From Chapter 1: Diagnosis
... My husband, Paul, wants to be a partner in this, so he goes with me to get the biopsy report on Tuesday, April 10. As we sit in the small, light-blue surgeon’s office, I am trying to deny the likelihood of a positive result. After all, my breasts are naturally dense. I do not have any breast cancer in my family. I eat a healthy diet and get exercise. I’m holding my breath in anticipation of the report.
Knock! Knock! The door is opened by an older, gray haired man in white scrubs, entering with a nurse as he intensely studies a medical chart. He introduces himself without looking up. Then, in a matter of fact voice, he says, “Hmm…it looks like you have a little cancer in there and we need to get it out.”
The news blindsides me after all of my denial. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. This must really be a fast growing cancer. We have just returned from a six week trip to New Zealand. If the exam had been scheduled before the trip, would the cancer even have been large enough to detect?
“There are two alternative treatments,” he goes on to explain as I sit in shock. “Partial mastectomy, which would require chemotherapy and/or radiation following surgery, or a full mastectomy.” He recommends a full mastectomy, optimistic that it will take care of the cancer without further treatment. I raise my eyebrows and stiffen up. What a choice? Neither option is agreeable. But both sound hopeful of a cure.
He questions the nurse about his schedule.
“You have an opening on Monday.”
“Great!” he says to me, “We can schedule the surgery then, if you can make a decision now.”
I am in shock. ME, make a decision right now? It takes me forever to decide anything. And he wants me to decide about a mastectomy on the spot for next week.
Knock! Knock! The door is opened by an older, gray haired man in white scrubs, entering with a nurse as he intensely studies a medical chart. He introduces himself without looking up. Then, in a matter of fact voice, he says, “Hmm…it looks like you have a little cancer in there and we need to get it out.”
The news blindsides me after all of my denial. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. This must really be a fast growing cancer. We have just returned from a six week trip to New Zealand. If the exam had been scheduled before the trip, would the cancer even have been large enough to detect?
“There are two alternative treatments,” he goes on to explain as I sit in shock. “Partial mastectomy, which would require chemotherapy and/or radiation following surgery, or a full mastectomy.” He recommends a full mastectomy, optimistic that it will take care of the cancer without further treatment. I raise my eyebrows and stiffen up. What a choice? Neither option is agreeable. But both sound hopeful of a cure.
He questions the nurse about his schedule.
“You have an opening on Monday.”
“Great!” he says to me, “We can schedule the surgery then, if you can make a decision now.”
I am in shock. ME, make a decision right now? It takes me forever to decide anything. And he wants me to decide about a mastectomy on the spot for next week.
