My Surgeon

I honestly, was totally annoyed that I had to go see Dr. C, my surgeon before he took my port out. I just wanted to make the removal date, and just go get it out. But no, no procedure without the preliminary appointment.

As I sat in the lobby, I realized that I had not been there since the beginning. For an entire year really. This time I was alone, and I quickly became attuned to the fact that the two women in the lobby were alone as well. A business woman in her attire, down to the leather briefcase, making phone call after phone call. Literally cancelling everything in her life, to make her surgery "fit" into her life. I grabbed a tissue as I could not help but cry streams of tears. For her, for me, for every single woman. That hears the words, Yes. You do have cancer. And your life is now DONE. You must stop EVERYTHING, and go to surgery, NOW. The shadow of a woman, whose life was shattered, and making phone calls crucified me today.
Then, the other woman trying to make sense of directions for what lot she needed to park in the day of her surgery, and me remembering how confused and overwhelmed I was with those same darn instructions.

Luckily, they called me into a room right then. As I was quickly deterorating (fuck! I still can't spell...damn chemo)!!! I told them how sad I was getting, and the nurse replied that this morning was very hard for her too!

Then entered one of my favorite people of this whole year, Dr. Clarfeld my surgeon. We gave each other a hug, and I was reminded of what a sweet and caring professional he is. He asked me how this years been, and I simply just broke down. I started crying, and crying, and crying. Those tears have not been on the surface lately. He told me as I grabbed the tissue, we have lots where those came from. I couldn’t believe I was crying. Well, I could. What am I saying. I just didn’t think I’d cry in there.
I thanked him for setting the stage for this year for me. And reminded him that when he walked into surgery, before I was zonked out, he announced and asked,” Ready to be cured?” This past year, I was able to go back to this “cured” mind frame, and find a small piece of belief and comfort in the idea, that I was indeed “cured” already. And that the hell I was enduring with chemo, was strictly a preventative measure. He told me, “well, I can’t say that to everyone.” I love him. I truly do.
I quickly understood the importance of the pre-port removal visit. It’s a huge deal to get it removed and we talked a lot about my feelings with it. This type of medicine is so profound. Doctors who actually take the time to ask important questions, who have the time to listen, and to take time to really care for their patients. I am so lucky I found my Rock Star Team!
Before he I left, I had another breast exam, he said I was great. He also told me that I needed to get a Mammogram before the removal. Defiantly I responded, “It didn’t show my cancer in the first place, the only thing that saved my life was getting the ultrasound. I want one of those.” He explained, that he understood where I was coming from but finally helped me to understand why its important for a young woman to get one. He said that I should also get a Breast MRI, but that the Mammo will show any calcifications that wouldn’t show up in the MRI, so that they know what’s what.
He told me I had to get this done before my removal. Just in case. Yes, of coarse there is always the just in case. Does one allow the just in case to reside on the shoulders? Keeping constant check? Hell no.
As I pondered this decision, I looked up, in the room of a breast cancer surgeon, was a picture of a woman breast feeding her child. I thought that shouldn’t be up on the fucking wall. Most woman with breast cancer, get it later in life. After they’ve been blessed with this experience. But there are young woman like me, who possibly are having this life time dream of mine, ripped from my grasp and so..I started to cry more.
Enough said with that. There have been times as of late, that my moon comes for a minute. Seriously just a minute. Am I ovulating? Who knows? My doc’s have no clue. My fingers are still crossed.