When Mike returned from the pharmacy, he slammed the door in frustration. A cashier had made a comment about his purchases, overly optimistic, asking, “Is this a good thing?” His fury was palpable, but so was the anguish in his eyes. I had sent him out to buy several pregnancy tests after putting the children to bed. I desperately hoped each one would show a negative result, but I knew that I would take one every time I used the bathroom until my overdue period arrived, just to ease my anxiety. I hadn’t called a clinic or even searched the topic online, but I was certain that if I saw a positive result, I would arrange for an abortion.
Throughout our years together, we had navigated two pregnancies and welcomed three children, our youngest being just 4 years old. While another baby could undoubtedly fit into our hearts and family, the physical impact of another pregnancy was too great. We understood well what a new pregnancy would entail: bed rest, anemia, debilitating pain, the likelihood of a pre-term C-section, potential postpartum depression, and most concerning of all, cancer.
People often hear about the pregnancy “don’ts”: no raw fish, no deli meats, no soft cheeses, no changing cat litter. However, what many fail to grasp is the reasoning behind these guidelines.
A pregnant body is a transformed body, not merely occupied but reconstructed to nurture another life. It’s like a butterfly in a cocoon, undergoing significant changes—most of which are invisible. Hormones remodel the pregnant brain, while bones shift and the immune system weakens. The immune system suppresses itself to avoid rejecting the developing fetus, making pregnant individuals more susceptible to certain illnesses like toxoplasmosis, a parasite typically harmless to healthy bodies. Furthermore, while a healthy immune system keeps atypical cells in check, a pregnant one may not, increasing the risk of various cancers.
Interestingly, while anti-abortion advocates often claim that abortions raise breast cancer risk, it is actually pregnancy itself that can elevate the risk for several cancers, including breast cancer, cervical cancer, Hodgkin’s lymphoma, and leukemia. In my case, melanoma poses a significant threat. Approximately 1 in 1,000 women develop these cancers during pregnancy, which, when compared to conditions like Down syndrome or spina bifida, though rare, is still unacceptably high.
During my last pregnancy, I had six cancerous or precancerous moles removed and multiple polyps from my colon. Those polyps terrified me most; if I were pregnant, melanoma could be lurking anywhere in my body—my colon, lungs, or even my brain.
My family, like so many across the nation, has been touched by cancer. We strive to protect each other from its risks. We don’t insulate with asbestos, allow secondhand smoke around our children, or let companies pollute our water. We advocate for cures and research, yet none of these efforts would matter if I received a positive pregnancy test.
In a moment of silence, Mike and I exchanged glances, both grappling with unspoken fears. He might wish we had explored a tubal ligation during my emergency C-section, while I thought about a friend’s tragic loss—his wife, a breast cancer survivor, who lost her battle shortly after giving birth. Her cancer returned unnoticed during her pregnancy, only to be discovered too late, leaving her husband to raise their child alone.
Despite Mike having a vasectomy, complications increased the chance of reattachment. I have a medical condition that makes hormonal birth control risky, alongside a copper allergy. Even with an IUD or the pill, pregnancies can still occur. The odds were small, but not zero; my period was two weeks late, and I felt physically off—whether from pregnancy or just stress. Juggling two jobs, raising three kids, and managing healthcare amidst a hectic school year was overwhelming.
Mike dropped the bag of pregnancy tests on the table, grumbling about the cashier’s cheerful inquiry about my potential pregnancy. I took his hand, feeling the weight of our reality.
We could manage the financial implications of another child if it didn’t mean six months of bed rest and extended NICU visits. We would absolutely cherish a new addition, but the risk of my health deteriorating was too significant. How long would it be before aggressive cancer returned, taking me from my children? They need me—me in particular. I am their anchor, the comfort they rely on. The thought of them experiencing my absence was unbearable.
I had always been a good parent—loving, compassionate, and protective. I never envisioned a scenario where my children would witness my decline due to preventable melanoma. For this reason, a new pregnancy was simply not a viable option.
Many women like me face similar dilemmas—mothers in their 30s who understand the implications of another pregnancy on their health and family. Health care provisions for “the health of the mother” often fail to consider situations like mine, where a pregnancy, while not immediately life-threatening, poses serious long-term risks.
The truth is, I resemble countless women across the country anxiously awaiting the results of those little plastic sticks, fearing the blue line. We love our children deeply, but the horror of having to terminate a pregnancy is less daunting than the possibility of abandoning them due to a failed contraceptive method. Being a good mother should not mean sacrificing my life for another child.
Mike settled on the couch beside me, offering a box of cookies along with the pregnancy tests, and together we sat in silent limbo. Even if my health were not at risk, and we weren’t facing the possibility of life-threatening complications, having another child might still not be “a good thing.”
What if a new addition disrupted our family’s delicate balance? What if we were ill-equipped to support their needs, leading to the neglect of our existing children? What if postpartum depression prevented me from embracing another child fully?
Mike wrapped his arm around me, and I felt both comforted and heartbroken. I felt as vulnerable as a teenager, yet I was a grown woman—this was my body, my decision, my responsibility. I was a mother, and while no one said parenting would be easy, no one warned me it would be this hard.
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Summary:
The author reflects on the complex emotions surrounding the possibility of another pregnancy, weighing the risks to her health and the impact on her family. While she cherishes her children, she recognizes that the potential dangers of another pregnancy could overshadow the joy of welcoming a new life.