In May 1999, as a recently engaged thirty-two-year old, I was diagnosed with uterine cancer. Given the two western medicine options—hysterectomy and a relatively untested drug—I opted for door number 3: an alternative juicing therapy. Six months later, however, it became clear the cancer was too aggressive and I ended up having a hysterectomy anyway.
I never really wanted kids. I mean, I didn’t not want them, but I wasn’t the kind who had been dreaming of being a mom. However, having the choice taken away was hard. Now I would never find out if our child had my husband’s eyes or my smile. I would never experience pregnancy or the incredible reality that we made this little human.