Receiving a breast cancer diagnosis at 31-years-old was definitely a lemon. But learning chemotherapy would likely leave me infertile was the biggest, nastiest, rotting, lemon I could ever imagine! I’ve known since I was a little girl I wanted to be a mom. The very idea it may not be possible to become a mother, even though I was assured I would be cured of my stage 1 cancer, was far more devastating than the cancer diagnosis alone.

I recall a phone consultation with a fertility specialist on a Tuesday evening at 5 pm. She recommended preserving fertilized eggs (called embryos) because at the time egg freezing was considered experimental with only a 2-3% chance of success. By 6pm that same night, I was also without a boyfriend who informed me we didn’t have a future together when I asked him to freeze embryos with me.

The very next morning, a nurse at the fertility clinic handed me a catalog of sperm donors from the California Cryobank. Imagine looking at 300 statistics like you were recruiting a college basketball team! Online dating with cancer was pretty much out of the question, so picking DNA for hopefully my future children was my best option to locking in the future I always wanted . . . as a mom.

But, not before I was hit with another lemon!

By 10am I learned preserving my fertility would cost $20,000! I didn’t qualify for financial aid, and, like 96% of the population, also didn’t have an extra $20,000 lying around. Since I had to start my hormones to stimulate my ovaries to produce more eggs than a typical month that same morning, I handed my AMEX to the business manager and walked out with “fertility miles.”

Despite the lemons pelting on my head from every direction, I started a charity three days after my visit to the fertility clinic to ensure other women didn’t have the financial barrier to fertility preservation I did. We even had our first fundraiser with 100 people four days before my double mastectomy! That lemonade was pretty sweet, though not quite as sweet as waking up from my egg retrieval procedure to learn I harvested 31 eggs. We fertilized 14 with the primo DNA I selected out of that catalog and froze those embryos.

I didn’t know at the time – the diagnosis, risk of infertility and cost to preserve my eggs were only a few rotten lemons in what was to become a whole barrel of them! As I was building our charity through chemo, I also lost my company, almost lost my house (short sold instead) and faced the darkest depression of my life thanks to chemo coupled with three years of medical menopause. I was physically, mentally and emotionally disabled.

But, I had my embryos. I pictured my children dancing with me in our living room with sunshine beaming in and ocean air blowing the curtains. I knew I had to get well. I knew there was a soul trying to get to me . . . his or her mama.

It started with a few steps to the end of the block. Then around the block. Then down to the end of the street. Then a ½ mile. Until finally I could walk a whole mile. With each step I took, I said the mantra “Every day, in every way, we are getting better and better.”

With every step I healed, the charity grew – we launched a reduced fee egg and embryo freezing network that qualifies everyone on the cancer diagnosis alone. We started educated clinicians to ensure every patient learned their fertility would be at risk in the hopes they would get a chance to preserve their fertility prior to cancer starting. We formed community partnerships and raised money and helped women realize their dreams of motherhood.

But my own dream of motherhood hadn’t yet come true.

My final lemon in the barrel of rotten lemons was suffering four early miscarriages with my post chemotherapy eggs. Each loss was a reminder of all that cancer took from me and confirmation that even though I had eggs, they too were rotten!

As my five-year cancerversary was approaching, I considered taking a trip to Italy to celebrate my health and new life. I was working for my largest partner in my charity, not so coincidentally, the very sperm bank I selected my donor from and where my embryos were stored. A friend was encouraging me to train for a triathalon but my heart was telling me to use those frozen embryos and become a single mom.

Ironically, I heard my son’s heartbeat on my five-year-cancerversary.

I was a mom. And my child was growing and thriving inside me. With every ultrasound, I felt like I got to know him a little more. We dated and he was already dancing in my womb bouncing with his hiccups, rolling around to get comfy and doing the hand jive when things started getting a little tight.

My charity, Fertile Action, is helping others make lemonade from their cancer diagnosis. My son turned my whole life into the sweetest, most delicious lemonade I could ever imagine.

For more about Fertile Action, please visit: http://www.fertileaction.org