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.

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?

I had the lumpectomy 10 days ago. I’d like to say I haven’t thought much about it since. Of course, that isn’t completely true. I have spent more time than I should have surfing the internet and doing much research. Margins. It’s going to be all about the margins. But I haven’t considered that my margins aren’t going to come back clear. I have since taken the bandage off but the steri-strips are holding tight. I’m going to wait until I hit the two week mark to help them along. From what I can see, everything looks great. If I look straight down, I can see a slight indentation where the incision is. But if you look at me straight on, you cannot even tell, save for the incision.

I see the oncologist in less than two weeks. I should know then when the radiation starts. Then there’s the hormone therapy. We’ll see. I’m anxious for the day when I can say that I’m cured, if there is such a thing. Is there such a thing when there’s a cancer diagnosis on the table? When will that day be.  This is the weekend of the annual golf tournament that I play in with Mars and two of our very best friends. I can’t play this year, the first time in about 8 years. I’m sad and scared about alot of things these days. I should be scared about my margins. I should be sad that I’m 41 and received a crushing cancer diagnosis. But no. I’m sad about not being able to get together with my friends to play in a golf tournament.

Mars and I will spend the weekend together. I will probably drink too much wine. Mars will worry about me. Not getting better is not an option. So, I’m determined to say that I am cured, when ever that will be.

I planned a three day recovery. Monday for the surgery and Tuesday and Wednesday to relax, adjust to the pain, and get the anesthesia out of my system. I wasn’t in the hospital very long. I filled my prescription for Percocet but I chose not to take it. When I got home, I felt comfortable. I wasn’t in pain but I think it was the residual anesthesia in my system. I was really hungry, though. Mars volunteered to grab some take out for us. And while he was gone and because I felt fine, I decided to clean out the dishwasher. Really, really quickly. I didn’t need Mars walking in and catching me in the act. I didn’t use my left arm, the stitches were under my left arm. I was bandaged but not uncomfortably so. The biggest problem I will have for the next two days is taking it easy. I’m not the kind of girl who can sit still very long.

After lunch, I took a nice nap and I woke up feeling pretty normal. I took two Advil for the soreness, but it’s just that. I’m sore but I don’t consider it pain. Doctor Brother called me to check in. He was right. As the day grew longer, my throat got more and more sore. But, the cough drops are helping. I slept normally. Actually, peacefully. I’m happy that this part of the ordeal is over.

I spend day two of my recovery on Mars’ ugly old man recliner. The recliner has been a bone of contention between us for years. It’s ugly, it doesn’t fit right in the room, and it doesn’t match the decor. Did I mention that it’s ugly? But for me, today, it’s utilitarian. The tray table with everything I need bumps up right next to it. Utility.

It’s July and it’s hot out. The air is on and I’m experiencing something strange. Stillness. I’m on the recliner sitting still. It’s a weekday and I’m not at work. I’m sitting completely still and doing NOTHING. I realize something. I’m not really good at this. I would probably make a lousy housewife. Today is only the second day I have been at home recovering with nothing to do, mostly because I shouldn’t, and I am feeling restless. Alternately, I take a nap, read, surf  the web, and watch tv. Mars is at work so it’s just me and my little dog. And she’s not that excited that I’m home interrupting her routine. Day two is pretty uneventful.

On recovery day three, I’m out of my mind. I jumped on the internet to see if there are any food trucks around to pick up lunch and I call a friend to meet up after lunch. I probably shouldn’t be driving, but I do go back to work tomorrow and have to get there some how. So, I’ll see how I feel today. It’s another hot one today. Lunch is good and I had a nice time visiting my friend. I am feeling great. I’m still a little sore and I’ve chosen to medicate with Advil. No Percocet for this tough girl. After all the sleepless nights I’ve had in the past few months, I find myself back to normal. I’m sleeping soundly.

I’ve done some research on Stage 0 breast cancer and what I should expect over the next few months. I’ve been to many appointments and they’re all running into each other.  Before long, I should be starting radiation and I can’t wait to discuss next steps at my post-op appointment. Next Thursday.

Back to work tomorrow. Back to normal tomorrow. The new normal.

They called me on Friday to let me know to be there at 5:30 am. I hope that means that I’m the surgeon’s first case of the day. He should be rested and fresh, though his competence is not a concern.  Mars and I set our alarms for 3:30 am with plans of leaving the house at 4:50 am. There’s always a few minutes of snooze button snuggle time in the morning. And of course, I have to flat-iron my hair. It’s better to look good than feel good, right? Shockingly enough, I slept well, though I can’t say the same for him. It’s going to be a long day for Mars, as for me, I’m scheduled for a chemically induced deep sleep.

When I met with the surgeon, Dr. Impossible to See, he mentioned that I would be prepped for surgery, have a mammogram to insert a wire localization, and then go into surgery. The mammogram will be done at the Women’s Imaging Center and my surgery is on the third floor of the hospital. I’m not terribly nervous, I really thought I would be. What is my concern, you ask. I’m concerned about being transported from the hospital to Women’s Imaging and back again. The buildings are close to one another but I was fairly certain that they weren’t connected. At least, not that I’ve ever seen.

Mars and I drive to the hospital in almost complete silence. There’s really not much to say. I’ve got breast cancer and I have a long road ahead of me. I should be thankful that it’s in an early stage and I am. It could be a lot worse and I’m thankful that it’s not. But it still sucks. We’re a few minutes early when we arrive, we’re always early, for everything. Outpatient surgery is easy to find and we check in. I give the receptionist all of my necessary information and she gives me a number. My number will allow Mars to see my status on a video monitor. I’m sure staring at a screen for hours worrying will be of great comfort. He’s a trooper, though. And I probably don’t tell him enough, but I love him with all of my heart and soul. Doctor Brother is going to meet us there. But he is never on time, ever, for anything.  But I love him too.

I wait for the nurse to call be back. I am really not sure what to expect. Will I have a private room? Is there going to be a nurse at my bedside? Will I be sedated as soon as I get there? Will there be a tv? All very important concerns. I observe my surroundings. There is a family near me whose mother was already in surgery. Colon cancer. Perhaps I should rethink my level of appreciation for my situation. Not much later, it’s my turn and no surprise, Doctor Brother isn’t there yet. Nurse No Nonsense verifies my name, date of birth, and puts me on the scale. She tells me the surgeon has ordered a pregnancy test. Knowing that I shouldn’t have had a drink since midnight, she tells me she just needs a trickle. She gives me the specimen cup and points me to the bathroom. Success. Going usually isn’t an issue. Once I’m out, she escorts me to my area, Bed 12. There is a sterile gown wrapped in plastic, a cap, and non-skid socks waiting on the bed for me. Everything needs to come off and she gives me a bag for my belongings. Worry not, I brought my own, Calvin Klein.

Mars helps me change, clearly there’s an art to the tying of the surgical gown. It appears to be made of paper and is not a good look. If only I can accessorize. So, there is a tv. One mystery solved. A few minutes later another nurse comes in and introduces herself. Nurse Raven Hair. She’s going to be taking care of me today. She is sweet, a little pudgy, but pretty. And then the questions start coming. Name, date of birth, medications, the last time I ate and drank, what am I here for. I’ll be hearing those questions more than once today. Exit Nurse Raven Hair, enter Doctor Brother.

Doctor Brother surveys the surroundings. Is your blood pressure always this high. No, I tell him. Only when I’m about to be given bad news or when I’m checked into the hospital for surgery. Some things never change, we start bickering like siblings. Not much longer, an attendant with a wheelchair comes to get me to takes me to Women’s Imaging.

Surprise, surprise, when I get there, Colleen is at the desk to greet me. The attendant wheels me back and the ultrasound technician takes me in the exam room. I verify my name and date of birth. She sets me up on the table and gets to work. After a few minutes, she steps out and comes back with the Radiologist. He explains to me that he was going to try to to insert the wire under ultrasound rather than by mammogram but it’s not going to be possible. The biopsy, he says has distorted the area that he needs to focus on. He leaves and the tech tells me it’s going to be a few minutes. Women’s Imaging is in the process of moving and they’re down to one mammogram machine. There are other appointments going on. I lay back on the table and come close to falling asleep. After about 30 minutes ago, the mammogram technician and the Radiologist come to get me. I recognize the tech as the tech that did my very first mammogram four years ago. The near miss. I tell her so. The Radiologist is impressed with my memory.

So there’s an adjustable chair that they sit me on. The doctor undoes my gown at the shoulder and numbs me with lidocaine. It pinched for exactly five seconds, then nothing.  No feeling. Nothing. Bring on the mammogram. They put me in position in the machine and squeeze. For the love of god, it’s taking my breath away and nearly popping my shoulder out of the socket.  Don’t move, they tell me. Well, I couldn’t if I tried. They need to find the titanium marker and insert the wire to help the surgeon locate the tissue that needs to be removed. The wire goes in and they take their time in making sure it’s in the right spot. I can’t breathe and my shoulder is about to dislocate. At least I’m in the right place for it if it happens. What feels like an hour later, it’s over. I go back to my awaiting chariot, er, wheelchair. The Radiologist comes over to tell me that I did well and wish me luck. He calls me Jackie, not my name and not the first time its happened.  After a few minutes of waiting in the hall in my wheelchair, the attendant comes back for me and Colleen wishes me luck as I’m wheeled out. There are a few women in the waiting room waiting for their appointments glad that they’re not in my shoes.

By the time I get back to Bed 12, there is a handsome man in surgical scrubs standing in my room. Mars and Doctor Brother are back in the waiting room. He’s typing on the computer. I flop myself back on the bed. He doesn’t even look away from the computer screen. I tell him that I tried to make a break for it, but I thought better when I caught a glimpse of myself in the hospital gown. He still doesn’t acknowledge me. Wow. After a few more keystrokes, he turns to me and introduces himself as my anesthesiologist, Dr. Lacks Personality. He asks me a few questions, I sign the consent form, and he’s gone. My raven-haired nurse comes back to hook me up to the monitors and put in my IV. I’m not afraid of needles so I watch her put it in. It didn’t hurt and it probably won’t even leave a bruise. Mars and Doctor Brother are back and things start rolling really fast.

Before I know it, my surgeon pops in. He shakes hands with Mars and my brother and asks how I’m doing. I feel fine. Do I have any questions. I really don’t. He assures me that everything will be fine. Not more than five minutes later, yet another one of Dr. Impossible to See’s residents comes in and introduces himself. I recite my name, birthdate, and the reason I’m here today again. In tow, is the nurse anesthetist and he is cute as a button. He asks me how I’ve been feeling. I tell him I was great up until last month when I wasn’t great. He tells me a story about when he was in nursing school and got pretty sick pretty quickly. As it turned out, he had a stroke at age 28. I’m not sure it was comforting but it made me feel a little less bad about my situation. Doctor Brother and I are still bickering, this time, a crack about my age. I’m younger no matter what he tries to lead people to believe. Nurse Cute as a Button turns to me and asks, oh, is this your father? Well played, Nurse Cute as a Button. Mars and Doctor Brother hugged me and wished me luck.

Cute as a Button and the resident start wheeling me back to the OR. En route, the anti-nausea medication is injected into the IV and it burns going in. Then Cute as a Button tells me the sedative is coming. I feel it almost instantly. About 20 feet later, I feel like I’m an half dozen shots of Cuervo in. The OR is cold and there is a lot of activity. Someone, I’m not sure who, puts a mask over my face and tells me to take a few breaths. Then, nothing. Anesthesia is amazing stuff.

What seems like two days later, I wake up in the Post-Op area of the hospital. There is a nurse by my be. I try to get my bearings. She asks me if I feel ok. I’m not even groggy. I am WIDE awake but a little confused. Then I remember why I’m here. I start poking around under my hospital gown. I have a bandage under my left arm. Not huge and it doesn’t seem to hurt. The nurse asks me if I feel like I can drink something. My mouth is very dry, yes, yes I can drink something. She takes to Recovery where I have two more nurses fawning over me. What do I want to drink. Ginger ale seems appropriate.

While I’m having my drink, one of the nurses brings Mars and Doctor Brother back to recovery. The look of relief of their faces was undeniable. Mars more so. Seeing people in Post-Op is normal for him. It’s not usually his sister but there is nothing shocking here. Once Doctor Brother sees that I’m fine, he’s ready to bounce. The nurse comes back with my post op instructions and more importantly, my prescription for Percocet. I need to take it easy for a few weeks. I need to not drive while taking the pain meds. And my post op appointment is in two and a half weeks. The nurse comes back to check on me. I actually feel fine. A little tired, but otherwise ok. She said if I’m feeling up to it, I can change out of my hospital gown. And as long as I can use the restroom, I can go home when I’m ready.

Mars helps me get dressed, shorts and an easy to slip on tank top. I meander across the hall to the bathroom. I’m a little uneasy on my feet but I’m fine. Once I’m done, I tell the nurse I’m ready to go. A few minutes later, an attendant comes to with a wheelchair to wheel me out. And that’s all she wrote.

I got to the hospital at 5:30 am and by 2:00 pm I’m tucked back into the comfort of my house. It’s funny, I typically spend more time at work in an average day. Right now, I don’t have any pain, but I know the anesthesia is still working. I filled the prescription but I choose not to take any. So far, I feel surprisingly good. I have today and the next three days off from work. It’s over and I’m feeling relieved.  At my post op appointment, I will discuss the next steps, but for right now, I’m feeling content.

I’m five days out from my surgery. All of my arrangements have been made, Mars has made his also. I’m not worried about the surgery itself but I do have two concerns. What am I going to look like afterward? Am I going to be horribly deformed? No one has yet mentioned reconstruction to me. I wonder if it’s even an option. My diagnosis has been difficult enough without worrying about how I’m going to feel getting dressed and undressed every day. I’m only 41 and I still value my physical appearance. Yes, my health and recovery are the most important things, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was scared about the scarring. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if I look mutilated.

Then there’s the treatment after the surgery. Seven weeks of radiation. How am I going to juggle that with my work schedule. My house is not far from the cancer center, less than 10 miles. However, I commute 80 miles a day to and from work. That puts my work about 30 miles away from the cancer center. I guess I’m going to have to figure out how to schedule my treatments on the way to work or on the way home. Leaving work in the middle of the day and coming back just doesn’t seem like an option. Medical leave will help me out but I want to try to make this as seamless as possible.

Doctor Brother has agreed to be with Mars and I for the surgery. I’ve already discussed it with Brother Number Two. We’re not particularly close anymore. We used to be, but not so much now. And then there’s Mom. Mom and I have a difficult relationship. She experienced a downward spiral around my senior year of high school from which she has never recovered from. Her family has a history of psychiatric issues. But it wasn’t really that which dragged her down. For her it was drinking. I suppose addiction is a psychiatric condition but in my eyes, her drinking was a choice. She’s spent the last 25 years at the bottom of a bottle and I was the unfortunate recipient of many of the effects of the booze. The biggest effect was on her her short term memory. She doesn’t have one. It’s frustrating and heartbreaking all at the same time. And it’s because of our strained relationship that I have little patience or empathy for her. My choice.

I’ve decided not to tell Mom about the surgery. She doesn’t need that kind of stress in her life. And I certainly don’t need that kind of stress in my life. Choices.

Up to this point, I haven’t really considered my mortality. I don’t feel sick, I don’t look sick. Dying has never crossed my mind. Maybe I’m not bright enough to realize that a lot can still go wrong from here. I’m stubborn and tenacious, especially stubborn. Mars and I have too much planned for the future. I’m just looking forward to putting this leg of the journey behind me.

I went for my pre-surgical testing on Friday and I love looking at my test results on-line. Some may say I’ve become a bit obsessed with my on-line account. I like checking on my upcoming appointments. It was a holiday weekend and I chose to spend it around my friends and family rather than obsessing about test results, appointments, and my surgery. The same cannot be said about what happens when I come back to work on Monday. I sit down at my desk and I log on.

My surgery is scheduled for July 19. But wait, my on-line account says my surgery is July 15. My head starts to spin. That’s next Monday, not next Friday.Seven days….WTF??? I need to call Dr. Impossible to See’s office but I need to collect myself first. Before I have the chance to gather my thoughts, my cell rings. Dr. Impossible to See’s office. I answer and his nurse says, “Please tell me someone called you to tell you about the schedule change.” Nope, no one called me. “Do you think it will be a problem to come on Monday?” I take a breath, “I’ll make it work,” I say. And there it is, Monday, next Monday. I have less time to worry.

I call Mars to tell him so that he can make arrangements. He’s characteristically agitated. “How can they do that to you?” he says. “Don’t they realize that people have schedules?” he says. Yes, sweetie. I understand, honey. Not much we can do about it, dear. This is part of why I don’t take him with me to my appointments. I need to edit what he hears and knows. We hang up. He calls me back a little while later to let me know he changed his schedule. All is good on my end, I tell him.

I’m learning some things. I need to be diligent. I need to be proactive. I need to be my own advocate. The cracks are starting to show. I know deep down that everything is going to be alright. So, seven days and it will all be over. Seven days. Only six more sleepless nights ahead of me. I carry on with my day knowing that it will all be over a week from today.

Today was my pre-surgical testing. I scheduled today off from work a while ago and when I scheduled the surgery last week, this appointment fit into my schedule. And in comparison to everything else, this one’s going to be a breeze. So, it’s the day after a holiday and I can’t imagine why I decided an 8 o’clock appointment was a good idea. Mars is working today and once I’m done with the appointment, the day is all mine.

The office is in a former hospital in a not-so-nice part of town. I’m hyper-aware of my surroundings and totally convinced I’m going to get car jacked. Thankfully, I don’t. I’m the first patient of the day and I have an anesthesia consult, an EKG, a chest x-ray and blood work scheduled. The consult amounted to answering a list of questions. No, I don’t take medications, I don’t have a diagnosed heart condition, and yes I can walk up a flight of stairs without getting winded. Then, I change into my gown for the attachments of the EKG and it takes no time at all. The nurse walks me down the hall to have my blood taken and wishes me the best with my surgery. Thanks. The phlebotomist was amazing and I hardly felt the needle in my arm and it’s over before I know it. Lastly, I down the hall a little further for my chest x-ray. I change into another gown. Click, click, click and I’m done.

To be truthful, I’m feeling fine. I know what I’m up against. I have done research. I don’t even think about the possible complications. Sure, sometimes you wake up after anesthesia, sometimes you don’t. But, I think I know what to expect and I think I’m at peace with the journey I’m on. At times, it’s seemed overwhelming but the real journey has yet to begin.

I asked Doctor Brother to come to my appointment today to meet with my team. He met me at the Cancer Center just as I drove up. It was the first time he’s seen my shiny new, crazy, expensive, but I got a great deal on it, German car. “It’s made for you.” he says. Even though I’m sure he’s trying to make me feel better, I’m also sure he’s right. I look fabulous driving it. He waits for me to park and we walk up to the fourth floor together. I’m trying to be strong and I’m trying not to be nervous. The Academy Award will elude me.

You might be wondering why I didn’t ask Mars to be with me today. Well, I hesitate to say it’s about the path of least resistance. However, Mars is one of those people who get frustrated (translation angry) if he doesn’t understand something or if something doesn’t happen as he thinks it should. In short, this is stressful enough for me without worrying about him. Therefore, he’s at work and I can filter the information to him that I deem necessary. Even though he will play a strong supporting role, for the immediate future, everything about this situation needs to be about me.

I check in for my 9 o’clock appointment and I meet Doctor Brother in the waiting room. We chat about anything light, anything that will keep my mind off what I’m really here for. I know that my surgery will be scheduled with the oncology surgeon, Dr. Impossible to See. I will meet with the medical oncologist to talk about five years of Tamoxifen. And I will also meet with the radiation oncologist to talk about my seven weeks of radiation. Even though I’ve done my research and I’m pretty sure I know what to expect, I asked Doctor Brother to come with me to make sure I have the answers to everything I need to know. If I forget to ask something, he’s got my back.

We’re pretty early and a lot has happened in the last few weeks. Mars’ 40th birthday party, my diagnosis, and of course, the season finale of Game of Thrones. The office is a pretty serious place, no one is here because they want to be here, and most people won’t walk out of here after hearing good news. Doctor Brother and I talk a lot and I guess not quietly. I notice a few people get up and move away from us. We’re really not everyone’s cup of tea. We’re really quite delightful so I don’t take it personally.

And I’m up, the nurse calls me back, weighs me, and takes my blood pressure. It’s not good but the nurse can see the nervous look on my face. In addition to not winning the Academy Award, the World Series of Poker is also out of the question for me. We go back to the exam room and Doctor Brother waits outside while I change into my gown. It’s not my first rodeo, I’m wearing a shirt that is easy off and easy back on again. In the 30 seconds that it’s taken me to change, Doctor Brother has managed to strike up a conversation with a stranger in the hall. Clearly, I’m adopted.

Dr. Impossible to See is up first and he comes in with his entourage which includes his physician assistant, Nurse Amazing, and Doctor Brother. We discuss a lot of what we’ve discussed in my previous appointments. Doctor Brother makes it known that not only is he my brother, but he’s also a doctor. Not sure it makes a difference but the point has been made. I ask questions. He asks questions. The doctor explains the surgery and we decide that it’t time to put it on the books. He tells me I will do fine, I’m young and healthy. There it is again. I begin to wonder the truth in that statement. I sign the appropriate consent forms and Nurse Amazing leaves the room to get the “the book”. I find it interesting that they use a book to keep a calendar. Friday July 19 it will be. Doctor Brother commits to being available for me that day and it’s a done deal. I wonder if they’ve use pencil or pen to add my surgery to “the book”. That question will be answered in about two weeks.

The medical oncologist is up next and she comes alone. She asks Doctor Brother to step out while she does a physical exam. She is a lovely and soft-spoken Pakistani woman. The exam is thorough but quick. She confirms what everyone else has agreed upon, she can’t feel a lump or a mass. We discuss family history and she walks me through  what Tamoxifen will entail. Do I plan on having children? Nope, that ship has sailed. We discuss early menopause, possible weight gain, and hot flashes. She encourages me to stay active, work our, and eat healthy. It sounds like five years of fun to me. We talk about meeting again after the surgery, we shake hands, and she’s gone.

Queue up the radiation oncologist. Another lovely woman. She’s a little less soft-spoken but I immediately like her. Radiation, she explains, is five days a week and I meet with her one a week regarding my progress. We talk family history and side effects. My skin may seem like it’s sunburned. I’m going to be tired by the end of it all.  But I shouldn’t have any problems, after all I am young an healthy. I don’t really have any questions for her. I was with my mom during her radiation, she did it, I certainly can. We’ll get together to discuss more after my surgery, we explain pleasantries, and she too, is gone.

Doctor Brother is satisfied with everything he’s heard by now. He has a tee time to meet , so he leaves me before the social worker comes in. At last, I get to change back into my clothes before she comes in. Enter social worker. She’s a pleasant enough woman but by now I’m tired and just about checked out. She assures me that all will be ok, because guess what…..I’m young and healthy. Ugh. We discuss medical bills and medical leave from work. I already know I won’t be taking any but she assures me she will take care of the paperwork in the event I need her to. She lied. She gave me pamphlets and resources to consider. She offers to put me in touch with people my age dealing with the same diagnosis. I decline. I have Doctor Google and Doctor Brother.

When I’m done with her, I check out. The nice lady schedules my pre-surgical testing for the following Friday. I ‘m free to leave. It’s 12:30 and too late to get myself to work for a half day. I feel ok. I’m happy that the surgery is scheduled. I’m satisfied with my proposed plan of care. Mars is nowhere local. I head over to the mall for some pizza and a little reflection and retail therapy. My heart’s not into the shopping but the pizza was good.

My obsession with my on line account will thankfully continue for the next few weeks. I monitor it several times a day. I have yet to get the results from my genetic testing and I’ve already scheduled the surgery. Hope that works out. There will be some restless and sleepless nights ahead. But at least we have a plan.

Mars’ 40th birthday party was an overwhelming success. The band, the food, family, and great friends. How could it have been any different? I made it through and I’m not sure how. The shock of my diagnosis was there all weekend. But I kept it together.

I’ve already gotten a call from the Genetic Counselor….several times. The first time we spoke, she made a point to tell me that she had already gotten two calls on my behalf. Was Nurse Amazing one of them, I ask. As a matter of fact, yes she tells me. That’s why she’s amazing and it’s comforting to know that I have her in my corner. Especially when you begin to wonder if everyone has your best interest at heart…but that’s a story for another day. At first, we set up an appointment in August. Then after playing phone tag for an entire afternoon, we decided that I would see her on Monday. I’m sure she is capable, knowledgeable, and educated, but I can’t help but think how much she sounds like Moon Unit Zappa.

Going into the appointment, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Mars doesn’t work on Monday so I ask him to come with me. I leave work early, the first of many shortened work days to come. Since he wasn’t working today, I ask Mars to come with me. We drive 50 miles to the Cancer Center. It’s part of enormous regional medical group. My doctors are only about 10 miles from my house but the genetic counselor only takes appointments at the main hospital. So, road trip.

We’re sitting in the waiting room and I make an observation. I’m a very lucky lady, there are many other people here who are in far far worse shape than I am. As I people watch, I see two young-ish women walk through the office, giggling along the way. I immediately know one of the two is my genetic counselor. Not much later, I’m called back for my appointment. And my observation was correct.  Valley girl introduces herself, it’s nice to meet her since I’ve spoken with her over the phone a few times since last week. She introduces Giggles who is also a genetic counselor, but who is here only to observe.

We sit down and she hands me a stack of papers and pamphlets. More light reading material for when I get home. She gives me an overview of how the appointment is going to go and we get started. It’s all about my family history. Tell me about Mom and Dad. Are they still with us.  How did Dad pass? When was Mom diagnosed with breast cancer? How many children do your aunts have. Do any of them have a history of cancer. Once we work through the family tree, she draws me a diagram and explains BRCA 1 and BRCA2 and how I should be prepared to make a surgical decision once I get the results. She tells me that she’s going to put a rush on the results since my appointment with my Cancer Team is in 10 days. The appointment was easy and she, I, and Giggles exchange pleasantries. She takes me down the corridor to have my blood drawn for the blood test portion of the program. And then I’m done.  All that’s left to do is sit and wait. I can’t help but dwell on her statement that I need to be prepared to make my surgical decision based on the results. It never occurred to me that I should. Am I prepared to make a decision? Well, I guess I have to think about it now.

Mars and I drive home. I have 10 days to Google everything I can about breast cancer, genetic testing, and surgical options. Wonder when I’ll be able to sleep through the night again???