My family has *that* gene. You know, that *whispers* cancer gene. The BRCA1.
That damn killer. It’s a murderer. It starts out a quiet creeper, settling down and making itself comfy and then it has a party of chaos and destruction with your internal organs.
Yeah. That one.
A bunch of my family members. Close ones. Have cancer.
That one. The BRCA 1 gene.
Prostate. Ovarian. And…another prostate. Niiiiccceee.
So, my mom has been trying to convince my sister and I to get the test to determine if we carry the gene, so that we can try to combat it prophylactically. But, can you really stop cancer?
This test is expensive. Well, it was. I’m not sure if it’s covered by Obamacare nowadays. But, in reality, I’m not sure if I want to know whether or not I carry this loathsome intruder regardless of cost.
I’m scared. Hold me.
I’ve been thinking about it though. “If” I tested positive for the gene, what would I do to take preventative measures?
I would consider getting my female internal bits removed. I have no need for them anymore. I’m 41. The only babies I will ever see again are grandbabies…hopefully WAY LATER rather than sooner. But still. I don’t need my reproductive organs anymore. I could live without my monthly curse. I don’t think I’d miss the middleschmertz stuff that happens during the middle of the month. The PMS…well, no brainer.
But to get a radical mastectomy? I don’t know. As much as I say that my boobs annoy me. As much as they get in my way when I’m trying to lie on my stomach. And…as much as I may talk about wanting fake boobs (in real life I talk about it but haven’t discussed here, on my blog, before).
I am not ready to face the prospect of having to remove them.
At least, with fake breasts, you can remove them if you don’t like them. I have a friend who did that. She had them in for two years, hated them the whole time, and finally got rid of them. She works out avidly and she felt them to be uncomfortable and a burden.
But she still has the original, g-d given ones. A little stretched out and droopy, at the moment. Full recovery and fluff is expected though.
With a radical mastectomy, that wouldn’t be an option. Well, it would. You don’t have to have breast augmentation. But then…you wouldn’t have breasts. And I don’t know if I would be ok with that. Especially since I spent the first part of my life trying to grow them.
There are genes that families shares. Facial features, color of skin, eyes, hair…etc.
This gene…I don’t want. I’m hoping I don’t have it. I’m not sure I’m going to find out.
But really? My family can take this gene and shove it. I don’t want it.
It’s nice to share. But really? Not this time.