For as long as I can remember, I have considered that my chances of cancer interrupting my life were fairly high. Until a couple months ago, it was just a thought and until a few weeks ago, I had not made any plans.
We have a big family; my parents are both 1 of 10. Of my dad’s 7 sisters, 4 have had breast cancer. The first to succumb to it was my Tia Juana. I never knew her but my cousins, her children, are a riot. Growing up we would often visit our family in Mexico and they would visit us here in Houston. Of the regular visitors, 3 were my dad’s sisters — Tia Leti, Tia Rosa and Tia Reyna. We were all very close. I knew about breast cancer from a young age because two of them did not have breasts. As a kid I had noticed their scars and their dissimilar bras. Although this would be different for most, it was normal for me. Tia Reyna and Tia Rosa both had been diagnosed in their early 50’s, acting quickly by choosing to do chemo and radiation as well as their individual mastectomies.
Roughly ten years ago I lost my Tia Leti. She found out about her breast cancer later in her life and was the second of my dad’s sisters to die from it. My fiery, Mexican aunt that I loved. The same one that knew me well and would call me out when I would have one of my angry fits. The one that invited me on a month long tour, by bus, through Mexico. Where we visited 4 Mayan ruins and countless beaches while eventually driving through the jungles of Chiapas and eating the most delicious food. A trip that changed my life. I felt the closest to her growing up because I saw myself in her. She was strong, independent, passionate (or hot headed) and opiniated. She was a lawyer. She was intense. She was loving. She was not the aunt you wanted to cross. She never married, nor bore children but we, her nieces and nephews, were her kids. The cancer took her rather quickly and she was the first person in my life that truly hurt when she passed.
The trips to visit our family down south grew more infrequent as we got older but our relationship with them didn’t change. We grew closer to my Tia Rosa and about 7 years after my Tia Leti passed, my Tia Rosa found out her cancer had come back, this time it was in her stomach. After battling it for a few years, she left this earth in February of this year, the week of my cousins wedding and was buried on my Tio’s birthday. A last playful, sibling upper hand, to her brother whose family had lovingly cared for her in her last days. Tia Rosa, like Tia Leti, loved her family, so it only made sense that we celebrated the end of her life just days before my cousins wedding. A reminder that courage and love sit on the other side of grief. My Tia Reyna has just taken another round of chemo and radiation for cancer that has returned at 70. She is doing well and spending lots of time with her daughter and granddaughters.
Needless to say, cancer has plagued my family for a long time.
After sharing this history with my OB/GYN about 5 years ago, she suggested (maybe more than once) that I get genetic testing done. I avoided her suggestion, compartmentalizing it and then storing it away and marking it ‘Do not open’. However, life decides otherwise. After my colleague and mentor passed away last year of Ovarian and Breast Cancer, the loss of my Tia Rosa just before the COVID lockdown and most recently my good friend finding out she had Stage 3 Colon cancer, I realized I couldn’t ignore my future anymore.
Although finding out I was positive with BRCA 1 gene was not surprising, it did not make it any less heartbreaking. What I had avoided for many, many years, is now my truth. I would be lying to you, and to myself, if I didn’t acknowledge that this is scary, heavy and emotional. I even sometimes feel as if I’m being dramatic. After all, I don’t have cancer…yet. I’ve chosen to face this truth head on, being proactive and taking the necessary steps I can to prolong my life. I have realized that making the appointment for the MRI and the mammogram later this month, and even the one for my consultation with the surgeon who will possibly perform my prophylactic bilateral mastectomy, will likely save my life. I have a lot of steps before my surgery and a lot to learn. I am growing ok with it all. I am forever grateful for all the love and support I’ve received from my family and friends since finding out. Giving me the space to talk about this has been more healing than I would have imagined. One of my biggest hopes in all of this is that in sharing my journey along the way I will not only empower other women to talk to their doctors about potential cancer risks and/or get mammograms but also that this sheds a bit of light into the power of genetic testing as well as normalizes conversations around genetic diseases.
Step one is complete and I now know I have the gene. On to step two…
— Vetters
