On March 30, 2010, I received a positive result for the BRCA2 gene mutation.
I knew the result would be positive. I’ve known since I first found out my chances were 50% either way. On a few different occasions, my dad pushed me to get testing. I said I was waiting until I was closer to 25, and he said, “Why wait? Wouldn’t it be great to know the results are negative?” and I reacted as though he was insane. Negative, really? Even then, I couldn’t even fathom it.
The night before I got my results, I looked up pictures of (quite unattractive) breast reconstructions online and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. And I thought, “What if it does come back negative?” And it was the strangest thing – the idea didn’t fill me with relief, partially because I knew it wouldn’t be true, and partially because… I don’t know. I’m not the kind of person who gets “feelings,” but I had the strongest feeling that, whether I like it or not, this is exactly what is meant to happen. That although I may wish it had turned out differently, this is how my life is. And that maybe, I am meant to do something with this. I don’t know what yet, and I don’t know how, and I know I have a lot to wrap my head around first, but there may be a reason for all this. Someday.
Right now, though, I’m struggling. I’ve yet to connect with anyone in the same situation. None of my friends understand, although my close friends have been hearing me talk about BRCA for the past four years and know where I’m coming from. My parents are clearly concerned I’m going to go off the deep end. I feel like all the hopes I had for my life are now dead and gone, like the person I was doesn’t exist anymore, and like my life as I know it is over.
I don’t know what to do with this new life yet. I don’t know what to make of it, or where to go from here. Right now, as melodramatic as it sounds, getting out of bed and having a functional day is about the best I can do.