Genetic testing isn't fun but I guess breast cancer isn't either

I was 25 years old before I ever went to a gynecologist.   I had a kidney condition as a kid and had a traumatic experience at the urologist.   It involved stirrups.  In the car on the ride home, I told my mother I wasn't taking my clothes off at the urologist again without a knock down drag out fist fight.   Then I told her if I lost the fist fight, the next time I just wouldn't agree to get out of the car and go into the doctor's office ever again.   That's how my brain works.  Solving the problem so it won't happen again.  Also, slightly militant.

After my mother had ovarian cancer, pretty much everyone I knew wanted me to know that sort of thing can run in families.   My regular doctor looked sort of confused I hadn't been.  And then my father even called me to discuss the importance of pap smears.  Gag me.   I decided to find a gynecologist just so I never had to discuss pap smears with him again.

This is the face of a woman who does not like discussing pap smears with her father.

It's also worth mentioning my mother's mother had uterine cancer right around the same time.   44 year old me wishes 23 year old me had paid better attention.   44 year old me now gets asked about it and feels like an idiot every time she doesn't have the details.

After my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, doctors were literally pausing when we got to that part of my medical history.  They started having follow up questions asking how old she was when she got each one.  The gynecologist looked very serious during the conversation.  Once I had my last baby, I got to start mammograms. Twice a year.  I alternate a regular mammogram with an MRI every 6 months.  

And then they started talking about genetic testing.    And then one day the internet showed me an add for Color.com.   And then one day about a year after my mother died, I was swabbing my cheek and mailing it off.   And then a nice lady on the other end of the phone told me I have the BRCA1 genetic mutation. 

I didn't immediately do anything.   I guess I just sat with the information.    I mean I shed some tears and did a lot of googling.  Then I didn't do much for like a year and half.  But #selfcare2019 means putting on your big girl panties and doing what grown adults are supposed to do.  You don't have to like the big girl panties.  Maybe you're even scared of the big girl panties.   But you do it it anyway.

It started with my annual gynecologist appointment and giving the doctor my Color.com results.  She told having my ovaries and Fallopian tubes was recommended by age 40 for people with that genetic mutation.  I'm 44 so she she made a point of telling me several times that I was actually overdue and should have it right away.   She also recommended I see a genetic counselor to discuss my results in detail along with enrolling me in the breast cancer early prevention program in my area.

The genetic counselor was the most sobering medical appointment I've ever been to.   For 30 minutes, they essentially tell you they really, really, really recommend you have your ovaries and Fallopian tubes removed.   They tell you how high your chances are of getting ovarian cancer and how hard it is to detect.   They tell you about breast cancer and how high your chances are of getting it and how your chances of getting it will only go up the older you get.   They show you lots of lovely graphs and charts and you get a giant stack of super depressing handouts to take home with you.  My husband is made of twisted steel and told me he almost cried while the lady was talking to us.   It was a downer. 

Next up was the early prevention program.   You get a breast exam and more of the graph and chart talk.   Then a mammogram with the doctor reviewing the results right there and if they need any different angles you step back in and take them right then.  It's all very efficient.   

This is the face of a woman who had to be stuck 3 different times to try to get an IV into her apparently tiny veins.  She didn't cry but she did say a lot of bad words inside her head. 

And then you are back to your surgeon and they pick a date and then there you are looking at the ceiling while they put in your IV and then you're waking up in a room that looks exactly like the room your mother woke up in and you sat next to her bed feeding her ice chips until they moved her to recovery.  And then life feels like it's really coming full circle.  And then you die a little inside thinking about your two daughters taking their turn someday and you take a steadying breath and remind yourself you're going through this so you can be there to feed them ice chips.

One of my girls blowing bubbles in her Easter dress and Peppa Pig rain boots.  Also a good reason to suck it up, buttercup.   

The ovaries and Fallopian tubes are done.  It sucked.  Three incisions.  The left side hurt the most because that's apparently the side they took the ovaries out of.   I sleep on my stomach so I slept crappy for about 2 weeks.   Too bad there's no fast forward button in life so you can skip the feeling sore period.

I'm also going to need that same fast forward button for the the other surgery.   You know.  The big one.  The one I'm dreading.  The one they say I don't have to have but that I know is in my future because that's how my brain works.  Solving problems so the same thing doesn't happen again.

At least the first surgery is done.