Gabrielle, United States

Pregnancy, Cancer and the Fight for My Life: My Story of Survival & Strength

May has always been my favorite month.It’s the time that flowers start to bloom,the weather is perfect in Houston, and it’s my birthday month. To top it off, Mother’s Day usually falls on the same weekend as my birthday, adding a special sparkle to the month.

But in May 2023, everything changed. I couldn’t find a single thing to celebrate. The month prior my mother-in-law passed in her sleep, leaving me heartbroken and numb. I was also scheduled for an appointment with a gynecological oncologist. Looking back I realized the pain of losing my loved one overshadowed any nerves I had about the appointment. 

That day, I went alone. My husband stayed home with the kids.  I was called to the back where they led me to a conference room.  As I waited, I stared out the window, blankly watching the storm clouds roll in. The thunderstorm outside felt like nature itself was grieving with me.

My oncologist entered the room with his assistant and placed my file on the table. “Hi, Ms. McCord. You’re here because your GYN found some abnormal cells, and you’re positive for the HPV that causes cancer. I’m going to take a small clip of your cervix for a biopsy”. As we walked to take the exam, we passed the chemotherapy room. I couldn’t help but glance in, but I quickly looked away, giving the patients their privacy. In that moment, I felt like I didn’t belong there.

I settled into the stirrups, bracing myself for the cold speculum. The procedure was quick and over before I could even fully process it. My doctor glanced up at me, and casually said, “You might want to stop and get a pregnancy test on the way home.”

I didn’t waste a second. I rushed straight to Walgreens, grabbed the pregnancy test, raced home and hurried past my husband, dashing to the bathroom. “I just want to rule it out” I thought to myself. Those five minutes felt like an eternity. When I finally looked down at the test, there it was—bold and clear: “Pregnant.”

I laughed out loud, feeling a rush of excitement, completely disregarding where I had just been earlier that day. This was the good news we needed.

Telling my husband was exciting and emotional. It was the spark of joy we had been missing. The next day, I reported my pregnancy to my oncologist. He reassured me that he would monitor me throughout my pregnancy, helping me navigate this unexpected journey.

Everything seemed normal throughout most of my pregnancy—until I hit the eight-month mark. During a routine pelvic exam, my doctor felt a mass. Concerned, he decided to induce me at 38 weeks. My baby was born healthy on December 29 and we went home three days later.

At my follow-up, my doctor explained he wanted to give me six weeks to heal before performing a cervical cone procedure to remove what he believed were pre-cancerous cells. In February 2024 I had the procedure done, feeling hopeful that this was the end of the ordeal.

But a week later, on a Saturday, I received a call from my oncologist—a call that would change my life forever. “Ms. McCord, we sent the portion of your cervix we removed to pathology, and you have a rare cancer called glassy cell carcinoma. You are in stage 3. I suspect it may have spread to your lymph nodes. With your permission, I’d like to schedule a radical hysterectomy and lymph node dissection. Depending on what I find, we may also need to discuss further treatment.”

His words hit me like a ton of bricks. What started as a joyful chapter with the birth of my child suddenly became a fight for my life. My radical hysterectomy and lymph node dissection occurred on April 9th 2024. I woke up from surgery with my sister telling me that the cancer was in fact found in my lymph nodes and my Doctor removed 17 of them! They caught it right before it spread to my organs. 

My treatment plan was set: two rounds of cisplatin chemotherapy and six weeks of radiation. I started treatment just one day after my 36th birthday. What was supposed to save my life came with unimaginable sacrifices. I was constantly away from my newborn, forced to stop breastfeeding, and felt the bond between us slipping. The weight of it all sent me spiraling into postpartum depression, questioning my worth as a mother. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was failing.

As if that weren’t enough, my weakened immune system left me vulnerable to a life-threatening infection that pushed me into the early stages of sepsis. I spent a month in the hospital fighting for my life. Not long after, I lost consciousness at home. I woke to find my husband frantically performing CPR while speaking to paramedics. My body was exhausted, barely holding on through the relentless chemo and radiation.

On July 3, 2024, I finally rang the bell to signify the end of my treatment. It was a moment I had clung to as a symbol of hope, telling myself that once I reached it, life would return to normal. But I was so wrong.

By September, new symptoms emerged. It started with tingling and numbness in my feet while I was driving my children to daycare. Over time, the sensations escalated—pins and needles, sharp pain, heaviness—until the numbness spread up my legs. Walking became unbearable, and I found myself falling multiple times a day. Soon, I was relying on a cane, then a rollator, all while trying to care for my 9-month-old,  2-year-old and 5 -year-old with special needs.

At a follow-up appointment in December 2024, my doctor confirmed what I had already feared—the paralysis I was experiencing wasn’t normal. He consulted with a neurosurgeon, and they instructed me to head to the ER immediately. I was hospitalized from December 2nd to December 23rd, undergoing intense therapy to regain strength and relearn how to walk.

The diagnosis: radiation-induced polyneuropathy.

Life after treatment was a fresh start but with new restrictions. Being disabled is a challenge I hadn’t anticipated but through it all I kept moving forward step by step. I truly thank God that I was given another chance to live.

I wish I had discovered Cervivor during my treatment. I desperately needed to hear the voices of other mothers, to know I wasn’t alone in my struggles. But I’ve come to understand that everything happens in divine timing. Cancer didn’t happen to me—it happened for me, giving me a purpose far greater than I could have imagined.

Now, my life is a living testimony. It’s my mission to educate myself and others about HPV, the vaccine, and cervical cancer, so I can spread awareness loudly and unapologetically in my community. I joined Cervivor, a global community of advocates, patients and supporters that inspire and support those affected by cervical cancer to tell their story to end stigma, change narratives and create awareness. Cervical cancer is preventable, and I am determined to help as many women as possible avoid the nightmare I endured. This journey has given me a voice, and I will use it to save lives.