As part of the "coming to grips with my own mortality" and preparing to be dependent on others for care and general vulnerability, I have been really doing some soul searching lately. 
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The past few years I have been amazed by the friendship litmus test.  

My scale for making friends:
Elementary school - was easy.  Just don't eat your boogers, play with glue the appropriate amount of ways, wear jordache, keep your polly pockets neat and tight and so on.

Middle school - horrible.  I think.  I had a horrible concussion in the 8th grade that led to me being able to forget most of middle school. HOW CONVENIENT.  I remember that being able to rollerblade was important...I never learned how.

High School - rough, but not the worst. I had my group of friends, I was student council president and the school mascot, so I didn't have it too bad.  And I got to use a microphone at assemblies.  Life was pretty golden.  I still wish I had that microphone situation today.

College - So much fun exploring myself and who I was going to be in the world.  Had a tight knit group of friends, but in the end we all went our separate ways after college.  One has a PhD.  One said he couldn't be friends with a single girl because he was getting married.  Others just disappeared, or I gave up trying.  

First job after college - GREAT! We were all about the same age, doing the same job, getting to travel and do fun things.  

30? - Making friends and keeping friends is tough shit.  I've learned that some people hold on through the big life moments like marriage, babies, deaths in the family, but others see that major life change as the chance to GTFO.  

I get it.  I'm not saying I haven't been able to reevaluate friendships along the way, but when it happens to you, with people that you trusted and loved for so long, it is really low blow.  It's worse than a romantic breakup.  WAY worse.  

As I get closer and closer to my surgery date, I have been CONSTANTLY reminded of the friends who are stepping up to the plate and those have seemingly faded into the background.  To those of you who have called and texted and messaged and emailed - I love you and I need you, so thank you.  To those of you who haven't, I'm ok, because I guess our friendship just wasn't made of the tough stuff, and that's OK.  

It is so fulfilling to have [multiple] friends (and even acquaintances) offer to bring me coffee and sweets while I'm homebound, because most of you know I have a no-shame love affair with coffee and SUGAR!  What's even better, is that I realize that this is my chance to slow down and reevaluate my life's priorities.  It has given me a clear picture of the wonderful people I want to surround myself with and what kind of friend I want to be to them in the future.  Because at the end of the day, I've been given a chance to change, to improve, to LIVE and as the modern philosopher Tim McGraw writes, I want to love deeper, speak sweeter, and give forgiveness that I've been denying.

I woke up this morning filled with all of the emotions a Saturday morning after a great Friday night can bring.

And no, I'm not hungover, but some waffles would really hit the spot right now.

I'm talking the deep stuff like, but not limited to:

It should really be known that I have the best friends!  I could not have predicted the level of care, attention, compassion, and support they would show - and we haven't even gotten to the REAL stuff yet!

So last night, they threw me a Boob Voyage part; saying ta ta to the tatas; tata for now; bye, bye, bye boobies, etc.  Truly the breast reason to throw a party.  Some of my favorite people came out to cheers them goodbye.  Getting to choose our cup size for beverages, a bra pull apart cupcake cake, boob balloons, and a boob jello mold that was laced with vodka (I motor-boated* and then tried to slurp it through a straw...) - it was a pretty stellar night.  No tears were shed although a shot was poured out for my homies in remembrance of the 18 or so years that the "girls" have been with me.

*I was too scared to look up the past verb tense of motor boat.  Please excuse my grammar if it is incorrect. Deal with it.

I didn't cry until I got home.  
(like I said...ALL the emotions)  
I am so amazed by my friends, being able to laugh with me and make something fun out of something that is so terrifying.  People keep calling me brave, which is great for my ego, but sometimes I don't feel brave.  I'm scared.  I sometimes feel alone in a sea of all this love and support.  Sometimes I start getting nostalgic about my boobs.  When did I get them?  How long have they been with me?  Who was the first boy to awkwardly stick their hand up/down my shirt?  When did I buy my first real bra?  Has that red mole always been there?  They provide so much warmth for me, what will implants feel like?  How scary will I look to my husband without nipples? (I'm sure, after I've had some wine and gain the courage, there will be an entire post on nipples.)  Will they throw off my golf swing?  When can I golf again?  What will it feel like to sleep on my stomach?

So many thoughts after such a great night, I then got mad at myself for not being present and enjoying the NOW.

And then I got angry at cancer.

And then I got angry at genetics.

And then I got sappy happy about how much I love my husband and our friends.

And then I was relieved that I'm not really alone in any of this and that if I need something and just ask, my friends will be there.

And then...I fell asleep without removing my eye makeup only to wakeup this morning looking like I played Courtney Love in a biopic of her life.  #IWokeUpLikeThis

It all started with my friend getting cancer the same week we discovered my gene mutation.

F*CK CANCER!  Its ugly, mean, as charming as an eel, and a bad banana with a greasy black peel.  But my friend is a badass and no longer has cancer, so that's the happy ending of that story.

But, because my friend had cancer, she had an oncologist.  My friend told her about my misadventures with BRCA2+ and so her doctor asked me to come in for a consultation. 

Now, this oncologist is amazing.  Model tall and lean and looks 30 but is over 40.  Turns out, she is the wife to the neurosurgeon who performed my dad's spine surgery a couple of years ago (they don't share the same name, so it took Google to reveal this info to me).  What a small medical world we live in!

The oncologist said I had three options: 1.) DO NOTHING. Clearly since I had already been tested, received mammograms and MRIs, and was meeting with the doctor I have already passed the DO NOTHING stage; 2.a.) CONTINUE MONITORING.  Sounds great, but mammograms and MRIs twice a year is not a safe long-term solution for the next 50?? years of my life; 2.b.)  TOMAXIFEN.  This is a daily dose of estrogen blockers with extreme side effects.  Again, not a great long-term solution; 3.)  BILATERAL MASTECTOMY & OOPHORECTOMY.  Get rid of all the bits that have the increased risk of cancer, this would include breasts and ovaries. 

[Let me take this time to just point out that I haven't really talked about the Ovarian Cancer piece of this BRCA2 mutation.  This is only because I have no familial history of ovarian cancer and also, the BRCA2 risk is later onset ovarian cancer, so the threat is not immediate. Also, I am 30 and don't want to go through menopause, so in the meantime I am getting ultrasounds and blood work done every six months.  Don't worry, there will be a post about that too!]

This consultation led to referrals to a breast surgeon (SCARY) and an oncological gynecologist (a ladybits cancer doctor...even SCARIER!).

So then I got to meet the breast surgeon, Dr. Rable.  
My husband went with me.  

I cried and Dr. Rable told me she understood my fears and handed me tissues.

She echoed the oncologist's options and told me directly that if I were her daughter she would urge me to proceed with my plans to get a bilateral mastectomy as soon as possible.  Her office is clean, comfortable, and calming.  Her staff are polite, compassionate, and good humored.  I couldn't be happier with this collaboration with her.  I am confident in her abilities as a physician and in her support in my choices for taking such a drastic step to ending the cycle of breast cancer in my family. 

It has almost been a year since I first met Dr. Rable.  I love that she takes the time to return my phone calls after office hours after I call with a laundry list of questions.  When I called her concerned after a plastic surgeon appointment that didn't go so well, she got me a third consult with a different doctor and was there to cheer me on once that doctor decided I would be a great candidate for a new procedure that hasn't really been done in Oklahoma.

A fun side story:  My mother's breast surgeon in Tulsa told my mother that I should call a Dr. Rable if I'm serious about my surgery.  She came from Tulsa and has a great reputation among other breast surgeons as the goto doctor with an interest in the breast cancer gene mutations.  Well, that's neat!

In a perfect world, this process will go smoothly and I will live until the end of my days without every getting breast cancer.  Sadly, this means that Dr. Rable will only be a part of one chapter of my life!