exhaling a breath I didn't know I was holding

 I lost my big sister to breast cancer when she was one week short of her 37th birthday. Diagnosed at 34, with 3 little boys under the age of 7, she fought valiantly for almost two years.  The doctors subjected her to chemotherapy, radiation, radical surgery and even experimental treatments in an effort to save her life, but none of it was enough to conquer this dreadful disease. She was not only my sister, but my closest friend, my confidant, and my ally. The void in my life since her passing will never be filled, and I grow more firmly convinced of this fact with each passing year.

Several years after my sister's untimely death, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, and it was quite advanced, but she was lucky enough to have a caring surgeon and an even more caring oncologist who believed a vibrant 71-year-old should be treated as aggressively as a young woman with children. Though it had been little more than ten years between my sister's passing and my mom's diagnosis, the advances in treatment during that interim were profound. Now 12 years after her own diagnosis, my mom is still around to give me grief.

An acquaintance of mine, having just found out about my family history, was quite amazed I hadn't had genetic testing done to see if I carry either of the breast cancer genes. Having one first-degree relative with the disease increased my risk by a sizable amount, but two first-degree relatives with breast cancer raised my likelihood of getting breast cancer into the stratospheric range. I just changed primary care physicians a couple of months ago, and during my establishing visit, mentioned the possibility of genetic testing. He concurred, and next thing I knew, I was having multiple vials of blood siphoned off. Of course, it couldn't be that simple. The lab had only sent 2 samples for genetic testing in the past SIX years, so there were many hoops to be jumped through, not the least of which was a denial by my insurance. This was to be expected; it's not a common test, and at $3500, is not something any insurance company is going to be ecstatic about paying. But after an appeal came a begrudging approval when my new doctor enumerated my rather lengthy list of risk factors.

Thus commenced "The Wait." I had already mentally prepared myself for the very real possibility I carry either BRCA1 or BRCA2, and had already formulated a plan of action. So I set about carrying on with my very busy life and tried to shelve any nagging worries about the test, and I was almost successful. I actually went several days without giving it more than a passing thought, and when I did think about it, I realized that I was being as proactive as was reasonable.

So when my phone rang at work last week, and the caller ID showed my doctor's number, I answered with a shaking hand, realizing 6 weeks had passed and this was most likely the call I had been waiting for. Without much preamble, they told me my results were back, and I DO NOT carry either breast cancer gene. My relief was so profound, my knees literally buckled, and I had to catch myself. To finally have an answer to a fear that has been gnawing at the back of my brain for so long ... I can't put it into words. I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until I  was able to exhale all the fear and dread I'd been holding onto for so long.

I can't change the past. No matter how many times I've cried or prayed or begged, my sister is never coming back. But I can be here for her 3 dear sons, as they marry and start families of their own. And I can keep her memory alive in their hearts, as she is in mine.