Just be happy you have one...

Since Julian was about two months old, I've had a niggling back ache that I brushed off as my back adjusting to carry the little rascal around, and Gary attributed to my bad posture whilst feeding Julian in bed. It would come and go, sometimes venture down into my hip, but a bit of ibuprofen and a few pilates sessions later, I was as good as new.

A week following my first treatment session, my back went into an incredibly painful spasm one evening, followed by another a few evenings later. After a call to the out-of-hours registrar to see what pain meds I could take, and a hospital appointment the following day to speak to Sophie about the pain, she recommended palliative radiation. The good news in her view, was that as the pain has been getting worse since treatment started, it could signal the immunotherapy was working, as the growth may be getting larger through T-cells clinging on to the growth, and that in turn was pressing on a nerve and causing the pain. The bad news: an emergency MRI found five "seed sized" growths on my lower vertebrae. The short-lived high she had given me by saying that maybe the treatment was working was shattered less than five hours later when she called to give to results of the scan. The first thing rushing through my head after ending the call was "what is seed-like? Is it a pumpkin seed, is it a poppy seed? Because there's a BIG difference between the two!" The next thought was one of sheer hopelessness in that I'm fighting an uphill battle and losing miserably, and there is nothing I can do to help it.

Back to the palliative radiation. I met with the radiologist who explained the basics of the treatment, the number of times I would have to go in and what impact it would have. "As you know Melanoma is thought to be radio-resistant, so there is a 50% chance it will shrink the growth and if it does, it should alleviate the pain." (Note: the SHOULD, not WILL). "In SOME CASES, it MAY also complement the immunotherapy and help give the treatment a boost." (Again, note the complete uncertainty as to its medical benefits).

I then ask about how it would affect my fertility. In the milliseconds before he began to speak he gave me a look as to say "What is wrong with this woman? In all likelihood she is dying of Stage 4 Melanoma and just found out there's more of it on her bones than she previously thought, AND she's asking me if she can have another kid?" The words that actually came out of his mouth were not quite that: "Well, it will completely wipe out your left ovary and may hit your uterus and right fallopian tube, which could cause issues down the line getting pregnant and being able to carry a baby to term."

Leaving the hospital I felt the same low again I had after getting off the phone the with Sophie a few days earlier, the same low I had after my upstaging diagnosis. Gary thought it was a non-issue: radiation may (that MAY again) be able to relieve the pain and may help the immunotherapy so why not do it?

On one hand, I entirely agree with the radiologist. What the hell is wrong with me? Do I seriously want to go through another two months of newborn baby hell? Do I really want to go through a period of not showering for five (yes, five days) straight and worrying about the colour and consistency of every poo? Who would really want to go the same breastfeeding battle again to get the latch correct and worrying about my baby losing too much weight? Why on earth am I even thinking about another kid when my future is so uncertain? Was it maybe the guilt that I may never be able to give Julian a sibling and the words of the midwife right after he was born saying "Oh he'll be lonely without a sibling" in response to me saying "that was the first and last time I would be doing that," resonating in my head?How can I go from feeling so hopeless about the future to thinking about the future in terms of another a child?

I couldn't really understand it myself, until today. It is hanging on to the small hope that there will be a future: that if I can survive this I can live out of the rest of my life in somewhat normalcy, doing what I always wanted to do (one of those things being having more than one child). Not only that, I longed (and still do) for a normal pregnancy, one without surgery and the worry that my child may be born with cancer. One where I can just enjoy the excitement of the upcoming addition to the family, and not be anxious about the results of scans I have to have 8 days after giving birth. I longed (and still do) for a normal motherhood, one where the happiness of caring for and watching my baby boy grow isn't constantly interrupted by a flood of hospital appointments and the fear of having to take every moment in because I don't know if I'll make it to his first day of school. Don't get me wrong, I love Julian with every bone in my body and I wouldn't love another child more if I had, dare I say it "happier" pregnancy and feel-good (yes, I know this is debatable!) first months of motherhood, but if I make it through this, I want the opportunity to feel like a normal mother, whatever that may be.

The question of the impact of immunotherapy on my fertility did come up a few months back, and people's responses were generally along the lines of "Well, you have one beautiful, healthy baby...some people can't have one child, you should be happy." I know their comments were well-intentioned and I'm not ungrateful for Julian, as I have many friends that struggled to start family, but the truth is taking away my ability to add another sleep-eating mini-monster to our family, takes away my hope of a normal future. And to hope for the future is to hope for survival, is it not?

So no, the answer is I'm not happy with just one. Maybe I'm greedy, but I want another.