Cancer has woven a heavy thread through my family’s history. Both of my grandmothers battled breast cancer, and my great aunt tragically lost her life to ovarian cancer. In recent years, other family members have also faced cancer diagnoses, including my mother, who passed away from ovarian cancer in 2011. The loss was both heartbreaking and terrifying, leaving me feeling as though I was destined to face a similar fate. The anxiety of it all was suffocating, making me question every little thing I did, from heating dinner in the microwave to the use of my cell phone.
As I navigated the deep grief of losing my mother, a storm of worries swirled around my family’s cancer history. Would I succumb to cancer? What about my daughters—would they face the same fate? The fear was overwhelming. Yet, amidst this turmoil, I found a strange comfort in recalling a quirky trip to Key West back in 2006, where I had visited a palm reader. During that encounter, he had shared insights that oddly stayed with me. Eight years later, some of his predictions seemed to hold true, offering me a flicker of reassurance during my darkest moments.
Fast forward to last year. During my routine OB/GYN appointment, my doctor firmly recommended BRCA testing, given my family’s history. With Angelina Jolie’s bold choice to undergo a double mastectomy making headlines, I was inspired yet terrified. After discussing the implications with my doctor, I received a pamphlet on BRCA testing, which I promptly buried under a pile of papers on my desk. The thought of undergoing such testing felt too daunting, especially in the wake of my mother’s passing. Ignorance felt like a safer option, and I used the high cost of testing as a convenient excuse.
As the months rolled on, the idea of BRCA testing lingered in my thoughts. I could either carry the genes or not, but what would it mean for my life? Would I need a hysterectomy at 36 or opt for a double mastectomy like Jolie? Then one morning, clarity struck. I realized I needed to take the test—not just for myself, but for my daughters. If I was a carrier, they should know so they could make informed decisions down the line. If I wasn’t, then I could rest easy knowing I hadn’t passed on that risk. Once I made the appointment, a wave of calm washed over me.
The day of the test was anything but smooth. First, the nurse was unaware I was there for the BRCA testing, leading to a long wait. When it was finally my turn, I was surprised to learn that I needed to do a Buccal Wash instead of a blood draw. The process involved collecting saliva in a vial, rinsing with Listerine, and repeating until three vials were filled and sent to a lab in Utah.
Next came the agonizing wait for insurance approval, which took nearly six weeks. After multiple reviews, I was deemed at “substantial risk.” The anticipation was torturous; I often found myself waking in the middle of the night, gripped by anxiety. I looked into my daughters’ eyes every day, silently hoping I hadn’t passed down a genetic burden. I spent countless hours researching ways to protect my health while worrying about how my husband would react to potential changes in my body.
Finally, one late July afternoon, the long-awaited white envelope arrived. With trembling hands, I called my husband at work. “I don’t have the genes. None of them.” Relief washed over me as tears streamed down my face. My daughters noticed and rushed into the kitchen, wrapping their little arms around me. “Mommy? Why are you sad?” they asked. I reassured them, “Mommy is crying happy tears…” They looked puzzled, but I held them tighter and whispered, “It’s one less thing…”
This journey was for them.
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Summary:
The article chronicles the author’s emotional journey through family cancer history, culminating in the decision to undergo BRCA testing. With courage and love for her daughters driving her, she faces the uncertainty of genetic testing, ultimately receiving uplifting news that alleviates her fears and enables her to focus on her family’s future.