I’m fairly certain Professor Charles Francis Xavier, leader and founder of the X-Men, would like to recruit me. Not only do I have radioactive sugar-vein powers, but I am also officially a mutant. It’s only a matter of time before my true nature and purpose are unleashed. I wonder what he’ll name me? It’s too bad “Rogue” is already taken.
The results of my genetics test are in, and I have an Ashkenazi Jewish BRCA 1 mutation that I most likely inherited from my mother’s mother’s side of the family. I am not surprised, and in some ways, I am weirdly relieved because now I know why I have triple-negative breast cancer at only 31 years old. If I did not have a mutation, then I’d be even more of an anomaly. At least now I’ll know my risks and odds, and I’ll also have a clear picture of future medical decisions and procedures. And, breakthrough-hungry oncologists in big and dirty cities won’t want to study me. I was told that’s what happens to women my age who get triple-negative breast cancer and do not have a known genetic mutation. That does not sound at all as fun as Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.
This will not change my treatment, but it will change the way that I consider my post-treatment surgery. I am meeting with the genetics counselor this Friday to get all of the details. Thankfully, I do not have to make any surgical decisions until after chemo.
Apparently I am quite rare, so I’m sure Professor X will be knocking on my door soon enough. Who knows, maybe he already has a new member of the X-Men who can cure cancer. Or, maybe that member is me.
(Rayan’s convinced I can move things with my boob; I just don’t yet know how to harness my powers.)