My mum had breast cancer when I was 6-7 years old. I can still remember her diagnosis like it was yesterday. From the height of my three apples, I didn’t realise the chaos that the association of the words ‘cancer’ and ‘breast’ could cause. At that age, and with all the innocence that goes with it, it’s hard to project yourself into the future and understand what the disease entails. And yet, the fear is there all the same, and it never really leaves us. The fear that our pillar will no longer be there, the fear of a relapse, the fear that one day the world around us will come to an end. My mum fought like a lioness, and today she’s doing well.
She underwent genetic testing, and the result confirmed that she was a carrier of the BRCA1 gene. When I was 18, I decided to take the test myself. It was like taking an exam, but a very special one. One in which, for once, you really hope you’ll fail. Where you pray that the sword hanging over your head will disappear like a bad dream. Even though deep down I had this almost visceral intuition. I just knew.
For a long time, the very idea of preventive mastectomy seemed almost inconceivable to me. It was a rather abstract concept, but I was also apprehensive about what it would mean physically and emotionally.
The BRCA gene is not a definitive verdict, not necessarily a promise of cancer. But life, with its share of uncertainty and surprises, has a strange way of reminding us of its fragility. An insignificant gesture, a story overheard in the course of a conversation, or sometimes a tragic event in a friend’s life: these are all reminders that everything can change in an instant. For me, life is a bit like a lottery. You never know which number will come up, but the fear is there, lurking somewhere, halfway between the possible and the improbable.
Sometimes you can feel that fine thread that connects us to life vibrating. You realise that it doesn’t take much for it to tense up or threaten to break.
In the end, I made the decision to have the operation for a number of reasons. Deep down, it was a choice for life, a choice in line with what I wanted for the future. By opting for this route, I gave myself the opportunity to project myself with greater serenity and confidence, quite simply.
But there was also another, deeper, more personal reason. An exceptional person, the most beautiful and courageous: my mum. I made this choice largely for her too. Because it was my way of saying thank you. Thank you for everything she’s done, for everything she’s been through fighting for us. For her unfailing presence, even in the storms, even when the weight of the trials seemed too heavy.
It was also embracing a part of her in me and recognising the strength and courage that she has passed on to me, the determination that she embodies so well.
I therefore underwent a bilateral preventive mastectomy with immediate reconstruction at the end of October 2024. Since then, every day has been a new discovery. I’m getting to know my body better, taming it and listening to it more carefully. I feel every change, as if I were learning a new language.
This kind of decision is not taken lightly, and everyone experiences it differently. There is no right or wrong way to face it, only a personal and often complex path.
It can be a confusing road, but it’s also one that brings hope. The hope of rediscovering yourself in a different way, of writing a different relationship with yourself. Because beyond the scars, it’s also about reclaiming our history.
BRCA+ Network asbl
