My family were the very first group of people to be tested 30 odd years ago for the BRCA gene. After discovering my mum had the gene, we were all tested, brothers, sisters, aunts, cousins, there was a lot of us, and it was a very stressful time. Finding out who had it and who didn’t. The relief when you found out a family member didn’t, and the guilt that you didn’t have it yourself, but other members did. I don’t have the gene myself, but when I was diagnosed at the age of 39 with a womb cancer, it kind of felt like it righted a wrong, that it evened it out somehow, that it made sense. It was a very odd feeling.
Now 30 years on it is the turn of the next generation. And it has brought back all of the same feelings. Each time a family member is tested my stomach is in knots until we know the results. My head is full of anxiety about BRCA, with all of the old feelings flooding back, and lots of memories of my dear mum who was the very first person in Britain to be told she had the gene. The surgeries she had to try and stop the mutation, are now being echoed throughout my family. Where does it end, when no more children are born with the gene, and science is now helping with that. But for now, there are still many many family members who are still to be tested, and I don’t know how much more grief my heart can take.
