My Story

Because I had a strong family history of breast cancer, I opted to begin getting mammograms at my 25 year well woman visit.  Boy, had I known it would result in an abundance of pain and being passed out on the floor, I probably would have played ignorant and skipped my appointment.  Just kidding.  Although, I have no words to describe my experience.  I should have known what to expect because my mom is a torturer, I mean mammographer, but I was squished by a ton of bricks.  Anyhow, during my mammogram the radiographer found a few things that concerned her.  She took a few extra films to be thorough.  A few days later the radiologist called me in to do more specialized imaging because he too was concerned with mysterious masses in my dense, fibrocycstic breasts.  And here, my story begins...


The doctors decided that the best option would be to schedule and MRI.  Here on the military base it is standard protocol to do a urine pregnancy test before imaging.  Needless to say, there was a pebble in my shoe, I mean a bun in my oven.  My team of doctors deliberated and concluded because of the strong family history and the mysterious growths on the films that I was a prime candidate for genetic testing.  YAY!  I never win anything let alone been a prime candidate!  After battling with funding and insurance issues, the test was finally administered and the results were sent to back to my doc.  I never doubted that I had the BRCA mutation so I didn't fall off my chair when the doctor read the results.  Armed with these tests results, hours of discussion, and  getting lost in a countless number of resources I decided to part with the breasts on my chest.