In 2016, after finding a lump in my left breast (thankfully it turned out to be benign)…. and at the same time learning my oldest sister found out she had ovarian cancer….  we were both told we could be tested for the BRCA1/2 gene mutation.
We both tested positive for BRCA1.

(There are two other sisters who haven’t been able to be tested yet).

My results told me that I had close to 50 percent chance of getting ovarian cancer, and close to 90 percent chance of getting breast cancer in my life.
This was a risk I was not willing to take. I take care of my kids. I take care of my aunt. I take care of a house. I have so much and so many people and things depending on me. Knowing I have this in my body just waiting on its own terms to do what it does? Was NOT an option.

I always said if I ever got cancer, I’d just be like *pfft… take them, I don’t care*… but I never thought I’d be in a situation where I could make the choice to prevent it. That alone, was empowering. Sure, I was scared…. and I definitely did not do enough research into what comes after… but I don’t regret my decision.

The entire process is/was BRUTAL.  I was always tired. I still am…Always in pain (on top of my *normal* daily pain)… and yes I had many days where I wondered what in the ever living fuck did I just do? An equal amount of days where I almost regretted the reconstruction… why didn’t I just stay flat? (It really was not THAT bad…it was liberating quite frankly) Tissue expanders are the absolute worst part in my opinion. I spent many nights trying to figure out which pillows were going to work under what part of my body to get me into some weird angle where I could find just enough comfort to get a few hours of sleep. At the risk of sounding over-dramatic? This part was torture.

Something I ran into during the process… friends telling me they admired my strength. And I had a problem with this initially…. my response was always “It’s nothing like what people who HAVE cancer are going through”… and I have been told multiple times to stop down playing my strength.
I *know* I’m a strong person (well, I am like… 90 percent of the time). But I only saw my own strength when I had no other choice but to BE strong. I *had* a choice here. I MADE the choice here. I couldn’t see the strength in that…. to me, this was all the easy way out.  Looking back… getting all those surgeries  (4 in just a single year… with a span of weekly/bi-weekly fills on top)… the exhaustion… (while still trying take care of the people and things that depend on me)… the pain…  the emotional journey (I should have gotten therapy in hindsight)…. knowing that most people didn’t understand what I just put myself through (and probably didn’t care to…..) ….. yes. Now I understand the strength involved. I won’t downplay what it took for me to get through this.

My journey is almost finished. I have one more follow up appointment with the plastic surgeon. I have chosen to accept what they are now, as they are. I just don’t want to put myself through anymore surgeries. Even the *minor* ones take their toll…
I will have at minimum one more mammogram (just to double check on things) and then after? Maybe every five years or so….

I don’t even know how to explain how relieved I am that this is all (mostly) over. It’s just a weight off of my life.

And if I helped a single person be less scared, should they end up in my shoes? Keeping this blog was worth it.

Special shout out to the cancer survivors out there. You guys are warriors.

Since the switch from expanders to implants, I’ve kind of always felt the implants. By that I mean I’ve always felt something *foreign* with every moment that involves those muscles. Wearing bralettes or sports bras made me more aware of that feeling. (Like, they are trying to keep something strapped to my body).
I’ve noticed the last week, that….  my upper body almost feels like my own again. I don’t know if that makes sense. But I’m doing things around the house, outside, in general… and my movement feels more fluid, “normal”, like… there’s no strapped in feeling keeping me from doing what I want to do (or making it difficult). And that feels really good.

I know I will never feel 100 percent again. And that’s alright. But I do feel like my body is mine again. I feel “normal”. I’m going to (fingers crossed) get my strength back. I feel…. free.

Not sure if there will be a next round for this… Have to let them settle (again) before we decide to do more grafting, or just say screw it and cut that piece of skin off that’s bothering me.

We’ll see. I know they will never be perfect. But like I always say, it beats what would have been the alternative eventually.

Honestly, I feel like…. *come on De, it’s stupid. It’s only the size of a quarter. It’s not that big a deal. Stop being a bitch about it*. Why this little spot bothers me more than the scars across my chest… I don’t know how to explain why this is. It just is.
Still a bit of road ahead I guess….  Still no regrets. Just a lot of learning experience…

I also wanted to say thank you to those who have followed me on this BRCA1 journey.  We definitely learned a lot, didn’t we?

Just like last surgery… every day gets a tiny bit better. I’m just being impatient. I want my strength back, and I’ll gladly take even half of my life back at this point.

So no.  It’s not done yet. There’s still things to process, emotions to fight through, and a goal to reach.  To accept that I am no longer “whole”,  but to one day look in the mirror again and see a COMPLETE bad ass.

Wish me luck.

It’s eating me.

I don’t even know how to explain how tough this year has been… the surgeries, the hormone changes, trying to find myself again while still making sure I take care of everybody else.. There have been too many times where I felt lost in it all. It’s exhausting.

But I am almost there. I am almost done. And now that I won’t have some genetic *C* bullshit hanging over my head? The world better fucking watch out. Beast mode is about to be activated.