Floaters
Playing outside with my friends, when I was very young, we would sometimes find ourselves being showered with bits of white, as though it were snowing. But it was summer. We would look up at what was usually a sunny sky, at least in my memory, and then someone would say, "Oh, the incinerator is working today." Then we would go back to whatever game we were playing and think nothing more of it.
The incinerator, a tall, brick chimney that has been idle now for many, many years, was located two blocks from my house, but around the corner from my aunt and cousins. That's my aunt who died of ovarian cancer.
After her funeral, her daughters and my sister and I talked about things like having prophylactic removal of breasts and ovaries. My one cousin was pregnant with her second child. The other never intended to have children, and the oncologist recommended getting rid of all the female stuff, just in case.
At this point, my sister already had her dx of LCIS and DCIS. Mine was a few years away. My cousins, as far as I know, are still safe and I have no idea what decisions they made.
But we never talked about the incinerator.
When I first moved to New Jersey, back in 1985, the first piece of mail I received was from NY State Senator, Dan Skelos, letting me know that, since I had grown up in Nassau County and lived there most of my life, I needed to know that that put me at higher risk than most for breast cancer. Thank you very much. I was just glad I had taken my children, especially my daughter, with her tiny ovaries filled with tinier eggs, out of there.
After my second surgery, this year, it was recommended that I have some genetic counseling. Like I didn't already know about my risk. I think it was more because they weren't used to Ashkenazi Jewish women (which makes no sense, since the hospital is in Mequon, but maybe they all go to Milwaukee or private clinics or something?) and I'm a good learning subject for them? So I got to tell my story over and over... who had what cancer, who died of it and who didn't, who had mastectomies and who didn't, what various types of cancer are in the family...
I didn't think of that incinerator.
Friday I went for my six-month follow-up mammography, and as we went over my history, the tech did one of those eyes wide open, jaw dropping "wow" comments. Yes, I said. I know. 90th percentile. High risk. Etc.
And my scan was clean and I went home knowing I had another six months to go and I would be asked about Tamoxifen in February.
Meanwhile, at work, the ladies I work with, who are not Jewish, who did not grow up in Nassau County, who are not Ashkenazic, and, for all I know, probably had no incinerators in their lives, these ladies are having their insides scooped out and their boobs sliced off. One is undergoing aggressive chemo. Why? Just in case.
Am I under reacting? I don't think so. I don't have that many female parts left, and I want to keep what I have as long as I can. I know everyone has to make these choice for themselves, and we all have our reasons, and it's a very personal choice. I just can't help second guessing on things like the Tamoxifen... had I taken it 15 years ago, would I have had to have the surgery this year? If I take it now, will it save me from something in my future? Should I wait for the next best thing? My reason then was that I take so many pills already, and I worry about interactions. With good reason.
There's no right answer. There's no way of knowing who's gonna get what and why. Why my sister has LCIS and DCIS and I just had LCIS. And now ALH.
But I would like to know more about that incinerator.