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I met Stefanie on a Facebook video. She wore cowboy boots and a pink feather boa and a blond wig with long braids. Stefanie was married to a Marine and her shirts read “FU Cancer,” “Today I Make Cancer My Bitch,” and “Cancer Warrior Babe.”

Stefanie’s Facebook story ended in eight minutes and 23 seconds. My story began the week before with an anesthesiologist that looked like Michael Douglas and a surgeon with a Sharpie—a preventative mastectomy.

The possibility of cancer had been haunting me for three years ever since I found out I carried the breast and ovarian cancer gene: Happy birthday! You’re 35. You don’t have cancer, but you should get your breasts removed.

The doctors were foreboding; my cancer was probably coming soon. But there was soon and there was Stefanie. On St. Patrick’s Day with bright green hair and shamrock sunglasses. At a fundraiser with her husband. Finishing a race. Shopping for wigs. Halloween with her children. Blowing out candles on her birthday. At a dance. In a play. Living life right until the end.

My life was on hold. For two months, I defined everything by whether it was going to happen Before Foobies (fake boobies) or After Foobies:

Next time I go to the dentist, they will be gone.

Next time I get my hair cut, they will be gone.

Next time I take my son to school, they will be gone.

Tomorrow they will be gone.

Today they will be gone.

They are gone.

I know I am not alone. There is an online message board filled with women who have the same gene I do. They talk about the exact operation that I had done. And they discuss the decision, the procedure, the aftermath and after the aftermath. I was supposed to feel relief at not having to worry about breast cancer. I was supposed to be glad “to be on the other side.” Instead, I was in a lot of pain and wondering if I did the right thing. You can’t get cancer in silicone! was my pre-surgery mantra.

“Why are you crying?” my husband asked from across the table.

“Stefanie died,” I told him as her favorite quote scrolled across the screen. “She died of cancer.”

“Who’s Stefanie?”