It was March 2016 when I found out I was pregnant.
Yay two lines! I cried with joy.
I’m going to eat healthy, listen to calm music, read alllllllll the baby books and drink 3 litres a day … I’ll walk the block daily. I tell all of this to my partner with so much enthusiasm!
This is going to be so fun right? WRONG ! So FUCKING wrong!!
Fast forward 7 weeks and picture me as the girl in the exorcist, including the head spinning and demon chatting.
I’m vomiting up to 20/ 30 times a day.
During a hospital visit, I tell a girl, she says “yes it’s normal” as she casually sips 500 ml of water ( I couldn’t keep even small sips of water down for 7 months only apple juice).
OM.G. I’m a pussy !! I tell myself to…
suck that vomit chunk up and get on with it.
You could lose a few pounds. This is fine!
Jesus get it together.
There’s vomit on my dress I hope she hasn’t noticed.
The girl next to me with glowing skin still sipping glorious water continues to say “have you tried some dry crackers? I’ve heard Ginger will cure it”.
I swear, by 8 months I could have thrown a flying head butt at girls telling me to eat ginger. “Shove your ginger” I’d mutter under my breath as I’d vomit casually into a vomit bag a garden or in a pot scrambling to drop another Zofran to control it.
“Oh it’ll pass at 20 weeks” say’s the emergency doctor as they put bags and bags of fluids in me for two days after not even being able to find veins.
I cried every night and prayed that my little boy would be ok.
I dreamt of a perfect baby, and perfect he was! He was just so damn perfect. My little Blake, my little miracle. Did I mention I basically gave birth to a toddler? That’s a whole other story.
The hard times were over! I was so relieved. Pretty sure I drunk the hospital out of water. C section and all I felt amazing. I discharged myself the next day and breathed a sigh of relief, Nothing can be harder then that I say to my partner.
WRONG, WRONG again. .. dammit!!
I had no idea what the next couple of months would bring. For now, I was in beautiful baby bliss but my carefree bubble was about to burst and I would be up for the fight of my life!
It’s the first of January, 2017. Blake is 16 days old.
He’s chilled, sleeping and happy. I’ve lost 15kg since birth as I dropped loads of fluid. I’m lighter than pre pregnancy. The baby is sleeping and I’m pretty sure I’ve got this shit sorted. I think to myself, I may or may not be some sort of baby whisperer
This didn’t last long. I’m in a ball of sweat. My nipples. oh god my nipples ache.
I’m pretty sure Blake is a cheese grater and my nipple is the cheese. Why do I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck? Why am I sweating? Why is there a golf ball in my neck?
Off to the doctors I go..
“Oh dear”, Says the doctor (who I’m pretty sure got his medical license online or by slipping 50s under the table at uni). I think you have a blood clot in your neck!!! Cue panic. Cue heart palpitations.
I’ve already pictured a million ways I’m going to die and bleed out on the way to the hospital. Great, just fucking great. By this stage, I’m like a dairy cow holding 20kgs of milk. Mooing for my missing calf.
6 hours, 4 milk pumping and 5 specialists later, diagnosis: I have an infection.
Mastitis.
Woo! I’m in the clear. As I’m waiting to be discharged I talk to a poor guy named David who’s dying of throat cancer. He has two beautiful little girls and a loving wife. Poor bastard I think as I hold back welling tears.
Imagine having cancer?
I just can’t imagine what you would go through.
As I’m leaving he tells me, “Please whatever you do, don’t leave that hey“…. those words never left me.
I had Cancer, I just didn’t know it yet.
About The Author:
Ashley was diagnosed with cancerous tumors not long after the birth of her son. This story marks the beginning of a Cancer Journey. After being treated for Mastitis, Ashley underwent more tests which confirmed she would need chemo & surgery.
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You can read about Ashley’s journey on her blog Roundhouse Kicking The Big C.