Today is my appointment with the plastic surgeon. It’s the oncologist’s idea for me to talk to him and get a sense of what he can offer to me. I still have an MRI coming up and that will make my surgical decision. But I’m keeping an open mind, I’m not really convinced that this is the avenue I’m going to need to go down. My appointment is scheduled for 11 am. I’m going to go to work for a few hours, head out for my appointment, and then head back to work to finish out the remainder of the day. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t do a little recon on the good doctor already. It’s amazing what you can find with Google these days and I’m not too good for cyber-stalking. He’s on the young side, my age, actually. His credentials are very good and his online reviews are excellent. Plus, he’s pretty easy on the eyes. I’m nervous, very, very, nervous.
I never expected that I’d be here right now. Last week I thought I’d be preparing for a grueling seven weeks of radiation. Instead, I’m heading out to meet with yet another doctor. I get to the office just a bit after 10:30 am and I decide to sit in my car and attempt to collect myself until 10:45 am. Inside I go where I meet Funny Receptionist who promptly hands me a clipboard and a plethora of paperwork to fill out. She directs me where to sit and tells me the nurse will be with me soon. More questions about family history, personal history,bad habits….of course I drink wine. A few minutes past 11, the nurse calls me back. She introduces herself and I can tell that she is trying to make me to set me at ease. Step on the scale and let me take your temperature. At least my temp is normal because I know that my blood pressure won’t be. She asks me to follow her to the exam room. When I turn the corner, I lose my breath. He’s standing in a doorway at the end of the hall. I feel a jolt of electricity, I feel his eyes on me, and I feel as if my exam has already begun. The exam room is pretty typical of all the others I have seen over the past several months, except for the very awkward, very bright single ble wall. Maybe they use it as a background for pictures. Hmmmm. The nurse takes my blood pressure, not bad actually, 122/76. Evidently, it doesn’t measure the butterflies in my stomach.
We go over some basics, allergies, medications, recent surgeries. After a few questions, she steps out and within seconds, he comes sweeping in. I saw his picture and read the reviews, but his picture didn’t do him justice. He is well dressed, very handsome. and smart. It’s what I call the perfect trifecta. I might be swooning just a bit. He sits down and we have a conversation. First question, how do I pronounce my last name. It’s not difficult, but most folks get it wrong. Second question, what bra size do I wear. Really???? Second question. Second question. We get into the details. My history. What testing have I done up to this point. BRCA 1 and 2 negative. Mammograms, ultrasounds, biopsy, and upcoming MRI. Then we start talking about my options. Do I want to stay the same size or do I want to go bigger or smaller. Unilateral versus bilateral. Tissue expanders and implants versus TRAM flap. Saline versus silicone. He draws a few pictures to illustrate the point. Then he opens up the cabinet above the desk and pulls out a basket of boobs. A basket of boobs??? In the basket of boobs are tissue expanders, and saline and silicone implants in varying sizes. A basket of boobs. I’m up close and personal with them. I feel them. I squeeze them. I toss that from hand to hand. He then tells me he’d like to do a physical exam. So he gets up and grabs a gown for me and steps out while I change.
I quickly change into my gown and within a minute or two he’s back with his nurse. I’m sitting on the exam table feeling a little modest for the first time in a long while. Is it the perfect face, intense blue eyes, impeccable appearance? Who knows? He does a breast exam as well as checks my lymph nodes. Nope, still no lump. Then he sits down and asks me to stand. I’m take aback when he asks me to unzip my jeans. Well, now, we’re getting a bit personal. He starts to feel my stomach and the insides of my thighs. Then he asks me to lean forward and he feels my butt. This is fifth date territory. I’m biting my tongue to keep from giggling. For the love, am I 12? He tells me that he’s going to step out while I change out of my gown and back into my clothes.
He sweeps back in and sits down.Now, he starts to correlate what he’s seen in the physical exam with the options he’s gone over with me. He’s talking about my big breasts. Bite tongue, don’t giggle. Keep it together. He tells me if I want to stay the same size, then a TRAM Flap using my own tissue is really not an option. I think that’s the clinical term for saying congratulations, you’re too thin for a tummy tuck. So, I know that should I need to have the mastectomy, the tissue expander option with a following implan is my option. He asks me when my MRI is scheduled and I tell him on the 27th. He tells me when I make my surgical decision, I should come back to see him. He also tells me that should I need anything or have any questions or if I just want to talk, I should call him. He walks me out to the waiting room and we exchange good byes.
I leave the office feeling more at peace than I have felt in quite some time. I also leave just a bit smitten with the good doctor. Well dressed, handsome, and smart. A winning combination in my book. When I tell Mars about this appointment, I think I just might omit a few details.