Angelina Jolie and I Have Something In Common

Cancer and I have had some time to get to know one another since September.  I'm starting to get used to the bone-deep exhaustion and the other little "quirks" of chemo therapy, too, although I still get annoyed and irritated when I can't go about my day as I am used to.  I understand that sometimes I won't have the energy to even turn my computer on, let alone form the sentences needed for a blog post, but that doesn't mean that I have to like it.

When I visited my plastic surgeon for our initial visit, he indicated that it would be in my best interest to have my other breast removed as well.  At the time I wasn't really all that interested in having ANY sort of surgery, ever again.  Having a drain tube sticking out of your chest for a month tends to color your opinion of such events.  I decided that I would put off all decision making on surgery and whatever until after I had completed chemo and radiation, which would be about six months.  Worry about what is in front of you, not something that hasn't happened yet, my brain told me. 

And then one of my cousins contacted me via  Facebook.  My dad's side of the family is all over the Book of Face, and cousins that I didn't even know I had are flocking there in record numbers.  My cousin Marie is a few years older than me; her father was my dad's oldest brother.  We met at a few family reunions when we were kids.

Marie mentioned in her Facebook message that she had had a lump removed a few years ago, and that she had had some DNA testing.  That testing revealed that she was carrying the banal-sounding yet evil gene BRCA, the result of a mutation on her father's side of the family. The presence of the gene practically guarantees that a person will get breast cancer.  It becomes not a question of if, but when. This particular gene was the one cited by Angelina Jolie as the reason for her decision to have a double mastectomy.  Angelina Jolie and I have something in common.  I would have been happy with an autographed photo. 

My exact response to the news was, "Wha?"  I'd specifically asked my dad, and my mother, about various health issues that ran in the family.  Such information is important to me.  My mom's side of the family tend to perish from tractors falling on them, which is thankfully not genetic. On the other hand, my dad's side of the family is full of fun events, like strokes, heart attacks, pre eclampsia, etc.  There's even some lupus in there.  Not a word about breast cancer!

So I probably have the stupid gene.  I'm having the DNA test to be sure, since this is something my son definitely needs to know.  But I'll be getting two new breasts instead of just the one.  Then I can just not worry about it at all. 

My plastic surgeon will be happy. 

A to Z: Determinations and Predispositions

DNA is the building block of every living thing.  Our DNA determines our hair color, eye color, and our tendency to break out in hives before any public speaking.  It determines how tall we are going to be, the color of our skin, and even shoe size.  My DNA even determined that I would be round, despite my efforts to the contrary.

All the research into DNA has found other things as well.  Who gets certain types of cancer can be located in our DNA. Doctors can find out if a baby has any sort of birth defects before they are even born.  Scientists have found that there are genes that predict some mental disorders, such as depression. They can even tell if a person will become an addict; a certain gene indicates a predisposition toward addiction. 

The vast amount of research and discovery is awe-inspiring, and it leads to some positive outcomes. People with a genetic predisposition toward a particular disease can actively work toward preventing that disease, or at least lessening the effects.  That's why Angelina Jolie had her double mastectomy; she carries the gene for breast cancer, and she wanted to prevent it.  People with a predisposition for heart disease can change their diet and start exercising to help themselves.  Couples who know they carry the genes for diseases like cystic fibrosis can make informed choices about having children. 

Knowledge is power.

Sometimes I think that people get confused about those predispositions, however.  A person who has the gene for addiction, for example, might decide that they have no choice in the matter.  They may believe that they will be an addict, and there's nothing they can do or say to change that.  That isn't necessarily true.  A predisposition does not mean that you will have the disorder.  It means that you may.  A genetic predisposition is a maybe, and that allows for some choice in the matter, particularly for something like addiction. 

We all have choices, no matter our genes.  To believe differently is to deny the responsibility that we all have to ourselves to be the best we can be.  Yes, some of us may have the gene that indicates a problem with addictions.  But we do have some measure of control. We don't have to drink that first beer at all.  We can stay away from the break room where the doughnuts are stationed.  We can make the choice to say no. We have that control over ourselves.  And if we are addicted to something, despite our best efforts, we can choose to work hard to overcome that addiction, accepting that it may be a long battle.  We have control over that, too.

Knowledge is power, if you put it to good use.

Like Mother, Like Son

Zane is in the fridge. He isn't supposed to be, but my husband is often lax about latching the door closed. So Zane is in there looking for applesauce. He is getting upset, because we don't have applesauce, but he keeps looking. I finally get up and help him before he has a fit.

"Zane, we do not have any applesauce," I say.

"Nooooo!" Zane is getting wound up for a hissy fit. I peer into the fridge and there, among the leftover lasagna and eggs, is a bag of Three Musketeers fun size candy bars.

"Oh!" I exclaim. "Look at this!" Zane turns around, his interest tweaked.

"Chocklat!" My son yells happily. I give him two bars, because I know that he will open both packages and eat half of one, then give the rest to me! Zane grabs the two candy bars from me and runs off. I can hear him as he heads into the living room...

"Mine!!! My Chocklat! HAHAHAHAHAA!"

That is my kid, alright! Chocolate rules!