Twisting Fate by Pamela Munster

Author:Pamela Munster
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Experiment

Before I really had time to reflect on Amie’s news, I got another call. It was the frantic voice of a researcher telling me that our mutual colleague and husband of my best friend, Mary, had just been called into surgery. Henry had been waiting months for a liver transplant, and this morning one had become available. I went straight to the transplant unit to be with my friend. As we sat there and worried about him, I tried to put the thought of any BRCA cancer in my future in perspective. Having this mutation put me at risk for cancer, but it did not mean I had cancer. As I was waiting with Mary, sitting in the surgical waiting room for Henry to pull through, I thought about how relative most events in life were. Compared to the immediate danger of death my friend was in today, and the often imminent risk of dying for my patients (most are diagnosed with advanced cancer), I was actually given a chance to take precautions before having another cancer. Slowly adjusting to the news, I calmed down and spent the next few hours reassuring my friend that Henry would be fine. We heard the wonderful news that Henry had not only made it through the surgery, but that the new liver was working properly as well. Mary and I hugged, and I went home.

Still ecstatic that my friend and colleague had survived his procedure, it started to sink in that my personal brush with the cancer world was not yet over. It was November 6, and by the time I left the hospital, it was dark and a cold breeze had picked up. Shivering, I stood at the crosswalk to the parking garage and waited for the light to turn green. A nurse from the oncology ward passed me and said hello with her usual smile. She looked at me and quickly walked away. It was then when I realized my cheeks were wet, finally releasing all the emotions I’d been holding inside all day.

Amie’s words from earlier that morning echoed in my mind, “. . . you do have a BRCA2 mutation.”

I don’t remember what I said in return or the whole rest of the conversation; my mind had shut off after her first sentence. I do remember feeling a sense of relief that comes with knowing that your gut instinct had been right. Not surprisingly, I felt an overwhelming sense of exoneration. Even three months since my breast reconstruction, a decision I really knew was right for me, in the back of my head were always the voices of some of my surgical colleagues: “There’s no medical reason to do this . . . you are overreacting . . . you can keep the other breast . . . don’t give up a central part of your being a woman.”

From a purely rational, statistical perspective, and looking at population health in general, they were right. Stage 0 breast cancer has

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