Believe

Our tree is up and decorated. We just completed the annual ritual of agonizing over the relative size of each of our 8 doormen's tips ("That one has been here for 11 more years than the other guy." "But he barely even opens the door!") I baked a pear and ginger cake to bring to a dinner party with friends on Saturday, and the smell of gingerbread lingers temptingly in our apartment.

So it's starting to feel festive, but that won't truly kick in until my parents get here on Wednesday.

My mother has always made Christmas an Event. Carol singing, tree trimming, special "Christmas pajamas," cookies and a note for Santa before we went to bed - my childhood memories of the holidays are positively Rockwellesque.

One year, when I was 9 and my brother was 3, Mom sat with us in my bedroom, reading 'Twas the Night Before Christmas and encouraging us to "Listen! Can you hear the reindeer's hooves on the roof?" We sat up wide-eyed, eventually falling asleep, only to fitfully wake up to check the clock every 40 minutes. At 4:30 a.m., much to the dismay of the adults, we couldn't stand the excitement any longer - somehow we convinced my parents and grandparents to put on their robes to see what delights Santa had brought before the sun was up.

This year, Christmas in New York will include urban variations on our old traditions - a Broadway show, a post-prandial walk in Central Park, skating at Rockefeller Center. But in the midst of all the holiday plans, we also have to deal with the new reality: Mom and Dad will come with me to chemo on Thursday, on Friday Mom will go for her genetic test, and sometime over the weekend, Matt will shave my head, as they say my hair will start coming out in handfuls on Friday.

When I called Mom to tell her about my diagnosis, the first thing she said was, "If I could have this for you, I would." And I know she meant it. This is not the way the universe is meant to work - parents are not supposed to watch their children battle diseases that most people don't get until long after they have had children and grandchildren of their own.

But now that this is what we are facing, all I want for Christmas is for her test to be negative. My genetic counselor thinks that is unlikely - although there is a 50% chance, since the gene came from either Mom or Dad, my grandmother's breast cancer suggests the gene came from Mom's side. However, it is impossible to rule out Dad's side - he has 2 brothers who have no biological children, and his father had only one sister, so there are very few women to look at for evidence. It's possible that it has silently been passed down through his family tree with no adverse effects until now.

The statistics are imprecise, but it is believed that women with the BRCA gene have as much as an 85% risk for developing breast cancer by the age of 70, vs. the 12% risk that the average woman in the United States faces throughout her life. The gene also raises the risk of ovarian cancer from 1.8% for the population to 55% for BRCA1 carriers.

Although there is some evidence that men who carry the gene have a slightly elevated incidence of colon, skin and male breast cancer, these risks are minute compared to the risk in women with the mutation. For all of us, it would be much better if Dad turns out to be the carrier.

We have already had some encouraging news - Mom's recent mammogram was clear. I am not only relieved for her, but also, selfishly, for me - if there was ever a time that I needed my Mommy, this is it.

We are going into this Christmas positive and strong. I made it through the first chemo with very few ill effects, and they say that my reaction to at least the next three rounds should be similar. Our apartment is decorated, our shopping is done, and I have absolved myself from most Christmas-card writing duties this year (apologies to my friends and relatives!)

But most importantly my family will be here with me. Twenty-four years ago, Mom convinced us that Santa was up on the rooftop, sleigh and all. Today, her conviction that I will be healthy again and beat this the first time around gives me confidence that we will all make it through these next few months stronger than ever. Just like at Christmas, the best gifts go to those who believe.