I've been waiting until I knew that I wouldn't sob while writing this post to write it, but I'm not sure that day is coming any time soon, so here goes nothing... There is something funny about having a brother, a weird sense of security and protection coming from the same guy whose butt you've wiped back in the day. To describe a relationship with your brother to someone not fortunate enough to have one is hard. It's special.

My brother Bobby, or as we prefer to call him - Ratboy, has been a brave and honorable man all his life. After all, growing up with three sisters can be a trying experience for any guy, and he also had the bonus of tight-knit female cousins, a crazy aunt (love you Kaka), doting Momma, loving Nana, an addition of two step-sisters and step-Mom, and a niece that affectionately wakes him up on a regular basis by screaming his name at his locked door. A man in a sea of (crazy)women, he has done a good job of keeping his sanity. He's honored our requests to wear matching pajamas on Christmas, let us pick at his pimples, pluck and poke him, entertained our idea of a good time by hanging with the girls while we drink wine and sing along to Katy Perry in the living room, given piggy back rides (when our shoes break completely out of the blue because they are poorly made and not because we are stumbling after several dirty martinis), and even handed over his own hard earned paychecks to help a sister out when her rent money may or may not have gone in its entirety to forever21. He might not last a full car ride without wanting to kill us, but we love him, and know he loves us right back.

My brother is following in the footsteps of my Dad, and Grandfathers, by choosing a career path dedicated to protecting others. My three (yes 3, hello modern family!) grandfathers served in the Army, Special Forces, and Marines. My Dad proudly wore the uniform of the NYCPD as a detective, as well as a firefighter for many years. Since joining the Air Force directly out of High School, Bobby has been making us proud as a soldier, and scaring Mom regularly by talking about a desire to deploy overseas. I'll never forget the time that he said to me, "I want to do a job that other people are afraid to do".

After several years of serving on US soil, he broke the news to us a month ago that he would finally be deploying to Afghanistan. How ironic that I got his text, "I'm going", on September 11th, as I was standing in front of the September 11th Victims Memorial in the Boston Public Garden (that wasn't emotional at all). That's all that he had to say, because I knew that this was something that he believed in and has wanted to do for so long. Of course I wanted to call him and tell him that he wasn't allowed to go, to try bribing him with the notion that his Mommy wouldn't be able to make him piles of grilled cheese and cut his meat for him while he was there, but I resisted. I handled my tears on my own, and will give him nothing but support in his decision.

When you're a civilian it's hard to comprehend why anyone in their right mind would willingly go to the Middle East right now. Shocking all of us further was the fact that not only was he going, but he had volunteered to do so. I am a far cry from a knowledgable resource on the current political, religious, or cultural situations that are impacting that part of the world, but I have seen and heard enough about ISIS to know that maaaaybe now is not the best time to hop a plane in that direction?! I've had to try really hard to put myself in my brother's shoes, and to grasp the idea that someone has to keep us safe, and that that someone is going to be the brother, boyfriend, son, husband, wife, mother, etc. to someone out there. It's my brother that will keep us safe. He is going to be selfless, brave, and strong, to help do his part in protecting the rest of us. I can't be mad at him for that.

I cry when I see him in uniform on special occasions, simply because it makes me proud and emotional. To see him in fatigues waiting to board a plane, only two weeks after he broke the news to us that he would be leaving, was tough. The group of superiors from his base that came to see him off gave me a sense of the brotherhood that you form in the military. Seeing uniformed men and women shake his hand and tell him to stay safe, and kick ass, made me so proud. Proud of him, and as cheesy as it sounds, proud to be an American. It also made me fight back the sobs that I wanted to let out the entire hour that we stood and chatted with them --- wouldn't want these military folks thinking that a nanny from Boston isn't as badass as they are! I shoved an emotionally written big-sisterly letter of praise and support into his pocket, forced him to hug me one more time, and watched him walk thru security until I couldn't see his little pea head in the distance anymore. I held my sobs in until I got out to my car, a huge success for anyone that knows me.

I don't want my little brother to go to the other side of the world, where my sisters and I aren't able to harass him with emoji filled group texts. I want everyone that I love home and safe and together at a moments notice. But hey, you can't always get what you want. If he is going to hop on a plane to Afghanistan, what more honorable reason could he have than to protect and serve his country, and to selflessly give his time to keeping the rest of us out of harms way. I'll miss him, and I'll worry, but most of all I will be proud of him.

I have never been more proud of anyone in my entire life. Thank you Wobby, you're doing something that means so much, and will impact so many people. Wherever you are, we'll all be thinking of you every day. You are already our hero, so don't go doing anything crazy over there. Love you so much. Stay safe, and come back soon. Don't forget to call Mom! And rest assured, I will have the most obnoxious sign for you at the airport when you get back! I'm already organizing the welcome home party, there will be plenty of cheese :)

THANK YOU

So very much to all of those that are serving today, and to those that have served in the past, I am so thankful for everything that you do.

"I stand behind those who stand for me."

"A soldier doesn't fight because he hates what is in front of him.

He fights because he loves what he left behind."

"Heroes don't wear capes, they wear dog tags."

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and I feel a little more connected than I'd like to this year. No, I have not been diagnosed, thank God, but I have tested positive for the BRCA 1 gene. A foreign language for some people, but in non-doctor language this means that I have a gene responsible for upping the odds of having Breast and Ovarian cancer in my lifetime to a far higher percentage than one would like to hear. The average female lives with a 12% chance, while those with BRCA 1 jump to as high as 87% for breast cancer. When looking at numbers for ovarian, you go from around 20% to roughly 50%. Along with these delightful changes in percentages, you also tend to develop cancers at an earlier age than the general population. Not ideal, to say the least...

The idea of getting gene testing came about when my little sister had some scares, leading her to get tested herself. This came hand in hand with my Dad being tested as well. The way that things work, if a parent is positive, their children all have a 50% chance of being positive as well. My Dad's test came back positive, along with my sister. These results, along with a history of breast cancer diagnosis in three generations of my family, put having my own testing on my to-do list. Knowledge is power, right? I couldn't count the number of times that the counselor, and then nurse, asked me if I was "sure that I wanted to follow thru with the testing", while I was in their office that day. Of course I do, dummies, why else would I be here? Their persistence made sense eventually.

As a lot of people know, waiting for test results can be agonizing. I was turning 30 on that Thursday, and feeling the anxiety of all those things that an almost 30 year old ponders unnecessarily as it is. That Monday morning, she called to tell me that I was in fact positive for the BRCA 1 gene. I hadn't hoped to factor bi-yearly mammograms and MRI's, or potential surgeries into my early 30's life plan, but so it was. I texted my boss a rushed message about 'not ideal' news from my doctor, in case I found myself in tears in front of her later that day, and didn't want to explain everything out loud. And then walked around pushing a sleeping baby in a stroller for two hours, wondering what. the. fuck. does. this. mean.

A few days went by and follow up appointments were made. I felt overwhelmed. Thoughts shifted constantly, and things started to settle in. Prior to taking that test, I thought, no sweat, if it comes back positive I'll "deal with it", and that will be that. It hadn't occurred to me that I might be effected in such a strong way mentally by news like that, and maybe it did make sense for the counselor and nurse to overly confirm the fact that potential bad news was still news that I wanted to go out of my way to hear.

I went thru a wide range of emotions over this whole thing, from fear to guilt. The first few days I felt panicked, like I was a ticking tomb bomb. I worried that I wasn't acting fast enough, that I would wake up the next morning and find a lump. Soon I began to feel guilty for worrying so much about a non-diagnosis of cancer. I was healthy, and I had to keep reminding myself that. There are people that are actually battling cancer, that are strong and resilient and braver than I could imagine being. Then you naturally have a moment of 'Wow, I'm being dramatic'. But then, almost immediately I'd come back around to thinking, wait - this is actually kind of scary. Quite a whirlwind let me tell you, or maybe let my boyfriend tell you, because he has been a saintly patient person in dealing with the 99 personalities that I've had over the last few months. Thanks boo, you're the best... the mental breakdowns are totally out of my system, promise. Until you forget to take the garbage out again, then I will have another one. Love you!

Six months later, I am happy to have this information. However, there have been days (more specifically mornings of waking up from nightmares, I have exceptionally weird dreams), where I have wished I was none the wiser. Sure it's wonderful that science has allowed us an opportunity to be pro-active about potential diseases in our future, but I can't help but think how true it is, ignorance is bliss.

I still don't know what the 'right' way to handle this information is, I am still learning, still researching, and still waking up in the middle of the night from time to time. I've had my first MRI, and as of just yesterday my first mammogram (holy.shit. how is it possible to smoosh a boob that flat without it popping!? truly mind blowing). The tests are daunting, and the time spent waiting for results is a little nerve racking, but I'm taking it one step at a time. I have two options ahead of me, either continue with alternating tests every six months, until forever (or in my mind, on days where I am feeling exceptionally negative, until I get cancer), or go ahead with the elective surgery to remove any potentially effected breast tissue. A double mastectomy for those medical term savvy, and a boob amputation to those who are not. Sure I'll end it all with my(boyfriends) choice of a great new(fake) pair of boobs, but I'll miss out on breastfeeding my future babies, and undergo a pretty serious surgery. Jury is still out on how/when this will all be dealt with. As far as the debate on the ovarian side of things, I've been guided by who I'm told is the "best of the best" at the Dana Farber Cancer Institute to be mindful of the situation, but to put my ovaries to good use having babies before we talk about taking them out for good. With no signs or history of ovarian cancer in my family, that can thankfully be put on the back burner for now. Phew, babies. I mean, yes, fully down for adopting adorable foreign babies, so chic right now, but I'll admit this was a big relief.

I've learned a lot from this news, and not just the fact that I am officially a 'previvor', an actual term given to those of us who are 'beating cancer before we get it!' (who knew). I've learned that there are people you know who will reach out and go the extra mile, calling in resources and utilizing their own doctors ear to get a bit of info for someone other than themselves, that you never would have expected. How valuable those friends that will get out of sweatpants and off the couch on a weeknight just to distract me with wine really are. How important, and calming, the support and opinions of my family are. And of course how important it is to be thankful, in general, for your health, and for the health of people that you love. Oh, AND, how truly terrifying Google Image searches can be, that hadn't really been driven home quite this hard until recently. Woah.

I'm still on my little journey through the BRCA 1 world, and will continue to weigh my options, and figure out what the best plan is for myself and the people closest to me. I wondered if this was a bit to personal, or a bit to deep for So Sue Me, but I'm an open book, and I'm hopeful that maybe someone can relate, or maybe give me some tips on any of this craziness. If your thoughts on this topic are something more private than you'd like to comment, feel free to email me at my personal email (sue.sardinia@gmail.com).

all clear results post- smooshing, seeya… — all clear results post- smooshing, seeya next time doc :)

I'm proud of the women in my family that fought breast cancer, and survived, like the badass ladies that they are. You are inspiring and motivational. Here's to hoping that one day, cancer is a thing of the past. Ladies, don't forget to give yourself a personal exam to check for lumps, and fellas, I mean, it's only right... help a sister out.

Thanks for listening. Xo

Heroes don't wear capes, they wear dog tags

BRCAwhat?

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