God Gave Me Someone to Fight For

I thought losing my brother in a tragic accident would be the hardest thing I ever had to endure. Then doctors diagnosed me with a rare and aggressive esophageal cancer, typically only seen in men 70 and older. Midway through chemotherapy, I discovered the impossible: I was pregnant. 

I first received my diagnosis in 2021. Though I initially feared telling my parents that they might lose their last living child, they were incredibly supportive. My father insisted that I move home so he could help take care of me. 

My boyfriend of only two months also assured me he would stand by me no matter what.

Their support encouraged me to fight for them. Yet after undergoing surgery and many painful rounds of chemotherapy, overwhelming misery and grief made fighting seem pointless. 

I could never have imagined what would happen next.

“You’re pregnant,” my doctor informed me at one of my oncology appointments. My world stopped. “Excuse me?” I responded. 

“I don’t know how, but you’re pregnant.” He told me the fact I conceived during chemotherapy itself was impossible — and that there was no way my child would even make it to 8 weeks gestation. 

“We can take care of this right now,” he said repeatedly, “or you can go home to pass this on your own.” 

I drove home to process and spent the next six hours crying as I watched four additional pregnancy tests turn positive. Then my dad came home. 

“You’re pregnant, you’re having a baby!” He reacted joyfully. 

He made me dinner, and then took me for a walk. “We’re going to be ok,” he said, “You will never go without. You’re going to make it through this.”

My boyfriend was also overjoyed to learn that we were pregnant.

But even still, I felt scared, broken and alone. My only thought was that one or both of us was going to die. Every day I woke up expecting to find myself bleeding. Would getting an abortion soften the blow of inevitably losing my child? I wondered.

My second round of chemotherapy was brutal. I was so sick I couldn’t move or even shower without help. True to my doctor’s prediction, I wanted to die. Even worse, I was certain that my baby was dead. Chemo had ravaged my entire body. How could a tiny child survive that?

At the next ultrasound appointment, I covered my eyes in dread as the doctor placed the doppler on my belly. My heart pounded in the silence but was soon met with yet another heartbeat — my baby!

Staring in shock at the 170 BPM heart rate on the monitor, I was handed a card: “It’s a boy!”

“He made it!” My obstetrician exclaimed. After months of holding my breath, I felt like I could finally breathe. What’s more, at my next oncology appointment after enduring the last round of intensive chemotherapy, my doctor shared the news with me that I was officially cancer free. 

Yet fear was not eradicated. We had the inevitable conversation: “Your baby shouldn’t have survived chemo, but since he did, he likely will have serious birth defects or disabilities."  With new worries heavy on my heart and the long list of "What If's" my boyfriend assured me that despite any disability or complication, we would  love our son.

Shortly before that appointment, a friend had connected me with “Gabriel’s Retreat Ministries,” an organization that offers 3 free retreats a year for women "Expecting the Unexpected" supporting mother's in their pregnancy and postpartum — as well as a wealth of resources like free infant care classes, lactation classes,  support groups, diaper and clothing drops, welcome baby meals, personal check-ins, and so much more. 

Attending Gabriel's Retreat Ministries first ever retreat, they were quick to comfort and support me in the unknown of my pregnancy and new motherhood. Their team stepped in to support me and to show me I was unconditionally loved and that no matter what was to come, I was not alone. I would never be alone.

On August 27, 2022, God rewarded our faithfulness when Jaxon — our medical miracle — was born with zero complications or disabilities. 

The Director of Gabriel’s Ministries came to the hospital herself to meet him. The women there also supported me throughout postpartum and even now — such as offering me free lactation consultations and advice so I could breastfeed my son and more. I know without a doubt that I wouldn’t be the mother I am today without them. I also wouldn’t have found my calling to give back by volunteering at Gabriel’s Retreat Ministries.

After two years of its existence, our ministry has already walked with over 45 moms and their babies.

Today, I use my testimony to encourage mothers that “crooked lines make beautiful masterpieces.” My proof is my son. He is a healthy almost-two-year-old, and, in my biased opinion, the happiest child in the world. 

I am cancer free, and engaged to my boyfriend. I get to watch my parents play with the grandson we’ve given them, who in his small way is beginning to fill the very big shoes of his uncle who loves him from above.  

And every single day, I look at my life and realize how different it would be if I had my pregnancy “taken care of.” Instead, God saw that I wasn’t willing to fight for my own life, so He gave me someone to fight for.

Jaxon quite literally brought life and hope to a body that should not have been physically able to sustain it. He is the miracle of my story, the greatest gift I’ve been given, and the very reason I’m here to give back today.