Cancer has always loomed large in my family. Both of my grandmothers battled breast cancer, and my great-aunt lost her life to ovarian cancer. More recently, several aunts and uncles have faced their own fights with breast and prostate cancer. In 2011, I experienced the heartbreaking loss of my mother to ovarian cancer. The emotional toll was overwhelming; I felt as if I could just accept my fate and not worry about the little things—like standing too close to the microwave while chatting on my cell phone. It seemed inevitable that cancer would find me too.
For the next couple of years, I wrestled with my grief and anxiety about our family’s cancer history. Would I succumb to the same fate? Would my daughters face the same threats? The fear was suffocating. During one particularly anxious moment, I thought back to a quirky trip my husband and I took to Key West in 2006. There, I had a memorable encounter with a palm reader. He foretold a future that included one or two children, some unexpected wealth, and a long life—only to be troubled by heart issues in my later years. Eight years later, as I faced the stark reality of my family’s health history, I clung to his words for comfort.
Last year, during my routine check-up, my OB/GYN urged me to undergo BRCA testing, fully aware of my mother’s tragic history. With Angelina Jolie making headlines about her own BRCA journey, my curiosity piqued. I admired her courage and found myself drawn to the idea of understanding my own risk. After a lengthy discussion with my doctor, I left with a pamphlet about the testing—but it quickly got buried under my paperwork. The thought of discovering my genetic fate was too daunting, and I rationalized my fear with the high costs involved.
As time passed, the idea of the BRCA test lingered in my mind. I wrestled with the implications: if I carried the gene, could I really go through with a full hysterectomy at just 36? Or a double mastectomy, like Angelina? Then one morning, I woke up with a newfound determination. I had to take the test—for my daughters. If I was a carrier, they deserved to know. If not, they would be free from that worry. Booking the appointment felt oddly calming.
When the day of the test arrived, the stress began before I even walked through the door. The nurse didn’t seem aware of my appointment, and I had to wait while she juggled other patients. Finally, I was brought back, and to my surprise, I learned I would be doing a Buccal Wash instead of a typical blood draw. This involved collecting saliva, followed by a rinse with Listerine—repeat three times. My samples were sent off to a lab in Utah.
Then began the agonizing wait for insurance approval, which took almost six weeks. After several assessments, they finally deemed me at “substantial risk.” And then, I waited for that white envelope from Myriad Laboratories. During that time, I had restless nights filled with anxiety, and I found myself staring into my daughters’ eyes, silently hoping I hadn’t passed down a genetic burden. I also frantically researched ways to combat potential health issues. At night, when the house was quiet, I shed tears over my fears of how my husband might see me if I had to change my body.
Finally, one fateful afternoon in late July, the envelope arrived. My hands trembled as I called my husband at work. “I don’t have the genes. None of them.” Relief washed over me as I cried happy tears. My daughters noticed and came into the kitchen, wrapping their little arms around me. “Mommy? Why are you sad?” I assured them, “Mommy is crying happy tears…” They looked bewildered—but I squeezed them tighter and whispered, “It’s one less thing…”
I had done this for them.
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Summary:
This article follows Emily Carter’s emotional journey through BRCA testing after losing her mother to ovarian cancer. Faced with a family history of cancer, Emily initially hesitates to take the test. However, she ultimately decides to undergo testing to protect her daughters, finding relief when she learns she does not carry the gene. It’s a heartfelt reflection on motherhood, fear, and the importance of making informed health choices.