The Other Part of My LIfe

I've been spending a lot of time lately doing everything I can not to write about this, but it's time. My mom is really sick. Most of you know she has cancer, and most of you know she is going through chemo now, and that it's not going very well. She's had two transfusions so far, and has only been able to have chemo a handful of times, rather than the usual schedule of twice a month. She was supposed to be have the round of chemo over with by June, but that has gone to shite, since she's only been able to have chemo once a month, at best. I've gone through the gamut of emotions on it, and I'm still processing, mainly because it's still going on , and because it's not going as planned. I'm not going into details of what I've been feeling, because I just can't right now, but I wish I was there, or at least closer to her. I don't know what I could do for her, but it would be a hell of a lot more than what' I'm doing now, which is wishing her luck on the phone 3,000 miles away. I offer her my love and support, but again, 3,000 miles away. One of the developments that surfaced during her ordeal is that she was tested for the BRAC-2 gene, which determines whether she carries a hereditary mutation with a propensity toward cancer. She tested positive, and the mutation is such that she has more than a 70 percent chance of dealing with breast cancer by the time she's 70 (which she got in her 50s), and another ridiculously high chance of contracting uterine cancer by the time she's 70. Again, she got it way before. There is also a high percentage of recurrance for both cancers, with this mutation. Now, the reason I'm writing this is because this mutation has a 1 in 2 chance of being passed down to her children. If I have it, I get the same percentages, as far as contracting those cancers. My brother has an increased percentage, too, but his is in the single digits (and his uterine is substituted by prostrate cancer). I had my blood drawn yesterday to test for this gene mutation. I had my kids with me. It was surreal, in a sense, and I felt I had it quite together, but a part of me also felt that while it was being done, I was distancing myself from the whole process, because I knew that, if I hear four weeks from now that I have the mutation, I will remember that glorious, 70-degree February morning in which I trotted my children to see me discover my fate in a much different rear view mirror than if I don't have it. And if I do have it, I will have to worry for the next two decades whether my daughter got it, too. If I don't have it, I know she doesn't have it. And I will remember the sunny morning in the lab as just a sunny morning in a lab. And it all sounds selfish, considering what my mother is going through back in a cold February in New Jersey. But that was what was on my mind yesterday.