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Facing my mastectomy scars

For the past few years, I have worked to understand what it means to have a genetic predisposition to cancer. Diagnosed as pre-cancerous means that I have to take steps to prevent cancer from developing. In many ways, these steps mirror those of actual cancer patients. Yet I don’t have cancer.

For the past few years, I have worked to understand what it means to have a genetic predisposition to cancer. Diagnosed as pre-cancerous means that I have to take steps to prevent cancer from developing. In many ways, these steps mirror those of actual cancer patients.  Yet I don't have cancer.

Sound confusing? It is.

Since 2006, the year that I found out I have a genetic mutation in my BRCA gene, I have had to make decisions involving surveillance, surgery and treatment. In the years since 2006, many celebrities and high profile figures – Angelina Jolie, Christina Applegate, and Sharon Osborne -- have come out as BRCA positive as well. For me, my sisters were the only others I had known who faced the same hard decisions. In many ways my sisters led the way for me by having surgeries before my own.  And yet, but I always felt like I traveled this road alone.

I'll never forget the day I came home from my mastectomy. Amidst so many uncertainties and fears, I was most nervous about my three young children seeing my scars. What would they think of my bandaged chest? What would they think of the stitches that crisscrossed my breasts? How was I supposed to show them my scars when I wasn't ready to look at the scars, myself?

Like anything in motherhood, I found that sometimes, you simply need to take the leap. I asked my children if they were ready, and I slowly lifted up my cotton cover to show them my stitches.

I waited.

I waited some more.

My children looked at my scars, and I tried, as best as I could, to read their reactions.

Within a few seconds, my five year old said, "Mommy, you look like a zebra."

"She does look like a zebra!" my other children chimed in.

I glanced over at my reflection in the mirror. And, sure enough, I saw the two thick, black lines across my chest.

I did look like a zebra.

Over time, my stitches healed and my dark brown scars faded to pink. But, from that day, my confidence grew and a great weight was lifted. The scars of surgery have stayed with me, but the love of that day will be with me forever.

Liza Talusan is an educator and writer from the Boston area. She can be found at www.lizatalusan.com  and at @LTalusan.

Read more Diagnosis: Cancer here »