I found out today that my specific BRCA2 mutation has occurred – as far as is known, at least – in only 23 families. Nineteen of these families are Western European. Three are Eastern or Central European. The last one, no one knows.
It is very, very strange being part of such a small group of people. It’s almost exciting, in a way. For all the crap that comes along with being a genetic mutant, I guess it’s kind of cool to at least be unique.
You know what else is exciting?
— Hearing people slowly come around, shifting from “at least breast cancer can be cured!” (what? Did I miss the cure for cancer?) to “Now that I learn more about this, I understand exactly why people choose preventative surgeries!” Knowledge is power, people.
— Seeing pictures, finally, of reconstructed boobs I actually like and would feel okay with.
— Learning about surgery options that may actually work for me.
— Discovering that the out-of-pocket maximum for my insurance is really not that high, which assuages some of my worries about the financial repercussions of surgery in general.
— The fact that, let’s face it, I’m kind of on the networking ball. I got my results two weeks ago yesterday, and since then, I’ve joined countless groups online and am slowly starting to network (is that even what you call it, in this situation?) with actual people. I had a phone date with Claudia this evening, have been emailing with Lisa and Rebecca and Angela, and have been officially matched with a PinkPal as of today.
I am so, SO not an optimist, usually. I’m really not the Pollyanna type. I believe in feeling feelings and being sad when you’re sad and angry when you’re angry. But I also believe in, when you’re ready, trying to see the best in a situation. And this all? Sucks. It does. It’s not like I wake up every day saying “Sweet! Another day as a genetic mutant!”
But. That said, it may not actually be the end of the world.