Visiting the naturopath has been awesome. I feel like it is one of the major steps in Wren’s healing that has offered tangible results. I like to chart progress, so this has made me happy. Liver issues, adrenal problems, nervous system malfunction, and all kinds of other problems have started to fade when her body is supported by the right supplements. She is actually taking a ton less supplements now than she was 12 weeks ago, and her body is learning to hold its own. Exciting stuff.
One side effect of the machine that reads Wren’s body to tell us pretty much everything about it is the information you find out that is relevant but not alarming, information you probably wouldn’t know otherwise, but it’d still be there. It’s good to know, but then it’s in your brain and it’s hard to have it not in your brain anymore. A piece of that information we found out today: something is up with Wren’s chromosome 13. This chromosome carries probably between 300-700 genes, so anything minor could have shifted to cause an alarm to sound and let us know. However, chromosome 13 contains BRCA2 or the early on-set breast cancer gene. This is among hundreds of other genes. So does this mean Wren is predisposed for breast cancer? No. Does it mean this even has anything to do with breast cancer? No. Is it good that my grandmother had breast cancer and a mastectomy and that was the topic of discussion today after finding out this information? Probably not.
Here’s the good news: the naturopath imprinted a homeopathic treatment to basically tell Wren’s body to shut this chromosome 13 crap down. She literally said, “No big deal, we’re just going to shut it down. We turn it off and she’s good to go. We can tell her body what to do.” Hear that medical community? Get on board with holistic care!!! Does this work on adults when you don’t catch this until later in life? I don’t know but should probably ask. This was not an issue for Wren six weeks ago. Chromosome 13 was just chillin’ a few weeks back, so we know we jumped on this early.
My fear for Wren pretty much dissipated with the whole, “we got this chromosome, it’s going down!” conversation. I’ve seen this woman work homeopathic magic that has taken down a host of problems since June. I almost feel a little sorry for whatever crazy junk is trying to mess with the chromosome because Brenda is going to hunt it down like a hungry dog. Almost. Fear of breast cancer for myself didn’t really arise. I started internally freaking out at having to tell my sister. Brenda implied in a very don’t-freak-out way that if this was a BRCA2 problem, it more than likely did not just jump over a couple of generations and hit Wren. Fabulous.
And here’s where I wonder if TMI can be a little much sometimes. I am super grateful for all the information I can get. We need it since Celiac is a gateway disease and we need to kick all the potential visitors to the curb before they get through the gate. It’s been a blessing to have so much information. However, it was a different story trying to explain this to my sister. It was a lot of me saying, “Don’t freak out” and “But I thought you should know” and “Don’t freak out, it probably means nothing, but I still had to tell you.” And she really wasn't freaking out. Still, how do you process that information? Maybe you have the BRCA2 gene. Maybe you don’t. Maybe Nanny’s cancer was a fluke. Maybe it wasn’t. The fun part of the conversation (fun may not be the perfect word because talk about cancer is never really fun, but this was a less perplexing part of the conversation) was discussing what boobs we would get if ours had to be lopped off. Amy chose practical. I chose as close to non-existent as possible minus the nipples. No high beaming, no bra ever, I’m a happy woman. My boobs have never brought the boys to the yard and are just present enough to cause me to have to wear a bra, which is agitating. I’m glad they’re small, but I hate that I have to buy bras. Once they’re through feeding my kids, I don’t see me having any sentimental attachment to them. Now my butt, that’s a different story.
I pray we don’t ever really have to deal with this, and I hate that me having too much information meant having to share it with my sister so she can obsess over the what-does-it-all mean part of it. And I hate that cancer was a normal idea for me at such a young age. When breast cancer came up, all I could think of was when my Nanny Morris would somehow make it to the grocery store without her fake, jellyfish like bra insert (it was the 1980s), realize it at the check-out counter and scream, “I left my damn tit at home again!” I actually don’t remember a time when my Nanny had two real boobs, and I never remember a time when she actually remembered to wear the “damn tit” to the grocery store.
I guess it’s good to have this information if God gives you the perspective to deal with it. He is really helping me in that department. Every day I remember I am here for His purpose for a set amount of time, and I don’t control that. I can’t control how long I’m here for me or my family, but I do try to take care of us so the quality of the time I’m here is good. Besides, with my lack of coordination and near legal blindness, I’m probably much more at risk for getting hit by oncoming traffic.