Chicken Or The Egg

In the sixth month of pregnancy, my OBGYN sent me for x-rays, and then for a CT scan of my lungs. Never being a smoker or drug user, I was shocked when he told me that I had fourth-stage lung cancer. He sent me home with instructions to prepare my husband to raise our child alone and an Oncology specialist's card.

That night, I numbly told my husband the news and we held each other on the sofa, amidst gifts from the recent baby shower. We cried. "You have to fight this, Cindy. You can't just roll over and give up," he whispered into my hair.

"I can't even think that far ahead, Jared. I'm just scared for all of us."

He took the day off for my appointment and drove me to the Oncologist's office, holding my hand in the waiting room. The Doctor's solution was to get an abortion and begin treatments.

Jared and I left his office horrified.

Without treatment, the disease took more and more strength from me, as I struggled to breathe while doing simple tasks. Instead of asking, "why me?" I continually reminded myself, "why not me?"

Children all over the world were dying of diseases before puberty, so why not me? All I wanted was to live long enough to experience childbirth and hold my baby.

When Jimmy decided to leave my disease-ravaged body, he did it quickly. Labor lasted only three hours and although childbirth is a grisly, painful event, I relished every minute of it through an oxygen mask. I wanted to feel every twinge and every contraction. I was giving my child life in exchange for mine.

Jimmy never fussed. His eyes were unusually focused and clear. His hands found my face and warmth spread over me. I breathed deeply.