more complaining about brca

Sometimes, out of the blue, I still get really upset that I was born with a cancer-causing gene mutation. Most of the time, I don’t think about it, and if I do it’s because I’m involved in relevant groups and have friends with the same affliction. I think about it the same way I think about my job or my apartment or being short – just part of my life.

And then I read something like this, and it really gets to me. While the obvious response would be to just stop drinking alcohol, it isn’t quite that easy. And I’m not sure it’s even about the booze itself.

I like to drink. I like the taste of certain drinks and I like the social aspect and I like not having to say “Oh, I don’t drink, because it will give me cancer if I do.” But more than that? I wish I was a normal person with a choice. Continuing to consume alcohol is the wrong choice. Continuing to eat foods that aren’t organic and plant-based is the wrong choice. Exercising less than daily is the wrong choice. I should be concerned about my shampoo and my makeup and my everything.

I’m just not ready. I’m not ready to completely change my life. But I hate when I’m smacked in the face with a reminder that everything I’m doing is wrong and contributing to what could be my untimely death (it sounds over-dramatic, but is it, really?). I hate when I’m reminded I’m not a normal person and I don’t really get the privilege of living as such without consequences.

And then I remember why I still live my life as normal. I remember that it’s because I plan on having a serious, invasive, painful surgery to lop off healthy body parts. Then I remember I won’t be able to breastfeed and my heart already breaks a little. It breaks every time I read a post on Facebook or anywhere else about how “breast is best” and this country needs to step up its support of breast-feeding because anything else shouldn’t even be an option. I don’t even have kids and it already makes me sad.

But it’s not just that. It’s the posts I read about how after nine months people feel “mostly” back to normal after surgery. It’s the fact that you’re never really “normal” again. It just makes everything in me want to cry.

I don’t want any of this. I don’t want this to be part of my life. I’m lucky that most of the time it doesn’t bother me, but when it does? It really sucks.

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