The Quiet Battle Before the Scan
As someone living with a BRCA1 mutation, there is a certain weight that comes before each screening. Next month, it’s time for my ovarian cancer check, and no matter how many times I do it, the feelings never really settle. It’s a quiet kind of fear, one that creeps into your chest when you least expect it. The scan is routine, yet the thoughts are anything but. At 35, deciding to remove my breasts felt like a clear choice. It was hard, yes, but it was also something I could act on. I had control; I could do something. But this, this is different. Ovarian cancer screening is less precise, less certain, and the preventative option, surgery, means losing something I am still holding out hope for: motherhood. I’m in my early 40s now. People often ask if I want children, and the answer is yes, I still do. But it is a complicated yes. Every year I delay risk-reducing surgery, I carry the knowledge that my risk remains. And every year I think, maybe just a little more time. Maybe one more ch...