39. Kendra
Kendra
TWENTY YEARS OLD
When the blood work from the lab came back I was in denial.
My doctor didn’t give me results over the phone.
The plan had been to get the blood work done, forward it here, and after have a consultation.
Then the doctor’s office called asking to see me in her office and suggested bringing someone with me.
As the daughter of a cancer patient, I understand the signals of something ominous coming.
As much as I didn’t want to burden my dad with bad news or concerns with my health, we promised each other if anything was going on medically we’d share and not hide things.
I broke that promise when I had my miscarriage, but this was different.
Sitting in the padded chairs across from a doctor we knew too well, my mom’s former oncologist, Pop took my hand and squeezed it gently in support as I took a deep breath.
“Kendra,” Dr. Lancaster began, her kind green eyes looking at me over her desk and sliding them to my dad. “When we did your initial lab tests through your ob-gyn, you told them that you had been thinking about it ever since you turned eighteen, to have the genetic tests done?”
“That’s correct,” I say. Clearing my dry throat, I take a sip from my water.
“Considering how young your mother was, how aggressive her breast cancer was, I think it was smart of you to do that. As you know there are a lot of factors and things that come into play, but genes are a big part of it and knowing early gives us options.” Dr. Lancaster’s mouth turns down at the corners signaling the shitty news that I know is on the horizon.
“How bad is it?” my dad asks practically, tightening his hold on my hand.
“I’m so sorry, Kendra. You have tested positive for the brCA1 mutation which makes you a much higher risk for both breast and ovarian cancer.”
My whole body goes cold and my hands feel clammy. I pull my trapped hand from my dad’s grip and rub my palms on my jeans, trying to ground myself in some kind of feeling, but my head swims and has pressure like it’s trapped in a bubble.
“Is she, am I gonna lose my little girl too?” He chokes out his question through tears that crack open a canyon in my chest as Dr. Lancaster passes around tissues.
“No, let’s not jump to worst-case scenario, Max.
I know this is scary, but we have options here.
We will stay on top of screenings, blood work.
Ovarian cancer is hard to detect in its early stages though, if I am being honest. Normally for women that have this positive mutation, and especially with family history of cancer, we would recommend considering risk-reducing bilateral prophylactic mastectomy and bilateral prophylactic salpingo-oophorectomy between the ages of thirty-five and forty.
This gives you an opportunity to pursue family planning, IVF, or things like that as well. ”
“Jesus, English please!” I snap, feeling the edge of a panic attack. Normally I have more patience, but today is not the day. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s alright, Kendra. I’m sorry.” She makes a face. “It means that we would recommend having a double mastectomy as well as the removal of the ovaries and fallopian tubes between thirty-five and forty.”
“Why would we wait? I have the gene. I tested positive!” All I can picture is my mother wasting away under the battle of the disease that stole her from us too soon, much younger than that. I feel like I am a ticking time bomb.
“Well, Kendra, if we did that you wouldn’t have time for family planning.
You could take your time now, freeze your eggs so you have options for the future?
” she gently suggests, glancing between me and my father.
Obviously she knows from my chart that I recently suffered a miscarriage, but per the law is not allowed to speak freely about it in front of anyone, even my dad, without my consent.
I know what she is trying to say without explicitly saying it.
“And how much does that cost? I am a stylist at a salon. I cannot afford to go round after round freezing eggs for a fictional family while I have a fucking bomb in my body. And what if all the hormones from the fertility drugs I do during the cycles for the eggs trigger something? I know that probably won’t happen, and there is a ton of research to tell me that I will be fine .
. . but I can’t do it. I can’t walk around worrying. ”
“Kendra, you are still very, very young and this is a big decision,” Dr. Lancaster starts.
“My mother was young too. Nobody thought she was ‘old enough’ to have what she did, or that it was fair that she spent years fighting for her life only to be taken from us. I might be young, but I am not ignorant. She got her cancer years before the suggested age you just said to remove my breasts, ovaries, and tubes. She died before that!”
My dad has been silent this entire time. He wipes his eyes with a tissue and looks at me with a well of sadness.
“I won’t risk myself now for an unknown future. I can’t let you lose me the way you lost Mom. I won’t put you through that hell all over again, Pop.” Tears pour down my face as he pulls me into his arms.
“Kendra, I will support you no matter what choice you make. But I want you to make it for yourself, not for me. You’re going to be around a lot longer than I am.
Are you sure about this? You have always wanted a family, children of your own.
” He wipes a tear from my face with his thumb, looking right into my eyes, not allowing me to hide from the truth.
“You are my family. I just need you. Whatever happens in the future will happen. I love children and the dream of them”—I shake my head—“but I love the reality of being alive more.”
He nods his head, knowing that no matter how much time Dr. Lancaster gave us to think this through, my mind has been made up.
And I know that Pop, my rock, will sit by my side in the hospital as I go through this difficult surgery, the breast reconstruction, and the recovery no matter how long it takes.
It’s me and him now, and we promised to be here for each other.
I won’t gamble away my actual life pining after a fictional dream I pictured with a man that doesn’t even want me.