- At her 20-week scan, Meya was shocked to learn her unborn baby had a rare sacrococcygeal teratoma – a tumour growing from her tailbone
- Doctors warned their baby had a 20% chance of survival. Hours after she was born, little Oliviae underwent a six-hour operation to remove the tumour
- Now tumour free, Oliviae is meeting her milestones with a smile
Here Meya Fowler, 36, from Bendigo, Vic, tells her story in her own words.
Scrolling through my social media feed, I hit ‘Like’ on an adorable photo of a friend with her bub.
I can’t wait to be a mum, I thought.
Growing up in a big family surrounded by so much love, I wanted a family of my own.
A few weeks earlier, I’d met Callan, then 32, after he sent me a message on a dating app.
Hitting it off when we met at a local coffee shop in Bendigo, Vic, I knew I wanted to see him again.
‘I think I’ve just met my forever person,’ I told my sister, Lee, on the phone later that night.
After Callan and I tied the knot at the Botanic Gardens, in September 2021, we decided to start trying for a baby.
Heartbreakingly, three months later we suffered a miscarriage.
Following a medical procedure, I was told to wait three months before trying again.
‘My period is late,’ I told Callan in May 2022.
Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, I felt hopeful as I watched the lines develop on a pregnancy test.
‘We’re pregnant!’ I screamed, hugging my hubby.
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Having loved and lost our first baby, we were scared, but something about this pregnancy felt different.
At my eight week ultrasound, I squeezed Callan’s hand and held my breath hoping that, this time around, we’d hear a heartbeat.
And when the whoosh sound filled the room, tears streamed down my cheeks.
Bloodwork revealed the gender of our baby.
Without peeking, we gave the results to a baker.
Returning to the Botanic Gardens to mark our one year wedding anniversary, we cut into a cake.
‘It’s a girl!’ we beamed, seeing the pretty pink sponge inside.
It was a beautiful day.
Before bed I’d whisper to my growing bump, ‘Mama loves you so much already, little one.’
Things were going well and Callan and I were imagining life with our daughter.
I knew he’d be a great dad.
While I was hoping our baby would look like Callan, he was hoping she’d look like me!
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Lying down for my routine 20-week scan though, my pregnancy glow faded quickly.
‘Your baby has a sacrococcygeal teratoma,’ the doctor said gently. I’d never heard of it.
It meant our girl had a germ cell tumour – which may contain different types of tissue such as muscle, bone and hair – growing on her tailbone.
As she was growing, so was it.
‘There’s a 20 per cent chance of survival,’ our obstetrician explained, before offering a medical termination.
Falling into Callan’s arms, tears streaming down my face, our hearts already knew the answer.
‘We’re going to fight for our baby,’ we told doctors.
Monitored closely, I had regular scans to measure the growth of the baby and the teratoma.
Thankfully, it seemed to be slow-growing, measuring four centimetres, and it hadn’t affected her growth.
But doctors were very candid about the risks.
‘If the tumour continues to grow it can overload the baby’s heart and be fatal. In some cases, teratomas can be cancerous,’ they explained.
I was devastated.
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Suddenly, around the 32-week mark, the tumour began growing at a rapid speed.
We were warned that our baby was high risk and would need regular monitoring throughout the pregnancy.
Our nerves were shredded as we moved into a Ronald McDonald House close to the Royal Women’s Hospital, so we could be nearby for my appointments.
By 36 weeks, the tumour had ballooned to a whopping 18cm and it weighed 1.5 kilos.
I needed an emergency caesarean, and the specialists moved quickly to deliver my bub safely.
As she made her way into the world, at 6am on January 31 last year, I was relieved when our daughter’s cries filled the room.
Acting quickly, doctors whisked our little girl, who we named Oliviae, over the road to the Royal Children’s Hospital.
Soon, our hours-old baby was going under the knife in a gruelling six-hour surgery to remove the tumour.
But after meeting the team of surgeons, we knew our little girl was in the safest of hands.
‘We’ve come this far, this has to work,’ Callan said.
Waiting by her bedside in recovery, seeing her hooked up to monitors and breathing machines, we were so grateful she was free of the tumour.
It was as if the tumour was never there!
Holding little Oliviae in my arms for the first time, five days later, I couldn’t believe how far we’d come.
‘You’re a little slice of heaven,’ I smiled.
She grew a little stronger with every day and, after four weeks in hospital, we had the green light to take our daughter home, along with some very happy news.
‘Tests returned negative for cancer,’ a doctor told us.
We felt a weight lifted from our shoulders.
Still, we return to the hospital every three months where Oliviae has scans, as there’s a small risk it could reoccur.
We’d been told Oliviae would be at risk of having growth and development delays due to the effects of the anaesthetic in surgery.
But she’s now turning one, and meeting all her milestones beautifully.
Watching Oliviae, nearly one, crawl around our living room, and tug on the leg of my pants, my heart melts every time.
Being born with a tumour is a scary start to life, but my brave girl took it all in her stride.
