Today is my post op appointment. 9:00 with Dr. Impossible to see. So far he’s actually been pretty easy to see. Thursdays are the Multidisciplinary Clinic days at the Cancer Center. All of the doctors and clinicians involved in your care meet and discuss the case before meeting with you. It’s been just under a month since my surgery. The incision healed well. I have no residual pain and if you didn’t know that I had surgery, you would have to look closely to see that anything ever happened. Overall, I couldn’t be happier with the results.
I’m going to work after my appointment, so I show up early hoping they will take me in early. I should know better, when you have a 9 o’clock appointment, you go in at 9 o’clock. When Nurse Gatekeeper calls me back, we make some small talk. How have I been, how am I feeling, am I back to work. She weighs me in and takes my blood pressure. It’s high again, but that’s how it goes when I come here. Back to the exam room, take everything from the waist up off, here’s your gown. I’m so familiar with the drill.
I’m in my gown and sitting on the table when I hear the familiar knock on the door. I really don’t understand the knock. I’m half nude and the doctor’s going to see me whether or not I have the gown on. Enter yet another of Dr. Impossible to See’s residents. She’s young, pretty, and soft-spoken. She introduces herself and we speak about what’s been going on with me. No, I don’t have any pain. I haven’t had any problems with my incision. Yes, I feel fine. And then she asks me if anyone has gone over my pathology with me. No. Now that I think about it, it’s strange that I haven’t heard from the doctor or the office. I know what the goal is, clear margins.
She starts talking and explaining and suddenly, I only hear a few words. Five of six margins. Not clear. Consider mastectomy. Did she really just say what I think she said??? I’m numb when she asks me if I have any questions. I wasn’t prepared for this conversation. I tell her I have no questions. I barely have any words. She leaves to get the doctor. I’m certain that if they took my blood pressure now, I’d be on my way to the ER.
Dr. Impossible to see comes in with his entourage, his resident who just dropped the M-word on me, and Nurse Amazing. Nurse Amazing looks at me with that knowing look. She knows what’s going on. She and I have a history. She was with me when I came in for the first time with a lump that turned out to be a cyst. She was with me when I got my diagnosis. And now she’s here again to hold my hand and get me through this disaster.
The doctor explains to me what I’ve already been told. Five of the six margins were positive and not clear. He can go in a do another lumpectomy but since my tumor is more extensive than expected, the aesthetic results will not be good. Additionally, my chance of a recurrence is amplified. I need to seriously consider having a mastectomy. It is something that was truly never on my radar. He recommends an MRI and mentions genetic testing. I remind him that I’ve already done that and I was negative. We talk for a little while longer. Everyone steps out and a few minutes later Nurse Amazing comes back a few minutes later with my next steps.
Two things, she tells me. First she wants me to meet with the plastic surgeon. It’s just to talk, she tells me. She already made an appointment to see him next Wednesday at 11 am. I’m trying my best to stay composed. I’m not sure how much longer it’s going to last. She also wants me to go for an MRI but we have to schedule it around my cycle. We calculate days and figure out the end of the month will be the best time. She calls to schedule it. August 27 at 1 pm.
She knows I’m about to break. She tells me she knows how difficult this is on me. And she knows this is the last thing I could have imagined happening. She says sometimes this just happens. It’s not expected, but it just happens. There are no words that will make this any better. The only thing I can do right now is make a plan based on the most logical solution.
And now I have to go to work. Worse still, I have to give Mars bad news again. How much more can a girl handle?