Life is filled with choices, but sometimes the hardest decisions can become surprisingly straightforward. This realization came to me through my own experiences and the legacy of a beloved family member.
I vividly remember my grandmother, whom I affectionately called Nana. Her voice, her kisses, and the comforting scent of her perfume are etched in my memory. I often say my decision to undergo genetic testing was for my children, husband, and family, but in truth, it was largely for her.
As the first granddaughter in a family of boys, Nana and I shared a special bond. Our time together was filled with delightful moments — from modeling walks to weekends on the boat, and singing “You Are My Sunshine” throughout our home. How could such a beautiful life not continue?
Nana once confided in my mother, urging her doctor, “Something is wrong, please investigate further.” Sadly, her pleas went unheard. I was only five when she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She had a sense that something was amiss, but no one took her seriously.
Despite her relentless fight against the illness, I still remember the heart-wrenching day my parents told me she was nearing the end. I begged to stay with her, but seeing her lifeless body in hospice was devastating. She passed away when I was just nine years old, leaving an indelible mark on my heart.
Nana had always been my confidante. Whenever I faced challenges or celebrated milestones, I would reach out to her in my thoughts, feeling her presence guiding me. Many years later, my mother gifted me a box filled with treasures Nana had compiled over the years — everything from family photos to letters she had penned since my birth. Nana’s words narrated our adventures, her hopes for me, and her memories of better days.
As time passed, my family learned that my uncle and cousin tested positive for the BRCA1 gene. My aunt encouraged me to get tested, but I hesitated. I was preoccupied with raising my children and didn’t want to face that reality. Deep down, however, I knew I needed to confront it.
I spoke to Nana in my heart, promising her that I would eventually get tested, but I wasn’t ready yet. At 31, with my youngest child still just a year old, I went for a routine check-up, and my doctor suggested I undergo the test. “Let’s do it now,” she insisted, catching me off guard. My heart raced as I complied.
A month later, the results revealed that I was BRCA1 positive. My family braced for my decision, and my husband was unwavering in his support. I knew I had to undergo a preventive double mastectomy, but the thought was daunting. How would I manage an eight-week recovery with two small children? Who would comfort them at night?
Was I being irrational to prioritize my health? No. My desire was to live fearlessly. If Nana had been given this choice, she might still be here today.
Within a month, I assembled a team of doctors, and my surgery was scheduled for January. In the lead-up to the operation, I focused on maintaining my health and strength, never doubting my choice. However, as the day approached, fear began to creep in. What would my new self look like? Would my husband still love me? Would I accept the new me?
On the morning of the surgery, I prepared myself, showered, and braided my hair before kissing my children goodbye. The journey to the hospital was quiet, filled with anticipation and anxiety. When my mother called to express her fear, I finally allowed myself to cry, holding back emotions I had kept buried for months.
Once at the hospital, I felt a mix of loneliness and determination as I awaited my turn. My husband provided strength, reminiscent of his calm presence during my previous C-section. When my father arrived, I could see the worry etched on his face. I needed to be brave for him, just as he was being strong for me.
After saying my goodbyes, I was taken to the surgical room. As I was wheeled down the corridor, tears streamed down my face. My anesthesiologist’s comforting voice reminded me of my bravery, and I clung to the memory of Nana, who seemed to whisper encouragement in my ear.
Then, everything faded to black.
When I regained consciousness, I was faced with a new reality — a new me.
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