by Kimberly Allen

They say knowledge is power. However, when you become a parent and have a background in child development, it can feel like the opposite of power. This type of knowledge or expertise can lead to self-doubt and guilt. As a master’s level early intervention/special education professional with an infant mental health certification, I have a deep knowledge of child development and attachment theory but it didn’t help me when I was diagnosed with cancer. I am a mom first and my initial response to my diagnosis was that of any parent: I want to see my son grow up.

In April of 2022, I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Two life changing words. After months and months of an annoying cough, I finally had my answer as to why I wasn’t getting better. Soon after my diagnosis a realization set in: what would going through treatment do to my son? Was I going to ruin his life? Was there anything I could do?

With all of that in the back of my head, I started my treatment the week after Mother’s Day when my son was just 16 months old. Initially, I felt ok. I just felt kind of out of it, almost like I was pregnant! I joked that, at least when someone is pregnant you get something amazing out of it. I needed the treatment to live. My hair started falling out in clumps the day before my second treatment. While you know this is going to happen, it is absolutely brutal. I kept thinking about the impact seeing me bald may have on him and the lack of control in all of it. I needed treatment to survive and to see him grow.

Treatment was especially hard for me because I was diagnosed with postpartum OCD. Control was a huge part of who I was. It was especially hard for me as the weeks went on and treatment continued, I was unable to care for my son at all. We hired a nanny to help and had grandparents who stepped up at any and all times. I cried every single day. I had no control of my body or mind. I wanted to quit, I said to my family: “I wish you had just let me die.”

I missed firsts. I missed my son pointing at the moon for the first time. I missed his first haircut. Life was devastating. My son was growing up and I was missing it all. I was physically present, but mentally and emotionally, I was not me and it affected my son.

When people say young children won’t remember or know what’s going on, it is out of kindness. I knew better. I know better. I was not able to prepare him for what was going to happen or talk to him about what was happening, and he felt that. We even saw a regression, which was terrifying as a parent. I hoped it was because of our family situation, and not something more. The guilt that also came with this hope was awful. I blamed myself fully, but I had no choice. It was either get treatment or die, and my son would have no mother.

Now that treatment is behind us, I am confident that his regression was because of all the change and trauma our family endured. I am happy to say that he is a happy, sweet, and playful 2.5-year-old little boy who is thriving.

If I could describe post chemo life in one word, it would be: emotions. I went through a ton, including anger, and had something similar to a grief process. I had depression, not wanting to do anything or go anywhere because my body wasn’t working the way I needed it to. Six months of chemo had left me with very significant neuropathy and overall body weakness. Going from someone who used to be independent and incredibly active, to losing my ability to do stairs without safety protocols and having a constant fear of falling while out in the community was hard. I did go to physical therapy and thanks to a recommendation from an amazing friend, was able to get orthotics that hold up my toes and keep my legs in the correct position, which helped to give me balance, strength, and overall independence again.

I go to counseling as often as needed. I started with my counselor about six months postpartum, which helped me so much then and continues to help me now. A lot of my postpartum OCD fears and tendencies are still present, now with an added layer of medical trauma, which therapy helps me to process. It took 8 full months post chemo to finally feel back to my pre-pregnancy self and I am so happy to have made it here. While not every day is rainbows and sunshine, I have a lot of support from family, friends, and professionals who continue to help me along the way. My son has support from early intervention as well. I hope to create a memory book for him of this time, with help from the great people in my village, to guide him with any questions he might have as he gets older.

I now love the normalcy of everyday life. Doing laundry? Love it. Going grocery shopping? Love it. My son throwing himself on the floor at the library because I needed to wash off his lollipop? Love it. Getting yelled at on my birthday because I wasn’t closing the doors fast enough on his toy? Love it.

Kimberly Allen, MEd