Last Sunday night, the night before my triple biopsy, I had a dream that seemed meaningful at the time and perhaps even more so now that I’ve been diagnosed with cancer. I don’t remember the details; I remember the heart of the matter. Which is that I had my period (to which I didn’t give any thought at first), and I was also quite pregnant—6 to 8 months so.
I was looking at myself in the mirror, noticeably pregnant, with a definite belly. But as I looked at myself, I thought about how my belly was smaller than I would expect on someone as pregnant as I was. I think I felt good about this at first—good that I wasn’t gaining tons of weight.
But then I registered the fact that I had my period and the mood shifted. I realized that I shouldn’t have my period if I were pregnant, what a bad sign that was! And the fear flooded in. Something was wrong. I don’t remember what happened next except that I knew then that I was having a miscarriage, that Josh and I would not be having another baby, and I was terribly, terribly sad. Graspingly sad. Wanting things to be different, desperately wanting to have this baby that I was losing.
(It feels important to share that Josh and I decided a couple of years ago that we do not want to have more children. So the suffering I felt in my dream is not about losing the chance of a child. I assume it instead has everything to do with a cancer diagnosis.)