Welcome To The Bitchery

I love my boobs. But I don't want them to kill me.

I did it. I finally scheduled the appointment with the genetic counselor so I can get the BRCA mutation test thingy. It's two weeks from now, so that means two weeks of trying to talk myself out of cancelling it. I can do this.

Breast cancer killed my grandma and two of my great aunts. Several of my great aunts and other relatives have had cervical/uterine cancer as well. My mom has had dozens of scares, and she recently tested positive for *both* the BRCA1 and BRCA2 mutations. So she (and MitsuBT) have been begging me to get the test done so I can do what I can to mitigate things if I do have the mutation. But I'm scared.

If I do have it, then that means a double mastectomy and possibly a hysterectomy. And I'm not even 30 yet. Insurance won't cover reconstruction, so I'll either have to pony up a few grand for new breasts (that won't happen; I'm flat broke), or learn to live without them. I've been spending some time looking at mastectomy tattoos, and while I think they are beautiful and awesome and cool, I don't know if I could do it. I'm not brave. I'm scared.


I know I'm a woman with or without the ladyparts. I keep telling myself that. Think of how much I'll save on bras! And no more funky tan lines at the beach! I can finally sleep on my stomach! And even most importantly, I will have cut my risk back to normal population levels. So easy choice, right?

I love my boobs. But I don't want them to kill me. That just plays out over and over in my head. It's weird, too, because I never liked my boobs. They were always too something or not enough something else. Now that there's a chance I might have to give them up, they have become the most awesome things ever. I went out the other weekend and dropped $250 on frilly and sexy bras. It's money I don't really have, but I needed it. I realized I had never owned a "sexy" bra. Nothing with lace or color or anything. Now I have leopard print and pink lace and stripes!

I don't know why I'm freaking out about this now. I've known for a while that there's a good chance I will get breast cancer. Even if I don't have the mutation, I have other risk factors. It's something I should have come to terms with by now. For some reason setting that appointment just made it more...real.


Thanks for letting me rant, GT. I had planned something more coherent and less ranty, but I just can't right now. I'm about to go drink all the wine and cry until MitsuBT gets here for dinner and Doctor Who.


Edit: I just realized after typing all this out...the fear of dying hasn't even entered into my head yet. Shouldn't I be more worried about that than whether or not I have boobs? How fucked up this all is.

Share This Story

Get our newsletter