“The last of the human freedoms, to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, is to choose one’s own way.”  -- Viktor Frankl 

Choosing My Own Way

I learned about the BRCA 2 mutation after my daughter called me following up on her physical exam, and told me her doctor asked whether our family carried a BRCA mutation. The question was based on her family history: a great grandmother and two great aunts died young of breast cancer, her grandfather had breast cancer, and her maternal aunt also had breast cancer. Clearly something was going on.

I spoke with my father about getting genetic testing because genetic councilors suggest the oldest living person who potentially has the mutation gets tested first; that way, if the results are positive for the mutation, the other family members can tell the lab what to look for.

“No! I don’t want to get the test! Of course I carry the cancer gene, but I won’t get the test! Tell your daughter to be extra vigilant, but my veins are hard to reach and I don’t want to waste money getting a test that we already know what the outcome will be.” So went a heated conversation over the phone with my father. He flatly refused to have the test done.

Since he wouldn't  I did, and found out that I have a “deleterious mutation” to a BRCA 2 gene, confirming that the reason my grandmother died of breast cancer, and my dad had breast cancer and died of metastatic prostate cancer, was that one of the cellular hygiene features in our DNA was somehow different. Theoretically, the mutation may stop a cleansing process, allowing hyper-dividing cells to freely multiply at some point relatively early in life, and cancer can develop. 

So perhaps a root cause for some of my life choices is the BRCA 2 mutation, manifest in my grandmother, echoing through her absence, into my family. The pit in my stomach when tempers flare may come from 1930s Philly – when survival required living without love, because a cancer grew unabated in a mother’s breast. Therefore, I forgive my dad for his emotional lack, he tried. I forgive my grandmother, who I never knew, for dying so young – she did not have a healer. She passed along to me, though my father’s blood, a genetic anomaly we label a deleterious BRCA 2 mutation. She passed it on to her daughters, too, and they joined her too young and after too hard of lives.

Since God makes no errors, what is the spiritual purpose of this mutated gene? 85% of women who have certain BRCA mutations develop cancer. Perhaps the reason lies in the 15% of women carrying this mutation who do not develop cancer. Could these women hold the cure for cancer? Could I?

My objective in dealing with BRCA mutations, and any other inherited trait, is to address it not with fear, but with curiosity driven toward understanding. I know I must be vigilant monitoring my health, but even more vigilant monitoring my thoughts. If nothing else, knowing my BRCA status provides me with an impetus to live life more fully – as if each day is a gift from God – which it is.  

I choose love.