I’m Just Happy to Be Here

Two years after sitting in the hospital with a pulmonary embolism, three years removed from almost dying postpartum, my daughters had me tackled on the playground in a tickle fight and I looked to sky, laughing, just grateful to be alive in this moment.

Before kids, my life was actually quite simple. I know that now. I married my long-time boyfriend, and we lived in our modest home. I would go to work in a nursing home, leave work, and hit the gym or meet up with friends or one of my few church obligations. As I look back now, I try to remember what there was to be stressed about.

When I was pregnant in 2020, my anxiety hit all-time highs. I was a high-risk pregnancy in the healthcare industry during a pandemic. I knew life would never be the same.

My daughters were born six weeks early, and I had suffered intense postpartum complications that led to an extended hospital stay and a long time recovering to “normal.”

I had already formed daily gratitude for being able to watch my daughters grow fairly early on, but I remember feeling betrayed when just nine months later I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Unfortunately, my relationship with faith and faith-based well wishes was one of my first perspective shifts: what used to feel like comfort—“we’re praying for you”—all a sudden started feeling hollow. People would constantly reassure me that God had a purpose for my cancer. It felt like God had purposely decided to almost let me die after the girls were born and then further add salt to the wound by giving me cancer. After being a faithful churchgoer, I felt my relationship strain with the church. It did not feel like a safe place.

A positive perspective change for me was running. Before kids, running was just for charity and every minute was hard. My first run after surgery was different. I could move my body again, and I was stronger than I knew after cancer. I ended up stopping and sobbing in the middle of the run because I was just so grateful. It’s been two and a half years and every run is a victory lap, a celebration. I can’t believe this body can still move 13, 18, 26 miles. I amaze myself that it is possible to do more than I ever thought I could after cancer. I give thanks to this body and all she does.

The last perspective: motherhood. I wonder if my kids are really easier or if I’m just happy to be here and watching them grow makes it “easier.” When we got to take the kids to Disney World in 2023, every moment made me want to cry. I couldn’t believe we were creating memories with them. Sleepless nights, meltdowns that feel like they will never end, messes for days—all seem tolerable because I am alive another day and here to watch my girls grow. There were days I was unsure I would be here. There were moments I was afraid I would never hold my babies again.

I do mourn the fact that I’ll never really know motherhood without medical trauma, but I also know that I can be the involved, grateful mother I am because I know how easily I could have been taken away from them.

The highest highs are sometimes after the lowest lows. Did that lake always look that beautiful? A beautiful day is meant for hikes and brunches with friends—things I never made time for before cancer. Can I run 56 miles? For sure, but I never tried until after I survived cancer. I never thought I would attempt another triathlon after I DNFed in 2019 but again, what can’t this body do now? I also realized all the things my husband does for me and my family out of the love he has.

There are so many things I have decided I can do now because I survived cancer. My gratitude for life has impacted so many parts of my life. Some days it’s surreal that I’m alive, that I’m here. I’m just so happy to still be here.