During that initial visit to the maternal-fetal medicine specialist, I became aware of the true miracle of his conception, since ovarian cancer causes infertility. I realized that if he had not been conceived, I would not have had any medical sonography for a doctor to notice the suspicious mass. The cancer would have gone undetected, leading to my demise.

The recommended course of action was that I receive chemotherapy, which would result in the termination of my pregnancy. The doctors believed that they could eradicate the cancer and I would be able to have children later, since I was still young and still had one healthy ovary. I believed that my son was here for a reason and I refused to do anything that would potentially result in losing him. I asked for an alternative and was presented with three choices. The first choice was to undergo chemotherapy. The second choice was to undergo surgery. The third and final choice was to do nothing and be closely monitored. I informed the doctors that I would be willing to undergo any type of treatment they recommended after I delivered my son. Since I was only 16 weeks pregnant, the doctors informed me that he would not survive outside of the womb at that time. I told them that I wanted to wait. My son's biological father was unable to emotionally handle the situation and chose not be involved in our lives from that time forward.

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I continued to be very closely monitored and within a month the tumor more than doubled in size, leaving my son without room to grow. My life, as well as his, was now in jeopardy and the only choice I had was to undergo surgery to remove my left ovary, the tumor and the fallopian tube. The odds were against my son’s survival. There had been no documented case of a fetus surviving in this unusual circumstance, even for a renowned hospital as UCLA Medical Center. Yet, I no longer had an alternative. I was not expected to survive if I waited until he was full term. Thus, he would not survive either.

The surgery was scheduled, however I had bronchitis and could not be intubated. Therefore, the anesthesiologist cancelled the surgery. The surgeons rescheduled the surgery, giving me a few days to recover. On the second scheduled date, I still had uncontrollable coughing and was having tremendous difficulty breathing. Again the anesthesiologist refused to intubate me. This time however the surgeons would not allow the surgery to be cancelled. They informed the anesthesiologist that this was my last opportunity at successfully removing the tumor to save my life.

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Since I was unable to be intubated and receive general anesthesia, I received an epidural and remained awake for the entire surgery. When the anesthesiologist inserted the needle into my spinal canal the first time, it caused extreme jolting of my right leg. He removed the needle and replaced it. This time inserting it too high, resulting in the inability of me being able to move from the neck down instead of the waist down and giving me the feeling of being unable to breathe. The anesthesiologist gave me oxygen, but the feeling of being unable to take a breath for the hours ahead was torturous.

As I lay on the surgery table, my eyes were affixed to the wide stainless steel rim of the light fixture above me. It served as a mirror for me to witness the entire surgery. It was a strange feeling being cut, pulled, tugged and manipulated. The strangest feeling came when the oncologist left the surgery room with the tumor, ovary and fallopian tube while I remained wide open on the table waiting with the rest of the surgical team for the results of the biopsy he was performing. He returned in what seemed to be an extensive amount of time later. The surgeons completed their work on me. Since my uterus was manipulated during the surgery, it was expected that my uterus would begin contracting upon completion of the surgery. I was informed by one of the surgeons that I would receive morphine, in the hope that it would reduce my pain and prevent contractions. The epidural was removed and I was taken to the recovery room.

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I instantaneously began to feel excruciating pain as I felt my son kick, turn and move about within my freshly cut abdomen. I called for the nurse to give me the morphine. She told me that I could not have morphine because I was pregnant. She instead gave me Tylenol. I was moaning and crying in desperation. I informed her that the surgeon told me I would be given morphine. She said she didn’t know anything about it and could not ask my surgeons because they had moved on to another surgery. I was begging for something more than the Tylenol, which did absolutely nothing to ease my pain. After approximately one hour, she was able to ask the surgeon and clarify that I was in fact supposed to receive morphine. By that time it was too late. I was already contracting. I was wheeled up to labor and delivery, where I was anticipating the relief that would come when I was able to receive the morphine. As the nurse was setting up the morphine pump in my room, she noticed that it was broken. She went to retrieve another one. It seemed like an eternity before she returned and I was finally able to receive any morphine. Much to my dismay, the morphine did nothing to help ease my pain. The doctor entered the room and I informed her that the morphine did not help. She informed me that it was too late to ease my pain. It would only take the edge off. However, I did not feel the edge being taken off in any way. The doctors and nurses worked at successfully stopping my contractions. Yet, the pain remained without ever subsiding.

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A week later my staples were removed, I was bandaged up and sent home. The day I returned home I noticed blood on the gauze bandages. I figured it was because I was on my feet walking from the car to the house, the bedroom to the bathroom, etc. That night, I experienced extreme pain of a greater intensity as my son moved about. I actually dreamt that he came through the incision in my abdomen (like in the movie Alien). The following morning I noticed more blood on the bandages and called the hospital. I returned to urgent care where the dressing and butterfly bandages were removed. My incision was wide open. It had not healed at all. The acrobatics of my son in utero caused my incision to break open and prevented it from being closed. The doctors could not close the incision on my growing abdomen. As they cleaned the incision, I experienced what would be the most intense pain of my life. The doctors taught me how to clean, care for, pack and dress my open wound, which took 45 minutes 3 times a day. For the remainder of my pregnancy my incision remained open and I remained in constant excruciating pain.

Thankfully, I was able to carry my son to term and experience the joy of natural childbirth, which I really desired. After enduring all the pain I had during my pregnancy, 21 hours of intense labor followed by natural childbirth and third-degree lacerations would be a breeze. At least during labor, I had a break between contractions. Despite all the odds being stacked against him and all the concern the doctors had, my son, whom was not expected to survive the first trimester of my pregnancy and whose conception itself was a miracle, was born in perfect health. I was blessed beyond measure.

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When my son reached 6 months of age, the cancer returned on the opposite ovary. I had a complete hysterectomy, which consisted of the removal of my uterus, remaining ovary, fallopian tube, cervix, lymph nodes, appendix, omentum and part of my colon. At a young age, I instantly became post-menopausal. My son has been to every oncology visit with me, which has been every 3 months since his birth. He has fought back against cancer with me by raising money to benefit the American Cancer Society and being the team captain of his elementary school’s American Cancer Society Relay For Life team. 

Being a single parent, two-time cancer survivor, cardiac and endocrine patient; my greatest fear is leaving my son behind in the event of my death. He is without a father figure or any positive black male role model in this life. My own father was the only father my son has ever known. He was the only man he ever called “Dad”. Sadly, we lost him last Thanksgiving to cardiac arrest.

Being his only parent and Japanese, it is important to me that he embrace his African-American heritage to the fullest extent. I hate to be another statistic: single mother, absent black father. Unfortunately, that seems to be prevalent in Los Angeles. Regrettably, since he has never met his biological father, he has no contact with his African-American side of the family. He does have a godmother and two godsisters of African descent. His godmother is also a single parent, so unfortunately he doesn’t have a male role model there either. As I stated: single mother, absent black father seems to be prevalent in Los Angeles. 

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My son is the most compassionate and sensitive child I have met. I truly am not only saying that because he is my son. As a teacher of over 17 years, I have gotten to know hundreds of children. At the age of three, when he became aware of the fact that animals died for us to eat, he cried and instantly became a vegetarian. Also, at the age of three my son began asking questions regarding skin color. He asked why he is brown and I am peach. I answered him honestly and told him to be proud of his ethnicity and heritage. I let him know that both heritages are rich and filled with reasons to be proud.

Sadly, my son has been teased and tormented because of the color of his skin, even in church. He is proud of being both Black and Japanese and happily refers to himself as being “Blackenese”. Yet, he hates being picked on because of it. My job as his mother is to protect him, provide him with the tools to cope and succeed, and to teach him that diversity is beautiful and that he and every other child is a beautiful creation of God. Thank you for Chocolate Me. Thank you for giving my son and countless other children this give of love, tolerance and acceptance. God bless you.

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@I Love Zion: Beautifully written! Thank you for sharing your incredible story!