You gonna mess with me?

For the last 15 years or so my family and I have been wondering how my father "got" pancreatic cancer.  Was it that he worked near molten metal?  Was it that he smoked, like everyone, in his 20's?

Today we learned that in all likelihood it was none of those things.

The results of my genetic testing came back, and I, like my father, carry the BRCA2 gene mutation.

This mutation shows up in all sorts of fun cancers.  Like Breast-Ovarian-Pancreatic-Cervical and melanoma , just to name a few.

I asked the Dr. if there were any left.

Then, as he discussed the myriad of screens I will have each year, every year, for the remainder of my life the buzzing in my ears became deafening.

Thankfully I had Doug with me, to absorb the statistics, to ask the questions.  My only worry was the buzzing in his already damaged ears may have been preventing him from hearing anything too.

Genetics is a complicated business - this much I know - my sisters must now subject themselves to the terror that is the medical test and the results wait.

And when they are each 18 - my children should be tested as well.

About an hour later we walked out into the Portland sunshine.  I practically sprinted from the office (Doug described it as East German circa 1965), found a bench, and promptly burst into tears.

I will sum up my feelings in the most eloquent way possible.

I am Fucking Pissed Off!

Instead of putting cancer behind me, I will carry its dark shadow around with me forever.

So I sat on that bench and cried my eyes out.  It only took about 10 minutes, and when I was done, I dusted myself off, told Doug I am going to have the type of medical care that only Presidents receive, and went about my day.

Cancer - you picked the wrong girl to mess with.