The Eve of the Final Step
Earlier in the year, I found out that I carry a pathogenic mutation in the BRIP1 gene. It was discovered through genetic testing after my breast cancer diagnosis. BRIP1 is linked to an increased risk of ovarian cancer. My doctor and the genetic counselors explained that the safest course of action would be a risk-reducing surgery to remove my ovaries. It’s technically called a bilateral oophorectomy, and while the name sounds intimidating, it’s actually a fairly simple procedure.
I already had my uterus and fallopian tubes removed during my hysterectomy back in 2014, so this operation is the final step - the last preventive measure to lower my cancer risk as much as possible. It feels strange that something so small can carry so much weight.
This entire year has felt like one long nightmare of medical appointments, scans, results, procedures, and waiting. Each time I thought I could exhale, something else appeared on the horizon. The breast cancer diagnosis was already more than enough, but the genetic mutation felt like an extra layer I never asked for. Still, I keep reminding myself that this is the final step. When I wake up from this surgery, this chapter will finally be closed.
It’s almost time for my surgery, and I’ve been trying to let that fact sit quietly in the background instead of letting it take over my thoughts. I’ve already had enough of that kind of worry this year. Surgery day is November 10, just two months after my final radiation treatment.
I’m choosing not to worry about this too much. I’ve already been through so much trauma this year, and I don’t want to spend any more time being afraid. Even though this is a surgery, I keep telling myself that I’m not worried and I’m not stressed.
I found this surgeon through a web of trusted people: my old doctor, my nurse navigator, and others at the cancer center. They all said the same thing: he’s one of the best. He doesn’t use the DaVinci robot, but it sounds like this procedure is fast and straightforward, so it probably isn’t even necessary.
Back in 2014, my hysterectomy was done with the DaVinci robot, and I remember how amazed I was by how smoothly it went. No pain, no complications. My new doctor says this recovery should be even faster, which seems hard to believe, but I’m hopeful.
Mostly, I’m just ready to be done. This year has been overwhelming in every possible way, and this feels like the final step toward closing the book on it. After learning about the BRIP1 mutation, I’ve carried this weight of what-ifs for too long. Once this surgery is behind me, I’ll finally be able to move forward without wondering what else might be waiting.
And just to finish the year strong, 7 days after surgery I will start taking Arimidex and then 10 days after surgery I have to get my tooth pulled. More stuff to check off the list, more reminders that I’m wrapping up everything that’s been hanging over me.
It feels like the right decision. And I’m ready.
Earlier in the year, I found out that I carry a pathogenic mutation in the BRIP1 gene. It was discovered through genetic testing after my breast cancer diagnosis. BRIP1 is linked to an increased risk of ovarian cancer. My doctor and the genetic counselors explained that the safest course of action would be a risk-reducing surgery to remove my ovaries. It’s technically called a bilateral oophorectomy, and while the name sounds intimidating, it’s actually a fairly simple procedure.
I already had my uterus and fallopian tubes removed during my hysterectomy back in 2014, so this operation is the final step - the last preventive measure to lower my cancer risk as much as possible. It feels strange that something so small can carry so much weight.
This entire year has felt like one long nightmare of medical appointments, scans, results, procedures, and waiting. Each time I thought I could exhale, something else appeared on the horizon. The breast cancer diagnosis was already more than enough, but the genetic mutation felt like an extra layer I never asked for. Still, I keep reminding myself that this is the final step. When I wake up from this surgery, this chapter will finally be closed.
It’s almost time for my surgery, and I’ve been trying to let that fact sit quietly in the background instead of letting it take over my thoughts. I’ve already had enough of that kind of worry this year. Surgery day is November 10, just two months after my final radiation treatment.
I’m choosing not to worry about this too much. I’ve already been through so much trauma this year, and I don’t want to spend any more time being afraid. Even though this is a surgery, I keep telling myself that I’m not worried and I’m not stressed.
I found this surgeon through a web of trusted people: my old doctor, my nurse navigator, and others at the cancer center. They all said the same thing: he’s one of the best. He doesn’t use the DaVinci robot, but it sounds like this procedure is fast and straightforward, so it probably isn’t even necessary.
Back in 2014, my hysterectomy was done with the DaVinci robot, and I remember how amazed I was by how smoothly it went. No pain, no complications. My new doctor says this recovery should be even faster, which seems hard to believe, but I’m hopeful.
Mostly, I’m just ready to be done. This year has been overwhelming in every possible way, and this feels like the final step toward closing the book on it. After learning about the BRIP1 mutation, I’ve carried this weight of what-ifs for too long. Once this surgery is behind me, I’ll finally be able to move forward without wondering what else might be waiting.
And just to finish the year strong, 7 days after surgery I will start taking Arimidex and then 10 days after surgery I have to get my tooth pulled. More stuff to check off the list, more reminders that I’m wrapping up everything that’s been hanging over me.
It feels like the right decision. And I’m ready.
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