Tick, tick, tick.

It’s the sound I’ve been hearing in my head for years, every time I looked at myself braless in the mirror or found enough courage to give myself a breast self-examination in the shower.

It was the ticking of what felt like a time bomb sitting on my chest, waiting to explode.

Breast cancer.

This has been on my mind almost every day of my life since my teenage years, when I began to fully understand the fight my own mother waged and the possibility that I too must wage my own war against the same disease. A disease that truly tormented my family.

On April 1, 2024, I entered an operating room. I chose to have a preventative double mastectomy, removing my breasts in hopes of eliminating the possibility of a breast cancer diagnosis in the future.

Inevitably, when I tell someone that I had this surgery or was planning to have it, the response is almost always the same. “Oh, so you have the BRCA gene, right?”

My answer is always the same: “No, I just have an absolutely terrible family history of breast cancer.” »

In fact, I don’t have any of the known breast cancer genes that can put someone at an incredibly high risk of getting the disease.

What my individual profile indicates is that I may be at high risk of developing breast cancer, given my family history and ancestry.

My paternal grandmother developed the disease at the age of 70, my maternal grandmother in her 50s, and my mother developed the disease at the age of 39. None of them have known genes responsible for breast cancer either. Fortunately, they are all still alive today.

I was in 5th grade when my mother was diagnosed and I vividly remember all the treatments she underwent. Surgeries, chemo, hair loss, radiotherapy. All of this.

My mother was (and still is) a housewife, taking care of my younger brother and me while my father worked a demanding job. She did everything for us, and then suddenly, in the blink of an eye, she couldn’t anymore.

For years, I told my mother, “I know I’m going to get breast cancer one day. » She always responded precisely by saying, “Just because it happened to me doesn’t mean it will happen to you.” »

She’s right, but regardless, I felt like the odds were against me.

Women with a strong family history of breast cancer may be at high risk for the disease, according to the United States Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. About one in eight women in the United States will develop breast cancer in their lifetime, according to the report. The CDC says.

Around the age of 25, I started taking my breast health seriously. A fellow ABC News producer at the time, who was only a few years younger than me, was diagnosed with BRCA and decided to have a preventative double mastectomy.

Watching her share her story was inspiring and empowering. If she could make such a big decision about her body, so could I.

I wish I could say that my journey to my decision to remove my breasts was easy and straightforward, but it was anything but.

The first doctor I found was in a renowned establishment new York Municipal hospital, known for its specialized cancer treatment. They had an intensive breast cancer surveillance program, and because of my family history, I thought I would be the ideal candidate.

Instead, the doctor told me she thought I should see a psychologist. I left discouraged and crying.

It wasn’t until a year later, after meeting a group of young women facing similar problems, that someone in the group referred me to another doctor.

After months of waiting for an appointment, I finally got to see my new oncologist, Dr. Julia Smith of NYU Langone Health. She listened to me and validated my feelings. She agreed that, given my history, I should be intensively monitored for breast cancer.

Although I was relieved, intensive monitoring takes its toll on you. Every six months, I had either a contrast-enhanced MRI of my breasts or an ultrasound and mammogram, holding my breath for the results each time.

When I turned 30, I became pregnant with my daughter, Reese. My husband and I were thrilled, but being pregnant meant that some of my breast cancer monitoring couldn’t be at the same level as before.

As any new parent will tell you, after having a baby, your perspective on almost every aspect of life changes. Mine did too, and my anxiety about getting a breast cancer diagnosis only grew.

The thought of my own child having to watch me undergo cancer treatment, as I did with my own mother, was almost too much to bear. After 12 months of breastfeeding and clogged milk ducts that looked like lumps in my breasts, I had had enough.

Over the years of monitoring, I had told my doctor that I was convinced that I wanted to eventually have a preventative double mastectomy. For a while, she urged me to continue my surveillance. I accepted because it never seemed like the right time, both personally and professionally. Additionally, I didn’t have any genetic mutations, so there was no clear answer as to whether I should have surgery or not.

But that’s the problem. Surveillance is exactly what it sounds like, just surveillance. It does not reduce your risk of developing breast cancer. This only hopefully helps detect potential breast cancer at a stage that is survivable with treatment.

So when my daughter was 1.5 years old, I told my oncologist that I was very serious about this surgery now. She accepted.

Lucky to live in New York with some of the best health care in the world, coupled with great health benefits, which I don’t take for granted, I have had access to top-notch breast surgeons – a medical team extraordinary, led by women.

After careful consideration with my team, we decided that my operation would be divided into two parts.

The first included completely removing my breast tissue, while sparing my nipples to give me some semblance of normalcy and installing expanders as part of the reconstruction. The expanders stretched my skin and created room for my implants, which I finally had in place during a second surgery four months later.

The first operation was difficult. I felt like a bus full of screaming children had just rolled over my chest. But the relief brought by the operation was undeniable. I was in pain, sure, but the pain was temporary and not associated with any additional cancer treatment. I was finally a “previver”. I was one of the lucky ones.

I am now two months out from my second surgery, where I exchanged the expanders I received in my first surgery for implants. A much easier operation than the first.

Although I joke now that my breasts will be perpetually “perky” for the rest of my life, when I look back on everything I’ve been through over the past seven months, all I feel is immense gratitude – grateful to my family and friends for their endless support, grateful to an employer who gave me all the time I needed to recover, and grateful for the relief I feel now that this is behind me.

Rachel Katz is a New York-based coordinating producer for “ABC News Live.”