It’s interesting that March 29th was the day before I learned of my BRCA status, and today is also the 29th – the day before I go in to find out if I may or may not have cancer. Tomorrow is the 1st of March, almost a month before my two-year BRCAversary.
Actually, that isn’t interesting to anyone but me, but I have a strange affinity for dates.
I’ve done an incredibly good job of not stressing myself out over this. I’ve had my moments, sure, but it hasn’t impaired my ability to function or to enjoy my daily life – and I’m pretty proud of myself for that. It probably helps that I have my mom filling my head with crazy ideas like “chemo wasn’t that bad” and “whatever, you’ll just go through it and get it done with and move on.” I know that’s probably not going to be true for me if it is something; I don’t quite operate on the same “get ‘er done” level as my mother, nor do I have quite the same ability to “suck it up,” but still. It does help knowing that she did indeed go through cancer, chemo, and every surgery imaginable and has now been living a totally normal life for five years. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger… or something.
Maybe today is the last day of my life as I know it. An extra-special Leap Day that is my last chance at just being a normal person, a previvor, a person with super-special mutant powers. Maybe tomorrow will be The Day I Was Diagnosed With Cancer (actually, it won’t be – if they do think it’s something, I imagine I’d still need a biopsy to be sure – but still, it would be the beginning of the end).
March 30th will forever stand out in my memory as the day I found out my genetic makeup was on the wrong side of a 50/50 chance at being normal. My fingers are crossed that March 1st will be just another day, one I’ll soon forget because nothing important happened. A girl can hope, right?