In high school, my best friend humorously dubbed my breasts “Trixy” and “Factilitatrix.” The first name was a clever twist on “Trix are for kids” (which is undeniably true). The second name came from an SAT prep session where the term “facilitator” reminded us of a few wardrobe malfunctions that made my chest a little too visible. After all, if you lived through the fashion missteps of the early 2000s, you probably encountered at least one embarrassing moment involving a lingerie-style tank top. Looking back, I could have been offended by the implications of those names, but I played along with the joke.
During the era of Mean Girls, ignoring my body wasn’t an option. My waist (26 inches) and bra size (32DD) had a striking discrepancy. I was an hourglass figure in a world obsessed with Victoria’s Secret, where everyone felt entitled to comment on others’ bodies. I rejected the manic pixie stereotype, refusing to giggle or blush at unwanted attention. Staring or unsolicited remarks about my “fun bags” or “rack” earned a hefty dose of feminist sass.
It would be dishonest to say my breasts haven’t influenced my identity, both literally and metaphorically. They’ve always been a defining characteristic, representing more than just a physical feature. They nourished three little ones who found the cozy confines of my uterus insufficient. They symbolized my femininity when my post-baby body resembled an unkempt mascot. They are part of who I am… until I realized Trixy and Factilitatrix were plotting my demise.
As we learned from the cinematic classic Jurassic Park, DNA serves as a blueprint for all living things. While some DNA can create fierce dinosaurs or a remarkably fit Jeff Goldblum, humans have demanding DNA that requires constant attention from superhero-like genes. Enter BRCA1 and BRCA2, two crucial genes that produce proteins to protect our DNA from damage. Everyone possesses these genes, which act like Thor’s hammer when it comes to cancer defense.
Unfortunately, mutated BRCA genes don’t bestow ninja-like abilities. Instead, BRCA1+ variants are akin to those individuals who peaked in high school. As we age, our DNA becomes increasingly susceptible to damage, and we depend on our BRCA genes more than ever. Those mutated BRCA1s are off reminiscing about their glory days while our damaged DNA cries out for help.
My maternal grandmother succumbed to breast cancer at 83, and my mother was diagnosed with DCIS (a type of breast cancer) 15 years ago. Thankfully, due to the quirks of U.S. healthcare, my mom didn’t receive the costly BRCA testing until she became eligible for Medicare. After her diagnosis, I discovered I had a 50% chance of inheriting the same BRCA1+ gene variant at the age of 32.
Insurance companies often resist covering BRCA testing. Even with a family history and documentation of my mother’s gene mutation, my insurance repeatedly denied my requests. I believe my OBGYN had to channel some serious persuasive skills to finally get Aetna to comply. Despite the clear evidence of my 50% risk, the insurance company fought me for months. If it weren’t for the tenacity of a cancer-fighting colleague (RIP, my dear friend Lila), I might have given up, ignoring the facts that clearly indicated my situation.
After nine months of battles with my insurance provider, I received the unwanted news: I tested positive for the BRCA1 variant. The truth about Trixy and Factilitatrix’s deadly intentions had been uncovered. While about 13% of women will develop breast cancer in their lifetime, up to 75% of those with a BRCA1+ variant face a similar fate. Unfortunately, those genes also increase the risk of ovarian cancer, compounding the issue.
I have a corporate job, and I’m raising three kids to be decent human beings—somewhat successful on both fronts. However, I wasn’t prepared for the reality of frequent MRIs, mammograms, ultrasounds, and biopsies. Every physician I consulted suggested preventative mastectomies, given my family history and the high probability of breast cancer. After a mammogram that led to additional scans, I made the decision to part ways with my breasts.
Opting for preventative mastectomies is one of the most personal choices a person can make. Celebrities like Angelina Jolie and Kayleigh McEnany have brought attention to the issue through their own journeys. While McEnany may represent a controversial political agenda, I appreciate her contribution to raising awareness about such a significant surgical procedure.
On December 7, 2020, I will undergo a preventative double mastectomy with immediate DIEP flap reconstruction. Essentially, a breast surgeon will remove my breast tissue, and a specialized microsurgeon will reconstruct my breasts using fat from my abdomen instead of implants. Prior to this, I had a Phase 1 surgical procedure to prepare for the main event: my nipples were repositioned, and some tissue was reduced. Trixy and Factilitatrix have undergone an upgrade, but they’ll soon face a more intense reconstruction.
The scars will heal, and the drains collecting post-surgical fluids will eventually be removed. The fear of breast cancer will diminish significantly, reducing my odds of developing the disease to less than 5%. Most importantly, this decision increases the likelihood that I will be around for my children for many more years to come.
The fat that will soon be removed from my chest no longer defines my identity. I am a marketing director, a runner, a mom, and a geek. I am taking charge of my health and my future, empowered by the knowledge that medical science has provided me.
Goodbye, BRCA1+, it’s time to go.
I’m a previvor.
For more insights, check out this related blog post on home insemination. If you’re curious about IVF studies, you can find valuable information here. Also, for further reading on infertility, the CDC offers an excellent resource.
Potential Search Queries:
- What is a previvor?
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In summary, this article discusses the author’s journey as a high-risk individual for breast cancer and their decision to undergo preventative mastectomies. It highlights the importance of genetic testing, family medical history, and personal choice in managing health risks.