, doctors couldn't perform a full biopsy under anesthesia. I was initially diagnosed with Primary Mediastinal B-Cell Lymphoma (PMBCL) - a rare and aggressive cancer with good prognosis (a little ray of hope may be?).

I'll never forget the impossible choice I faced: start aggressive treatment immediately and risk my baby's life, or wait until after delivery and risk my own. How can I choose my life over my baby's when she is trying to save mine even before she is born? "Eliminate the cancer first - you can always have another baby," one ob/gyn told me. "How can you be so consumed by thoughts of cancer when you're expecting a baby?" a family member asked. To everyone else, the choice seemed clear-cut.

I made the hardest decision of my life—I would retain my pregnancy and begin the ideal treatment after my daughter was born. I would fight for both of us.

A Mother's Journey

The Price of Survival

The treatments saved my life, but they've taken so much. I've lost over 45 pounds and significant muscle mass. My heart function has declined. My thyroid no longer works properly. My risk for cardiovascular disease, secondary cancers and bone loss significantly increased. I'm working with specialists in integrative medicine to stay cancer free and slowly rebuilding my immune system and my body.

And perhaps most heartbreaking: the treatments have induced infertility - early menopause. They've stolen my ability to give my daughter a sibling. The family I envisioned will never be.

I haven't been able to work in two years. While I fought cancer, bills piled up—medical expenses not covered by insurance, specialized treatments and recovery tools, rehabilitation costs, and childcare for my daughter while I was too sick to care for her myself.

What I Need Help With

My Promise

Every day I look at my daughter—the baby I fought so hard to bring into this world—and I'm reminded why I chose to fight. She deserves a mother who is present, healthy, and able to provide for her. I'm committed to my recovery, to regaining my strength, and to building a future with my family.

Your support means more than financial help. It means hope. It means I can focus on healing instead of drowning in medical debt. It means my daughter and I can move forward together.

Thank you for being part of our journey back to life.