Moms Don’t Get Sick

Motherhood is hard. Plan and simple.

We push a baby out, in my case not so gracefully, and are expected to go home with stitches from head to toe and care for a brand new human who comes with zero instructions. We are exhausted, dehydrated, emotional, in pain, and still have a belly we thought would magically disappear after delivery. Yet, we see this alien looking creature that we personally think just might be the most beautiful creatures in the galaxy and all that pain and fear melts away.

We dedicate our whole existence to someone we just met. In any other circumstances, we would be called insane or desperate but when it comes to this baby it’s natural. We vow to be there for this child for the rest of our lives…but what happens when your life is threatened to be cut short. What happens when moms DO get sick.

My name is Katie and I am a 28 year old mother of three. I married my college sweetheart at 21 and had Maggie our first at 22. Two years later came Claire and a few years after that came Bo. My husband was making strides to complete his dream of becoming a doctor and I was working on my own dream job as Mom. Unfortunately our picture perfect life would soon get a voice over of Keith Morrison saying “until it wasn’t”.

In March of 2022, I was breastfeeding Bo who was three months old and got a case of Mastitis. Now, I’m no stranger to milk duct clogs and infections. My boobs produce enough milk to be labeled the town cow but they just could never understand how the hell to get it out. After the Mastitis came and went I noticed a lump that didn’t get the eviction notice. When I asked my doctor they said it will go away in time just do all the normal things to get rid of a clog.

Two months later, the damn “clog” had a door mat and a permanent change of address to my right breast. I finally went to the ER cause it seemed no one was listening to me about the pain from the lump or that it wasn’t budging. I got my first of three ultrasounds to be told again it was normal and would go away after I was done breastfeeding.

August 2022 arrived and if you’re still reading about my breast you know it’s been five months of lump-gate. I went to my primary care doctor and said listen I need a mammogram something is wrong. I was referred to a breast center the next day thinking I would finally have an answer. Unfortunately my appointment was Friday at 3pm and I was too young to need a mammogram. I got a half ass ultrasound and a “it will clear up”.

My job of mom was still in full swing. I knew something was up but I had been told I was fine. Maggie was about to start school as was Claire and they had more activities than a privileged white boy trying to look well rounded for his college application. Bo was still breastfeeding and the lump was still there. The first week of school starting was insane and we stumbled through it surviving till Friday. That’s when Mom got sick.

I had a clog in my right breast at 2pm and by 7pm I was in the back of an ambulance quickly going septic and unresponsive. My heart rate was skyrocketing as my blood pressure was crashing and they couldn’t believe how fast I was going down hill. When I got to the hospital my blood levels were the next thing to shock everyone. It looked like I was immunocompromised but they couldn’t understand why. I had a ragging cause of mastitis and I was quickly admitted to the hospital.

After a weekend stay, I was on the mend and finally home. The mastitis was healing but that lump now had a 401k and a house by the nip. It had also redecorated and added a permanent rash to the skin. I watched as the rash invited its whole extended family to live with us and by September I said fuck this.

I called my doctor and informed him I had contacted a breast specialist and made an appointment. I needed a referral so my insurance could pay for it. I showed up for my appointment with him and without even having once looked at my breast he made the referral. I told him I thought he should examine how bad the breast looked to know how serious this was. He responded to my concern with I don’t think I need to unless you really want me to. With that I left praying the specialist would finally be the first person to take me seriously.

A 30 minute appointment at a specialist that I HAD FOUND did more for me than 8 months of hospitals, appointments, and half ass care. The specialist did an ultrasound where he immediately spotted calcium deposits and a shadow. He did a biopsy of my breast and of the rash on and around it. He told me he would have answers in five days and to come back to discuss the results.

I spent the weekend being mom. I finally felt at peace that he would figure out what kind of crazy infection or cyst this was. I could finally feel myself again without this burden on my chest. Literally. Mom would play again without the reminder of “watch out for my boo-boo boobie”. The normalcy was on its way.

My husband, Sam, and I arrived at the office with Baby Bo ready for the plan to fix my troubled boob. We sat in a room waiting for the doctor to visit us. We joked about how crazy this journey had been. I took a picture of myself to have a memory of when my boob sucked and we didn’t know what was wrong yet. I didn’t know that would be the last picture I took before I knew, at 28 years old, I would be diagnosed with aggressive stage 3 breast cancer.