by Nicole Ziccardi
New York
January 2025
My baby boy saved my life during his entrance into this world. Here's our story.
On August 18, 2014, I gave birth to my son, Sebastian. A stalled labor meant a C-section. During the delivery, my doctor noticed something suspicious: a jelly-like substance filling my abdomen. After Sebastian was safely delivered, my doctor explored further and discovered the source of the “jelly” was my appendix.
A general surgeon was called in to remove my appendix and as much of the “jelly” (mucin) as possible. The tissue was sent to pathology. Less than two weeks later, in a patient room at the surgeon’s office, my newborn son and I received devastating news: I had a mucinous neoplasm of the appendix—appendix cancer, a rare disease affecting only about 700-1,000 people in the US annually. Numb with shock, we went home.
My maternity leave was consumed by researching cancer specialists. One surgeon recommended a laparoscopic procedure; another, a full open surgery with chemo. The conflicting advice made it clear: I needed to be my own advocate. I needed strength and a voice to get through this and be there for my son. Numbness and adrenaline fueled me into action.
My search for guidance led me to a PMP Appendix Cancer Support group on Facebook. I had already been scheduled for surgery in NYC, but the group advised me to seek a second opinion from a specialist. That's how I found Dr. Sardi at Mercy Hospital in Baltimore. He was highly recommended as one of the few experts in this rare cancer.
Dr. Sardi’s confident, casual manner initially surprised me. He explained how he’d operated on many patients with complications or recurrence. Using a sketchpad, he clarified my situation, describing my PCI score (an indicator of cancer spread). While my score was high, he reassured me that my age (31) and overall health made me an excellent candidate.
My family questioned why I would leave NYC for surgery. But I knew that because of the rarity of my cancer, many physicians weren't trained in the gold standard treatment: heated intraperitoneal chemotherapy (HIPEC). This was my best chance. Mama bear mode kicked in.
This meant relocating my 12-week-old son and husband to Baltimore for 18 days over Thanksgiving 2014. My surgery, on November 18th, lasted over 10 grueling hours. Dr. Sardi, however, emerged afterward looking unfazed, as my mom still recalls.
The surgery involved an incision from my sternum to my pubic bone, intersecting my C-section scar. The procedure included cytoreduction/debulking to remove the mucin, and a full hysterectomy, including my ovaries, which immediately triggered menopause. I woke up with a ballooned face and soon experienced night sweats.
Knowing my fertility was at risk, my husband and I had undergone IVF prior to surgery, creating and freezing four embryos. (Thankfully, more insurance companies now cover IVF for cancer patients.) Three years later, these embryos helped bring Sebastian's brother, Milo, into the world via surrogate.
After surgery, I was struck by the holistic care I received. A notecard and rose from Dr. Sardi greeted me. Music therapists played in the ICU, and massage therapists soothed my aching body. Despite being at my lowest point, I felt immense love and support. Family and friends visited, some with their babies. My mom was there daily, caring for Sebastian alongside my husband. My best friends made the trip to Baltimore.
For the first five years of Sebastian’s life, I saw Dr. Sardi every six months. Each visit involved blood tests and a CT scan. The irony wasn't lost on me: the donut-shaped machine, reminding me to breathe and then hold my breath, was a forced pause for gratitude.
Now it is 2025, 10 years since my diagnosis and surgery. I’ve graduated to annual scans, and Sebastian is about to graduate elementary school. He’s 10, a big brother to Milo, and I am here. He knows he is the reason I fought so hard. And so is Dr. Sardi.
