August 8th, 2023 is a date that will forever be seared into my memory. I was 28 weeks pregnant and it had been two months since I started experiencing extreme symptoms, only this time I was finally admitted to the labor and delivery unit for further testing. For weeks I had severe back pain and on-and -off flu like symptoms- fever, chills, body aches. Each time I was seen by the doctor a full work up was done to ensure a healthy pregnancy, but it took weeks for the attention to shift from baby to me.

An abdominal ultrasound was performed, which led to an MRI that was delayed until the middle of the night. Following the MRI, I was wheeled back to my room, where I slept for what felt like 10 minutes, before I was woken by my nurse and a social worker. The social worker had been in and out over my stay, so her presence did not alarm me. Thinking back, she was calm and steady when she asked me if there was someone who could come sit with me that morning. I don’t remember as sense of of worry or urgency in her voice. My husband had left the hospital the evening before to tend to our then two year old daughter and was dropping her off at daycare before making his way to the hospital that morning. My parents lived an hour away and I was unsure if my father had already left for work. As I ran down my list of other immediate friends and family, there was no one who could be at my side in under an hour’s time.

Naive is one word I would have never used to describe myself before now. But that day I was most certainly naive. It went completely over my head that the reason the social worker was present that morning and asking me to have someone, anyone, come to sit at my side, was because of the news the medical staff was about to deliver. Not long after I told the social worker that it would be a bit before anyone could make it to the hospital, did my room fill with what felt like the entire hospital’s medical staff. At the foot of my hospital bed stood two surgeons, a team of residents, my OBGYN, a MFM doctor, and a neonatal specialist, along with my nurse and the social worker at my bedside. Without even a moment to process why everyone was in my room, one of the surgeons began speaking. His words would forever change my life. Not only had the previous day’s ultrasound revealed lesions on my liver, but the MRI revealed a tumor on my pancreas. I froze, completely in shock. Surprisingly there were no tears, but I could feel my heart beating a mile a minute. After months of feeling unwell and searching for an answer, I finally had one. But never in a million years did I think this would be the outcome.

As soon as the medical staff cleared my room, I called my husband, who had just finished dropping off our daughter at daycare and was out buying me flowers for our anniversary, which was the day prior. With everything going on, we didn’t have the chance to celebrate. I honestly don’t remember much about the phone call, just that I told him I needed him now. Now having several moments to process the news, I had tears in my eyes and I began to break down as I called my parents. After just a few words from me, they knew something was very wrong and immediately left their house to drive to the hospital.

Much of that day and the days following remain a blur. While the “C” word was not official, and a biopsy would need to be performed, I was preparing myself for the worst, or at least I thought I was. But once again, my naivety showed. Out of sheer terror, I never once googled pancreatic cancer, or anything related to it. I knew cancer was often diagnosed in stages, but that was the extent of my knowledge. I believe my lack of knowledge helped me in those early days. My mind didn’t wander to very dark places and instead focused on the present moment and the immediate future- the delivery of my beautiful baby girl. My brain helped shield me from what could have been very dark moments. Still to this day, while I know I am a stage IV pancreatic cancer fighter, my brain cannot fully process that the end could be near. And I’m okay with that, because maybe then, the end isn’t near.