In high school, my close friend jokingly dubbed my breasts “Bouncy” and “Perky.” The first was a playful nod to the saying “Bouncy is for kids” (which, let’s be real, is true). The latter came from a memorable study session where the term “facilitator” reminded us of a few embarrassing moments involving my wardrobe choices. Honestly, you weren’t truly a part of the fashion crisis of the early 2000s if you didn’t have at least one wardrobe malfunction with a spaghetti strap top. Looking back, I could have (and maybe should have) been offended by the implications of those names. Still, I embraced the humor.
During the era of over-the-top teen dramas, ignoring my body was simply not an option. My waist measured 26 inches, while my bra size was a 32DD, creating a striking contrast. I was an hourglass figure in a time when Victoria’s Secret calendars were all the rage, and everyone felt entitled to comment on each other’s physiques. I rejected the manic pixie stereotype, refusing to blush or giggle at unwanted stares. Any unsolicited remarks about my “assets” were met with a dose of my feminist sass.
It would be dishonest to say my breasts haven’t influenced my identity, both in terms of appearance and self-image. Though they have been a significant aspect of my femininity, they also served practical purposes—nourishing my three children who saw my body as their own personal resource. They added to my sense of womanhood, even when my post-baby body felt less than glamorous. But then I learned that Bouncy and Perky weren’t just silly nicknames; they were part of a serious health risk.
As we all know from the cinematic masterpiece Jurassic Park, DNA contains the blueprint for all life. While some DNA can create incredible creatures, ours is quite the high-maintenance type that requires constant care from superhero-like genes. BRCA1 and BRCA2 are two such genes with protective powers that help guard against cancer. Everyone has these genes, but mutations can be detrimental.
Unfortunately, mutated BRCA genes don’t offer heroic abilities. Instead, BRCA1+ mutations are harmful variants that can lead to breast cancer. With age, our DNA becomes more vulnerable, and we need our BRCA genes to be functioning well. When they’re mutated, it’s as if they’ve gone off the rails, neglecting their important duties.
My grandmother succumbed to breast cancer at 83, and my mother was diagnosed with DCIS (a type of breast cancer) 15 years ago. Thanks to the wonders of U.S. healthcare, my mom didn’t get tested for the BRCA gene until she qualified for Medicare. Following her diagnosis, I discovered I had a 50% chance of inheriting the same BRCA1+ mutation at the age of 32.
Private insurance companies are notoriously reluctant to cover BRCA testing. Even with my family history and documentation of my mom’s mutation, my insurance repeatedly denied coverage. Fortunately, my OBGYN was relentless in advocating for me, and after numerous battles with the insurance company, I finally secured the necessary test. If not for the unwavering support of a cancer-fighting colleague, I might have given up on seeking the truth about my health.
After months of waiting, I received the diagnosis of a positive BRCA1 variant. It became clear that I was at a significantly higher risk of developing breast cancer—up to 75% of women with this mutation will face the disease. Furthermore, nearly half may also develop ovarian cancer.
I had a stable job, was raising three kids, and routinely underwent MRIs, mammograms, and biopsies. However, I wasn’t prepared for the suggestion of preventative mastectomies from my doctors. Given my family history and the concerning mutation, my risk of breast cancer felt alarmingly close to 100%. After a mammogram that required follow-up scans, I made the difficult decision to remove my breasts.
Choosing to have a preventative mastectomy is deeply personal. Public figures like Angelina Jolie have brought attention to this choice, which sparked discussions about it in the media. On December 7, 2020, I will undergo a double mastectomy with immediate DIEP flap reconstruction, where a surgeon will use my own stomach fat to reconstruct my breasts instead of implants. A few months prior, I had a minor procedure to prepare for this surgery, which involved repositioning my nipples and reducing tissue.
The scars from this surgery will heal over time, and the drains collecting excess fluid will eventually come out. Most importantly, my chances of developing breast cancer will drop to below 5%. This decision means I have a better chance of being present for my children for years to come.
The tissue that will be removed no longer defines who I am. I am a marketing director, a runner, a mom, and a fan of various hobbies. I am taking charge of my health and my future.
So, BRCA1+, it’s time to go. I am proud to call myself a previvor.
Summary
This article recounts the journey of Jenna Taylor, who, after discovering she carries a BRCA1+ mutation and facing a significant risk of breast cancer, opted for a preventative double mastectomy. Her decision, influenced by her family history of breast cancer and the necessity of taking control of her health, reflects a deeply personal choice that many women face when confronted with similar genetic risks. Jenna’s story highlights the importance of awareness and advocacy in navigating health decisions.
Search Queries
- What is a previvor?
- BRCA1 mutation and breast cancer risk
- Preventative mastectomy options
- Family history and genetic testing for breast cancer
- How to advocate for BRCA testing with insurance