Pregnancy, Breast Cancer and Finding Strength

Three years ago I was pregnant and fighting breast cancer. Hearing the words “you have cancer” while carrying a baby felt like my whole world stopped. I remember holding my stomach and praying for strength, not just for me but for the tiny life growing inside me.

During my second trimester, I had to have surgery. I was scared, but I kept reminding myself that I had to stay strong for both of us. A few months later, in my third trimester, I began chemotherapy. Sitting in the chemo chair with my baby kicking inside me was something I’ll never forget. Every kick reminded me to keep going, that she was fighting right along with me.

My doctors decided to induce me early so I could safely finish my remaining chemotherapy and begin radiation. I gave birth and then went right back into treatment. I was recovering from childbirth, learning to care for a newborn, and still sitting in chemo and radiation appointments. My body was tired, my mind was foggy from chemo brain, and I often felt like I was running on empty. But I kept pushing through because giving up wasn’t an option.

The nurses who cared for me became my family during that time. They didn’t just treat my cancer, they treated my spirit. They asked about my baby, celebrated my small wins and gave me hope on the days I felt like I couldn’t do it anymore. Their compassion and kindness stayed with me long after treatment ended.

When I finished treatment, both my baby and I had made it through. I named her Journi because that’s exactly what it was — a journey of faith, pain and strength. The fight that my baby and I went through together changed me forever. As I began to heal, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had been given a new purpose. I founded Journi for Two to help other mothers who are battling cancer while pregnant or raising young children. I wanted them to know that it’s possible to keep fighting and still hold onto hope.

Even as I poured myself into helping other women, I felt a calling to go back into the same environment that once helped me survive. That’s when I decided to become a nurse.

Going back to school while raising a toddler and still healing was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. There were nights when I studied with my daughter asleep on my chest, reading the same line over and over because my brain was still foggy from chemo. Some days I questioned if I could really do it, but then I’d remember the nurses who carried me through. I wanted to be that for someone else.

Now, as a nurse intern, I walk into patient rooms knowing exactly how it feels to be in their place. I know what it’s like to hear a diagnosis that changes everything, to worry about the future, and to still try to find joy in the middle of fear. That understanding helps me care differently. It helps me listen more deeply and love more fully.

One patient once told me, “You have a calmness about you, like you’ve been through something and came out stronger.” I smiled because it’s true. I’ve been through fire, but it didn’t break me — it shaped me.

If I could tell someone newly diagnosed anything, it would be this: you are not your diagnosis. You are still you. You are stronger than you think, and you can make it through what feels impossible. Healing doesn’t always mean going back to who you were before. Sometimes it means becoming who you were meant to be.

My journey from patient to nurse is proof that even the hardest seasons can lead to something beautiful. Every time I put on my scrubs, I’m reminded of the fight my baby Journi and I went through together. We both survived, and now I get to spend my days helping others believe they can too.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective as a breast cancer survivor. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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