My BRCA Journey

Criticism is a given when you’re as open as I have been along this journey. What began as a packet of family medical information received in the mail followed by a mental evaluation and became my public posts on social media will soon be over. To some, it’ll be a relief to not read my updates. That’s fine, this isn’t for them. I’ve had so many people reach out or get introduced to me in public and ask for guidance. Sometimes it’s at an event when I have a beer in hand or while leaving the ladies room. What matters to me is people are comfortable asking me questions and know I’m here..

I’m in such a reflective time. It took a gym session to show me clarity and strength from an unlikely person. We no longer speak like we used to, nonetheless I appreciate him for what he was to me during those times. I needed a friend and that’s what he was. 

The year 2017 for anyone else would have been a rough one. I started the year with a positive BRCA2 result but I didn’t let that drag me down. (Note: my dad was in metastatic castration resistant prostate cancer treatment during this time) If anything it gave me power and strength to push through with that knowledge. As that year progressed and I had my first mammogram, trans-vaginal ultrasound, breast MRI, and CA125, I truly found myself. 

Some higher power brought me the absolute best people that year. I found such gems surrounding me and people who once were just familiar faces became constants in my life. 2017 brought me humility, stability, and such love. 

Those individuals haven’t left my side. They live in my heart in a way that isn’t expressed often enough. I joke that they’re stuck with me which means they are forced to deal with my ridiculous rants. They know when I’m hiding something that’s burning away at my mind and support me better than I feel I deserve. 

I’m afraid. 

I have these moments in my day where I’m the most confident and comfortable person and minutes later I’m full of worry. I know I did the right thing. I am fearful, which is normal. I have faith in my medical team, but damn if I am not still worried. 

Now, it’s 5:17am on Sunday, February 22nd and I’m up thinking about how far I’ve come. I’m nearing the end of my journey. I’m in tears knowing some people never get to experience this. My dad never got to see me channel the strength he showed me. 

Friday, February 27th I’ll shave my legs for the last time, stop taking my vitamins and start to mentally prepare. Throwing in a quick Disneyland Trip and a visit to my sister and I’ll be ready to go. 

My zip-up sports bras are ready as are all my button up pajamas and my mastectomy pillow. I’ll have my Sulley by my side to keep me from turning in my sleep post-opp and am hoping to not need to take any strong medications. I have my bestie who has helped me through the most major (and minor) issues coming by the day after surgery and already offered to wash my hair (this is the ultimate sign of love right here). She was my roommate when I started my preventative testing, has literally picked me up from the ground while I’m crying, crawled into my bed while my heart shattered and has stood by me with even the craziest choices. I’m beyond lucky. 

Soon I’ll be chugging a carbohydrate drink, nervous as hell, and waking up wrapped up and ready to go home. I dread the smell of the dressings that’ll wrap me and the limitations I’ll have. I chose to remove my fallopian tubes and my breasts. I have never once regretted my choices. I’m in control and I’ve never been a better version of myself. 

I’m sure there will be more early morning rants soon. Possibly a late night one too. Until then, I’ll keep going.