Not My Daughter, You Bitch!

"Not my daughter, you bitch!" I don't think there has ever been another sentence written or said that captures the emotions of a mom more than this sentence yelled by Mrs. Weasley in Harry Potter and the Deadly Hallows. Such a seemingly simple statement, yet it emulates every emotion I feel when I'm worried about my children. Love, anger, fear, protectiveness...a fierce need to destroy anything that would harm my child. J.K. Rowling managed to convey the message in one sentence, "Not my daughter, you bitch!"

Yesterday I had my follow-up with my Oncologist...and, yes, I did eat beforehand this time. We were there to get the results of my BRCA tests (genetic tests) and my PET Scan. I went in there feeling a little defeated and just anxious about getting this all moving. My insurance company had dealt me a blow last week by sending me a letter stating that they wouldn't cover my PET/CT Scan because I have Stage 1A instead of Stage 3 Breast Cancer and I was feeling pretty pissy about it when I headed to the doctor. How mad I was about their decision and the work I have ahead of me during the appeal was in the back of my mind as I entered the doctor's office. I was also anxious to get our battle plans drawn. All of the results were in and it was time to map out our course. Finally!

The first thing my doctor told me was that the BRCA tests came back negative. What? Wow! Really? I couldn't believe it; we were expecting another positive. I didn't realize how much those results meant to me. As I processed the news, I exhaled deeply like I'd been holding in a breath for weeks. My muscles relaxed like they'd been tight with worry instead of tight because of my Fibromyalgia. The doctor then moved onto the PET/CT scan. He brought us into his office to show us the images. They found another small lump in the left breast that they believe is not cancerous, but it doesn't matter because the boob will be gone soon. The BRCA test is negative. I have one intramammary lymph node that is cancerous. But, it's in the left breast, too. It doesn't matter because the boob will be gone soon. The BRCA test is negative.

Finally, we have a plan...
My doctor set up an appointment for me with my oncologist surgeon for Monday. We will schedule a bilateral mastectomy for as soon as possible. I informed my doctor that I WILL NOT have surgery before May 15th. Why? I WILL watch my daughter walk during her graduation. Missing that moment is not an option. Four weeks after surgery, I'll begin twelve months of chemotherapy. I'll have six rounds of TCH (Taxotere, Carboplatin, Herceptin) Chemo given in three week intervals. After that I'll continue the Herceptin Chemo every three weeks until I finish my year. I'll take a hormone pill throughout treatment and beyond. Ok, great...the BRCA test is negative.

My doctor could have told me that I was terminal and there was nothing that could be done and I would have been fine. I was emotional all day yesterday and couldn't really pinpoint why. I looked at chemo caps, planned for a hair cut, and added dates to my calendar. I was ready for all of this. Why was I on edge and ready to cry? I realized this morning that it all comes back to that BRCA test. The outcome of the tests wasn't going to change my prognosis or my battle plans. But, we expected a positive result. It's negative...we won a huge battle!!! I have a messed up body, immune system, etc. We've made jokes about how I need to transplant my brain and heart to another body. We've hoped that I didn't pass down all of my defects to my children. It was a joke until I was diagnosed with breast cancer and found out there was a breast cancer gene that can get passed down to your children.

The average woman has a 12% chance of developing breast cancer in her lifetime. A woman who has inherited the BRCA genes has a 40-85% chance of developing breast cancer in her lifetime. That's crazy! And, that's scary. That's why nothing else the doctor said yesterday mattered. Knowing that I haven't passed down the 'cancer gene' to my daughter is the best feeling ever. I could die tomorrow and feel like I won the war. Cancer CAN NOT have my daughter!

My children are my life. It's as simple as that. If they live, I live. If they are happy, I'm happy. If they are scared or in danger, I'll protect them (And, by that I mean I will do whatever I have to do to protect them...be warned!)

I don't think I can put into words how much I love my daughter and what she means to me. Some people may think it's strange when they see how close we are. I'm her confidant as she is mine. She's my best friend and my daughter. There's a fine balance that we've manage to achieve while teetering on the line of friends and mother/daughter. I will ground her in a heart beat and I will listen to her heartaches without judgement. We had a pretty tough beginning and we've been through some rough times together. The good times and the bad times; there were plenty of both. When she was five, I was broke trying to make it and take care of her on my own. That Christmas she asked for a tv and said, "If there's enough money I'd like a barbie doll, too." So grown up and mature for an almost six years old. She was already trying to take care of me. After David's head injury, we kept each other strong. She was only ten and had the weight of the world on her shoulders. I held her while she cried and she held me while I cried. Sometime after that, her dad's kidneys finally gave out. After months of dialysis, he received a kidney. I held her while she cried and told her it would all be okay. She's made her mistakes through the years; it's all part of the growing process. Even through the mistakes she made, I held her and told her how much I loved her. I protected her and never judged her for her actions. With each life lesson she's learned, I've been there to support her and love her. With each illness I've had, she's been there to comfort me and love me.

Through all of our troubles, we've had each other's back. I love her and she loves me. I'll protect her as she will protect me. It's something fierce, our emotions. I feel like my daughter has held the world on her shoulders too much and for too long in her short life. I've tried to shelter her and protect her as much as I could. The thought of her odds of breast cancer increasing because of a gene I passed on is...there are no words. How do you explain the emotions, the fear, the worry that you could have passed something on to your child that could harm her in the future?

 On May 15th, my daughter will graduate from high school with honors. She'll begin her own path (forever intertwined with mine) this fall as she heads to college to pursue her degree in Occupational Therapy. No matter where her path takes her or where mine leads, I will rest easy knowing that her path is her own. She is free and clear of those BRCA genes and will have a chance at a long, bright future. The battle is already won!