The beginning.

The phone rang on Monday. It was June 19, 2017, 3:13PM. The call lasted 3 minutes.

The sweet-voiced but stoic genetic counselor from the hospital asked if I had a couple minutes to speak. I was sitting in my office at work, door closed, the quietness of early summer all around me. My skin went cold. Yes. I had a few minutes. “Your results are in”, she said, “And they are positive for a BRCA-1 mutation. With this mutation you carry about an 80% lifetime risk of breast cancer and a 50% lifetime risk of ovarian cancer.” Blackness creeping into the periphery. Tunnel vision.

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