chapter six.The Bisopsy

Finally the day for the biopsy arrived. I was so scared that even the check-in people could not make me laugh. Mark and I made our way through the maze of corridors until we found the radiology waiting room.
This was the same room where I had to wait for the ultra-sound just a few weeks earlier. But today, the room looked very different. This time it was standing room only. All but two of the seats were occupied, and they were not together. Both of the empty seats had people’s belonging on them, we stood in the room for a few minutes, yet no one made a move to clear a seat off for us.
While waiting to check-in I looked around at the people in the room. There was a mother trying to keep her small child entertained by reading to him. Some people looked frightened, others were lost in thought, but most were watching a soap opera that was blaring on the television.
There was some comic relief in the tension fill room, in the form of a young woman who was drinking a bottle of barium, which is a chalky substance that some patients have to drink before having certain types of scans done. Barium is nasty tasting stuff, the smartest way to drink it, is fast. Not this woman, she was gagging on every mouthful. Okay, that doesn’t sound funny, but the faces that she was making were funny. She would take a sip, make a face, stand up then run out of the waiting room. Then she would take another sip, then run back into the room and sit down again. This continued for sometime.
To get away from the tense mood of the waiting room and the barium woman, Mark and I stepped out into the hall, to ensure that I would hear my name called we stood just outside of the waiting room door. Eventually we got tired of standing, so we leaned against the wall on either side of the door of the waiting room; we looked like lazy soldiers guarding their post. Again I found myself waiting. Waiting for my name to be called…waiting for my biopsy to begin…waiting to see if either of the two tumors in my breast had cancer. Waiting.
As I stood playing door guard, I looked across the doorway at my husband. "What a great guy" I thought, "What were the odds that a chance meeting and a shot conversation all those years ago would lead to a husband. Not just any husband, but to one that would be with me while I was experiencing the most terrifying event in my life?"
-
The year was 1988 and the month was June. In the last two weeks there had been two major changes in my life. One: I had sworn off men. I had had it. I was 32 years old and in the last year or so I had dealt with lies, infidelity and more lies. I had not had a date in six months (by choice) and I told all of my friends that I NEVER was going out on a date again. Two: The company that I had been employed at for the last twelve year fired me (unjustly of course).
I was working as a ticket agent for Eastern Airlines. For the last few years the company was on the verge of bankruptcy, so the working atmosphere there had been very tense and unpleasant. At that time the company was working on a two-tier pay system, A-scale and B-scale.
The A-scale workers were employees who had been hired before 1986. The B-scale were the employees who were those hired after that date (obviously were we non-union). The B-scale employees made about half of what the A-scale people made for doing the same job. I remember reading an article in one of those news magazines that in 1987 out of approximately 40,000 employees, Eastern had fired around 40 people. Yet, in 1988 the company had fired over 4000. I am guessing that like me, most of them were A-scale. Anyway on a Thursday night, June 09, 1988 one other A-scale employee and I were informed that our services were no longer needed, and I was out of a job.
Loosing my job did not surprise me, in fact I had excepted it. Working at Eastern in the late eighties was like being some scary novel, where everyday at work-people around me were disappearing. Unlike most of my co-workers I prepared for the loss of my job, three years earlier I had gone to a trade school called The Center of Media Arts, and took a six month course on Television production, editing and how to be a cameraman (person?).
I had hoped to work in television as an editor but soon after I graduated I discovered that I would have to start as an intern or at a low paying job. This meant that I would have to move back in with my parents. No way, at 29 I was going give up my independence. I had some new skills and I needed extra income, so I found a part time job working as a videographer, taping weddings, bar mitzvah and other parties. Although the work was hard, I found the job fun. I worked $10.00 an hour, tips and all I could eat at the cocktail hour (I love to eat).
I shot about two parties a week, mostly weddings. My normal routine for a wedding was to show up at the suite (church, temple, hotel, etc.) an hour before the event, find my contact person and bring all of my equipment inside (to hinder theft). My equipment consisted of two cameras, two large heavy boxes of lights and other stuff. Then I would shoot the wedding, the receiving line, the rice/bird seed toss and the happy couple leaving in their car, then rush to lug all of my equipment back to my car, speed over to the reception location and set up to shoot the reception.
When I videotaped a church wedding, my contact person was usually the sexton (who is a janitor, maintenance man and sometimes gardener). Most of these men were old. Sometimes these men would reek of alcohol. So you can imagine my surprise when after three years of being a videographer and two days after loosing my airline job, I walked in to a Presbyterian Church to see this bald, but hansom 28 years old who introduced himself as the church sexton.
I arrived at the church earlier than normal, which was the first miracle of the day. After we discussed the church rules he kept talking to me as I was setting up the camera equipment.
The Sexton introduced himself as Mark, but he didn't have to tell me that because he was wearing a blue work shirt with his name embroidered on the pocket. He was also wearing old blue jeans, grease stained sneakers, and one of his hands was wrapped with a blood stained piece of cloth. I was wearing my videographer uniform, black pants, a tuxedo shirt, red bow tie (I hated that tie), black jacket and black shoes. My long blond (I was still a natural blond then) was tied up in a ponytail held up with a red ribbon that matched my bow tie. Talk about first impressions!!!
It seemed like we talked about a lot of stuff, our jobs, education and so on. But we only talked for about five or ten minutes. Mark told me that being a sexton was the perfect job for a college student, because the hours were very flexible which was good for studying. He had just graduated from the Manhattan School of Music, with bachelors in music which meant that he was a classically trained clarinetist. It didn't take long for me to realize that in spite of his job and dress, this was one intelligent and interesting man.
Soon people started entering the church for the wedding and I had to go to work. I hate to admit it but I wasn't fully concentrating on the bride and groom.
After the wedding both Mark and the minister helped me bring all of my equipment back to my car (the second miracle). No one ever helped me with my camera equipment before or since that day. The photographer called the minister back in to the church for some pictures and Mark asked for my phone number! (The third miracle) I gave it to him (miracle number 4). To hear Mark tell his version of our meeting; never in his life had he ask a woman for her phone number. But something told him that if he didn't talk to me and ask for my phone number he would regret it the rest of his life.
Mark called me the next day and asked if I would go out with him. As we were talking I reminded myself that I had sworn off men. Yet, later that day one of my former co-workers (obviously I was invited before I got fired) was giving a picnic and I knew that the person that had to fire me (on someone else's orders) would be there. I wanted it to look as if I didn't care that I lost my job. Since I planed to go anyway, I thought it would look better if I showed up with a date. I said to Mark,
"How would you like to go to a picnic with me today?" Two hours later we were at the picnic.
The day was very awkward, my unexpected appearance made everyone uneasy, but I stayed. I even sat away from the main table, forcing people to come over to where I was sitting to chat. Mark didn't know what was going on, but he picked up on my need to be there, he learned on our first date just how stubborn I was. And I learned that I was unable to use a guy and the dump him.
I realized very quickly that this was not going to be our only date. At first I thought it was because being mean just wasn't not in my nature, then I knew that this guy was different, better than any man that I had ever met before. Amazingly Mark asked if he could see me on Monday, then Tuesday and so on. Four months later he asked me to marry him, a year later we got married.

Growing Children Cont...

Let me take a few minutes and tell you about my children, Ronni is my first born. And what a birth it was. She was what medical people call a sunny side up baby, which means that Ronni was positioned wrong when my labor started. The birth was very hard on both of us. Ronni was born with the cord wrapped around her neck and she was barley breathing. Once they go her breathing I was told that see was tongue-tied, which meant that her tongue was attached to the bottom of her mouth and she needed minor surgery. My baby recouped (faster than I did) and forty-eight hours later Mark, Ronni and I went home, right in the middle of a blizzard.
One of the fun things about having a baby is seeing the family traits that the child exhibits. Both of my daughters are very intelligent and Mark and I like to take equal credit for that. From Mark, she inherited a serious and shy nature, and an ability to focus on something for a long time. She also has his goofy sense of humor and his great laugh, along with slight dimples, a beautiful bounce in her hair (which for him is long gone), and big feet. Best of all she inherited his musical talent.
From me she was given her sarcastic out look on life, her love for books and scary movies. She also has my curiosity and my tenacity. She also got my green eyes, and mine and my father's smile. Then from nowhere she has an interest and love for animals and science that amaze Mark and I. I mean, this kid memorized the Latin names of whales for fun.

I think that it was Bill Cosby who said something like "The miracle of birth is that any woman is willing to do it more than once." So that introduces my little one named Leah. Everything was normal about Leah’s birth except the date. You see, I went in to labor on a Thursday the 12th of May, My doctor, Dr. Harrison was attending two other women in labor when I got to the hospital. The first woman gave birth around 11:00 p.m., and it was heading toward midnight, Dr. Harrison enters my room asking angrily,
"ARE YOU ALSO GOING TO DEMAND THAT I GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO SPEED UP THE BIRTH SO THE BABY IS BORN BEFORE MIDNIGHT?"
"Why would I do that?" I asked. In a calmer voice she told me that her other patient didn't want her baby born on a Friday the 13th, so she was demanding some kind of drug to speed along the birth. Dr. Harrison refused.
"I would like the baby born as soon as possible, but not because of the date, but because I wanted to get the labor over with." As it turned out, the other mother gave birth at 11:59 p.m. That was one determined woman. Leah wasn't born until 2:30am Friday the 13th. The date didn't matter to me because Mark was also born on a Friday the 13th, and Ronni was born on a Wednesday the 13th, and both of then turned out all right.
Leahis like a ray of sunshine. She brightens up any room just by walking in to it. I am constantly amazed at her ability to appear at ease in any social situation (no matter how nervous she is), a trait that runs in my family, that some how skipped me. Like me, she loves ballet, art, and musicals. Also like me she looks delicate on the outside, but is a tough cookie on the inside. She also is tenacious.
From Mark she inherited his humor, his great laugh, his drawing ability and his gentleness, the wave in his hair, his dimples, and his blue eyes. Leah is also musically talented; she has a great singing voice. She has a sense of style that is all her own, we have no idea where it came from. Most of Leah’s clothes are hand-me-downs, yet she is able to take a shirt from Ronni and that skirt from a friend and shoes from one of her cousins and turn it in to a "Leah original". Between the ages of 5 and 9 it was Leah’s dream to be a fashion designer. This was an ambition that I found odd considering that my wardrobe is black, gray and white-with a little brown thrown in for color.
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Back at the pediatrician's office: The girls have a wonderful doctor, her name is Dr. Chin. The woman is Asian and I have no idea how old she is. She is thin, pretty, and very kind. She stands a little over five feet tall. Ronni will catch up to her soon. Both girls like her very much. The visit goes fine; all their shots are up to date. Mark is in the room for the first few minutes, then leaves the room when the exam starts. When he leaves Dr. Chin says to me,
“Now that it is just us girls, I think it is time that we talked about a bra for Ronni.” I was thinking, "She is only ten, not yet". But I knew the doctor was right. Well, if I was looking for something to take my mind off my up-coming biopsy buying my daughter her first bra was going to work very well.
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We live in a small charming suburban town that I will call Beaville. Beaville is more of a small town surrounded by suburbia. It is only 12 square miles in landmass, with a population of just over 7,000. The town was a minor player in the Revolutionary War; it has historical buildings, a lovely Down Town and a 200 year old ghost.
One of the best events in town is the annual Memorial Day Parade. The people who march in the parade all gather early in the morning, in the parking lot of Beaville High School (which is next-door to my house). The excitement and noise build as more and more of the marchers arrive. At around 10:00 a.m. the town’s people start to line up along the parade route, and at 10:15 the police start blocking off Main St. Which is also very busy two lane high way. The parade starts at the High-School and ends a mile later at the Town Hall.
At 10:30 a.m. the Parade starts. In the parade are the high school band, Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, both base ball leagues teams (Why two? Can we say "ego," and "does not play well with others?") The women’s business association, some Civil War re-enactors, fire trucks from our town and some of our neighboring town, and anyone who owns an old car. It has become tradition for each organization to toss candy and soft toys to the kids watching the parade.
Mark, Leah and I walked over to the front of the old Library building (that’s what a business center housed in the old Library building is called) to secure a place. We like that location because there is a little wall that’s nice to sit on. Ronni was not with us because her Girl Scout troop is marching in the parade. We were very proud, not only did she march, but she was the flag carrier for her troop. For a few hours that day I was actually able to relax and have a little fun.

Chapter Five...Growing Children

June 1st seemed so far away, I couldn't understand why they were making me wait so long. Mark and I decided not to tell the girls anything about the tumors until we knew whether or not there was anything really wrong with me. Meanwhile we had to conduct ourselves as if everything was normal which was pretty hard considering that one of sisters or my father was calling me about every five minutes.

Waiting;
On May 11 we had Leah’s birthday party, another sleepover (am I crazy?). This party was less stressful because it was the first sleepover for most of the six and seven year-olds, so they were a little nervous, which made them behave better.
Because it was a beautiful spring night I was able to let the kids play outside. I let them play for a long time, which tired them-out. That made the rest of the night easier.
And waiting; My sisters and my father keep calling me asking why I had to wait so long for my biopsy! I didn't know. I tried to keep busy so that the time would go by faster.
The next event up was Mother’s Day, on other Mother's Days all I asked for were home made Cards and a day that I didn't have to cook. But this year Mother's Day was different. On other Mother's Days I would look at my beautiful girls and I wouldn’t wonder if there were going to be any more Mother's Days and I felt sad.
"Stop it." I told me self "Stop thinking like that." The day was hard to get through.
Next there was the annual Spring Concert where Ronni was singing in the choirs and playing clarinet in the school band. The concert was standing room only, it was hot and the acoustics were not very good, but there wasn't a parent there who wasn't beaming with pride. I got misty-eyed wondering about the concerts I might not be around to see.
"Stop thinking like that, You will be alright." I talked to myself a lot that month.

And waiting:
On the twenty-fourth I took the girls for their annual check-up, normally this is a non-event, but today I was scared, what if the doctor finds something wrong with them? I could not do this alone us because I was so on edge, so I asked Mark to come with us.
My girls are the most important people in the world to me. It was their image that flashed in my mind when I was being told that I had a tumor. After all like most people I hear the word tumor and think: tumor=cancer=death. "I can not have cancer. I can not die because I have two wonderful little girls that need a mother." I said this to myself and over again, trying to keep calm.
I have a great husband who is quite capable of taking care of our daughters. But, no mater how fantastic he is, he is not their mother. I realize that my daughters are only 7 and 10 but the reality is they are going to be teenagers before you know it.
Next fall Ronni will be entering Middle School (personally I think that 10 is too young for Middle School), and with that comes all the gossip and back stabbing that happens when girls make the transition from child to teenager. I don't like to think about it, but all too soon my girls will be experiencing their first boyfriend, first kiss and (sob, sob) their first heartbreak. I can not be sick - I have to be here for them.

Chapter 4: MEETING DR. SULLIVAN...cont.

A few minutes later Dr. Sullivan came in to the exam room. He had a pleasant face and smiling eyes, I liked him immediately. We talked a little then he took out my x-rays from the folder and the fun began.
Who even designed the exam room should have their diploma taken away. The x-ray light was next to the exam table so the patient and doctor could look at them together, so far, so good. The problem was there was not any place for the doctor to put down the x-rays that were no being looked at. So, Dr. Sullivan placed one x-ray in the light thing and set the others on a chair that was too small. As we started to discus my tumors and why they were cause for concern, the x-rays started to slide off the chair. He picked them up.
Then he tried to put them on a table where there was some exam equipment, but there was not enough room. We continued to view the hanging x-ray, when the other x-rays slid off the table. He picked them up. This went on like a bad comedy routine. I started to think that I was putting my life in he hands of a Keystone doctor. Somehow we got through the examination and I kept a straight face. He told me that he needed to examine me and I needed to take off my shirt and bra, he left while I changed in to a hospital gown.
He came back and examined me. I never could find any lumps in my breast; I had wondered if I just wasn't looking the right way or that they were still too small to be felt yet. Dr. Sullivan did not find any lumps either, even with the aid of the x-ray he did not find any lumps. He told me how lucky I was that the mammogram found them. He then told me to get dressed and meet him in his office.
I think that his office was designed by the same guy who designed the exam rooms. Storage space was not considered when the room was set up and it was 10 degrees hotter in this room than the rest of the office so the Dr. Sullivan had to keep the door ajar to keep the temperature down. As I sat across the desk from him I notice some pictures of his children, proud Papa showing off.
He told me that he believed that tumors needed further investigation, so he would set up a biopsy for me. A few days later a woman from his office called to tell me the date of my biopsy at 1.30 p.m. on June 1st.

Chapter 4: MEETING DR. SULLIVAN

May 2001
In the mist of my research and doctor’s appointments I also had a life (barley). Mark was schedule to preside over a wedding on May 5th for couple who were relatively new members of our church. Timothy and Veronica joined less than a year ago. Veronica was in her early thirties and Timothy was about eight years older, Mark and I really liked them. We were invited to their wedding, which was not usual. Most of the time when Mark performs a wedding he and I get invited to the reception out of courtesy, the couple hoping (at $50 a plate) that we decline, and we usually do. This time we knew that the couple really wanted us there, they even invited our kids. We told them that we would come, but that we would get a sitter.
It was a beautiful wedding. They hire wonderful singers and musicians from New York. The party was fun and we were glad that we went. It was a nice distraction.
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I scheduled an appointment to meet Dr. Sullivan for May 10th. I was surprised when I got his address because most of the doctors that I have gone to have had their offices near the hospital, his was not. The office was located in an area away from the hospital that I had never been to before. The building was a stand-a-lone type in a residential area, and all the tenants were involved in medicine in one way or another. It was an attractive building, and there was plenty of parking which was great compared to the medical buildings by the hospital where there is almost none.
I walked in to the building and gasped as I look around the lobby. It was beautiful. What was so unusual was that the lobby was a three-story atrium, with a glass ceiling. There were benches, plants, flowers, and trees. I mean really tall trees. The problem was that I couldn't find the stair case. I did locate the elevator but I like to use stairs whenever I can. So I was forced to use the evaluator (the stairwells were well marked on the upper floors, just not in the lobby) I found his office and checked in.
The waiting room was a medium size, painted in soft blue and purple (+) there was a coat rack (+) a water cooler (+) and a fish tank (+) an open attractive reception desk (+) and best of all NO TV (++) I gave it an A. I filled out more forms, and then waited. It was a very busy office.
Finally I was brought in to an exam room where I was given instructions to wait; the nurse left the room leaving the door open. I sat on the exam table reading my book. The book that I was reading was called: A Walk in the Woods, by Bill Bryson. This book caught my attention when I was working in a book store because it sold so many copies. I wondered who would want to read a book about some guy walking the Appalachian Trail. Curiosity got the best of me and I borrowed the book from the Library. So, as I sat on the exam table laughing to myself, from the corner of my eye I caught the image of a man in a white doctor's coat dashing by, the man was tall and African American. For some reason that I will never know, I knew that he was Dr. Sullivan, I have always thought of myself as not being prejudice, yet that fact that he was black caught me off guard for a few seconds. Then I remembered reading that he had been educated in the West Indies. That fact should have told me that he wouldn't be blond haired and blue eyed.
It was not like I only go to doctors who were white males, I don't. Dr. Munn is a woman, my daughter's pediatrician is an Asian Woman, and Sam’s neurologist is Indian, not to mention a slew of other ethnic doctors that I have been to. Yet, isn't it strange that at 45 years of age I was about to be treated by an African American doctor for the first time. I didn’t give his color a second thought; I went back to my book and waited to see the highly recommended doctor that my research brought me to.

Chapter 3: cont...finding a surgeon

I wanted get a lot of information before choosing a surgeon. I had seen first hand from the example of both my parent’s fight with cancer and from Ronni’s health problems how important a doctor's choice could be. Also I was a snob and I wanted a doctor who was educated in America, I didn’t want a doctor that went to college in Mexico, or the Caribbean. So I look up Dr. Sullivan in the Official ABMS Directory of Board Certified Medical Specialist and low and behold he went to college in the West Indies, but he did his residency in Columbia University in New York. Ok, I thought…maybe.
Meanwhile I continue my search through another avenue. I was not going to choose a surgeon based on a strangers' friend's opinion. I decide to ask one of the Library volunteers for help. The people who volunteer in a library are an interesting mix, some are volunteers and some are there to do community service.
In my town all the students from kindergarten through twelfth grade are required to do a specific number of community service hours per year. In the Elementary School there are class or school projects the students can do. But by the time the kids reach the Middle School they need to find a project on their own. The school system is strict about this requirement, no community service-no report card. So, we have many students volunteer to get their community service hours, some even stay because they find it fun.
The other people doing community service are there as guest of the court. The Library is very particular about who can they will take. They will not take anyone who has been arrested for assault, or theft, that usually leaves getting caught doing something stupid like digging up a neighbors flowers or DUI . This group of people are usually not very social, they come in, do their time and leave. I could write a whole other book on this group.
Then there are the volunteers who just like hanging around libraries, some are retired, some have full or part-time jobs. These people come from various backgrounds, most are college educated. Two of our volunteers have PhD’s, I remember the first time that I went to a party at the home of one of the working volunteers, and found myself in a sort-of-mansion.
So, it seemed logical for me to ask for help from a volunteer who was a chemist by profession. I am not sure exactly what kind of job Susan had but I did know that she did some kind of medical research. So I asked if she could recommend a surgeon. Susan had work for many years in one way or another in the medical field unfortunately she didn't not know anyone at Memorial Hospital, but she told me that she would look in to it. A week went by; I didn’t see or hear from Susan. Then another week went by. I started to think that she forgot all about me. My sisters and father were putting pressure on me to get the biopsy done. Then Susan called me.
“Traci” she said, “I have been asking all the top doctors I know-who they think is the best surgeon at Memorial Hospital, they all gave me the same name." I knew that I had asked the right person for information when Susan added. "Then I interviewed three women who had surgery done by him, and they all thought that he was great. So the doctor comes highly recommended. His name is …Dr. Sullivan." I couldn't believe it, this was the same Dr. Sullivan who that the receptionist told me about. My search was done-I had found my surgeon.

Something is still Wrong

Meanwhile my sister Sheryl and I called each other constantly and talked about my tumors and my search for a surgeon, and she told me that she and my siblings thought that I was taking too long to get the biopsy. She also wanted to calm me down by reminding me that she had found a lump on her breast when she was just eighteen, and the lump had turned out to be a cyst. She told me about the lump that she had found last year.
“What are you talking about?” I asked her, very surprised by her statement.
“There I was, right in the middle of my divorce, when I discovered a lump.” I couldn’t believe it. I knew that Sheryl was mad at me last year, she felt that I wasn’t sympathetic about her failing marriage (hey, it was her third marriage). Instead of calling me so we could talk, she wrote me a curt letter detailing her separation (she is known for her letters). Then ending the letter by stating that she was sorry that our relationship was such that she could not confide in me. Unlike her and her ex-husband, she and I were able to patch things up.
"…I stopped the divorce proceedings until the results of the biopsy were in." she continued.
“Its not that I wanted him around if it turned out that I had cancer the marriage was over, but I needed his health insurance.” I have to give him credit; he stayed until the results were in. I felt bad that she couldn’t tell me these things before.
The point to her story was not to make me feel bad, well… not much. The point was that twice she had lumps in her breast and both times they had been benign. My research had taught me that for every malignant lump there would be twelve benign ones. Funny thing was I didn’t have a lump. I felt nothing to indicate that there was anything wrong, it was only the mammogram that showed the doctors that there was something in my breast that was not suppose to be there. According to Dr. Susan Love’s Breast Book:
“What we see on a mammogram or feel on physical exam isn’t the cancer cells themselves, but the reaction the body forms to the cancer cells.” So I guess depending on how your body reacts to the cancer cells is important to early diagnoses.

Chapter 3: cont...again.

I was surprisingly calm when I told Mark about the tumors, and we decided to start the search for a surgeon. The first place I called was my gynecologist’s office, not Dr. Munn's office but Dr. Sicilano. Even thought Dr. Munn's office was such a long drive, I wanted to continue to be her patient, after all it was her insistence that I get a mammogram that set all this into motion in the first place (I would later write her a thank you letter). But that was not to be, she had moved her office and it was now almost a two hour drive, I realized that I had to find a closer doctor.
I decided to go back to Dr. Sicilano, a gynecologist that I went to two moves and six years ago. The office was located in Booton, a town that was about a thirty minute drive. I wanted to go to a doctor closer to my home, but I needed to go to a doctor/s that I felt comfortable with, so I returned to the office of Sicilano and Harrison. Not only were these good doctors they were the only gynecologist team where I fell convertible with both doctors. It was while I was a patient of Dr.'s Sicilano and Harrison that both of my children were born. Dr. Harrison delivered Leah and another (former) partner delivered Ronni.
I reestablish contact with the doctor's office and had my records switched over. I call the office to see if they could help me find a surgeon. I told the woman who answered the phone who I was and why I was calling. Now, let me step back for a second and tell you about how I feel about the women who work in a doctor’s office.
I never know what exactly what their job is, or what their education level is; are they receptionist? Nurses? File clerks? Insurance experts? All of the above? What ever they are, as a patient I spend more time with them than the actual doctor. So, I rely on them to make my medical visits run as smoothly as possible. Most of the time when I decide to leave a specific doctor, it is because I didn't like the staff.
I have always liked the staff at Drs Sicilano/Harrison, but it had been over six years since I was a patient there and I didn’t recognize some of the women that worked there any more.
So, when I called asking for help, I was disappointed when an unfamiliar voice told me that it was the policy of the office not to recommend other doctors.
“We have a few names on file of surgeons that work in the area, but we are not recommending them, do you understand? “
“Yes” I sighed, as I wrote down the names down. She must have heard the disappointment in my voice, because then she added.
“I could get in to trouble for this, but I have some friends in radiology at MH and there is a group of Surgeons that my friends just love.” She read off four names quietly. I wrote them down. Then she added.
“Their favorite doctor is Dr. Sullivan; they say he has the best bedside manor.” I thanked her and hang up.

Chapter 3: cont...again.

A few minutes later Sheila came back into the exam room with a doctor. He introduced himself as Dr. Martin and he told me that it looked like I had not one, but two masses, possibly tumors, in my right breast that should be looked at right away.
“We could wait.” He told me. “But I don’t think that we should. Sheila was making a phone call as Dr. Martin was talking to me. I didn't hear what else he said because my head was spinning. The next thing I knew, I was following Sheila down more corridors (Still in my hospital gown). Dr. Martin wanted me to get an ultra-sound right a way, and Sheila was taking me to the ultra-sound waiting room. This was the first time that I was in this waiting room. This same room that Mark and I would find ourselves in a few weeks later, while waiting for my biopsy to start.
The room was rectangular and small, it could hold ten people max, the walls were white (-) and the pictures boring (-) worst of all there was a TV blaring which was too loud for the room (--) I give the room a D. There were only a few people in the room, some look at me funny, maybe because I was sitting there in my hospital gown, I tried to read, but I couldn’t concentrate. A new technician took over my case. "Hi my name is…"
I went in to the ultra-sound room and the technician went to work. The objective of the test is to see if the mass that showed up on the mammogram was solid or liquid. Ultra-sound works like the radar a ship uses. Sound waves are sent out, if there is nothing there the sound waves keep going, but if there is a sub (or a tumor) then the sound waves hit the mass and bounce back to the sender. So if the mass is liquid the sound waves keep going and the mass is most likely a cyst. But if it is a solid mass than the sound waves bounce back and it is most likely a tumor. The technician told me that the masses were solid…so I need to find a surgeon and set up a biopsy as soon as possible. I drove home in shock, desperately needing a hug from my husband.

Chapter 3: cont...

I went into one of the cubicles right next to the room with the mammogram machine to change into a hospital gown.
“Because this is a re-exam, I only have to check one breast.” Sheila told me. The “left one” I said, hopefully because my right breast has been sensitive for years. One of the reasons that I didn’t nurse my girls was that I found nursing too painful. The thought of having my right breast flattened between two glass plates was very unpleasant. Sheila looked at my chart, “No, she said, I have to get pictures of your right breast.”
“Damn” I thought, as I walked up to the machine.
Sheila flatted my breast in to position, then took some pictures, then took some more.
“I have to have a doctor look at these so wait right here because we might need more pictures.” Sheila said, and then left. I retrieved my book from the cubicle and started to read. I carry a book with me wherever I go. I do this for many reasons. First, I get board easily. Second if there are people around I find that they are less likely to talk to me if I am reading. And third if I find myself in a situation where I have to wait for awhile, I am able to loose myself in the world of my book and the waiting becomes easier.
So I waited… and waited. I was reading a book called “The Path between the Seas” by John McCullough, it was about the history of the building of the Panama Canal. I read a lot of histories of…type books. So there I was half-naked, sitting in a cold colorless hospital exam room (this room wasn't a real waiting room so I thought that it would be unfair to grade it) lost in the world of canal building. It was hot and steamy for the workers who were cutting a path thought the thick jungles of Panama. They were dying from malaria, and the men in charge of the project would not listen to Dr. William Gorgas who believed that controlling the mosquito population would reduce to number of men dying. Politics, not science were deciding how to handle the health care in Panama and men were dying because of it….Beep…Beep…"Paging Dr. Martin to radiology…Dr. Martin to Radiology". There had been many pages coming from the intercom which I had tuned out. I don’t know why this page jolted me out of Panama and back to New Jersey, but it did.

Chapter 3: SOMETHING IS WRONG

APRIL 2001
I had been in denial long enough; it was time to get my follow-up mammogram. I had a morning appointment, so off to MH I went. My first stop was the out-patient check-in, the supervisor and staff was playing some kind of fantasy vacation game while checking-in the patients. It was funny when they yelled out their vacation fantasies.
“I want a beach!” said the young pretty girl with a short skirt.
“No!” replied a young man who was trying to grow a mustache. “Snow, I need snow, so I can go skiing.” The supervisor’s desk was covered with Travel brochures and she started reading from one of them: “Aruba had miles and miles of beaches…” The young woman checking me in added her own comments to the fun…"must have drinks with umbrellas…" I could relate-drinks with umbrellas, beaches, mountains, I would rather be someplace/anyplace else, other than in the hospital. I left the out-patient check-in department laughing; little did I know it would be the last time that I would laugh for a long time.
I checked-in at the radiation department then sat down in the waiting room. There was a soap opera on the TV, which I found very annoying because I was trying to read a serious non-fiction book and I kept finding myself peaking guiltily at the silly drama unfolding on the television. A few minutes later a woman came into the waiting room and called my name, or a close proximity to my name. The spelling of my last name and the pronunciation have little to do with each other.
“Hi, my name is Sheila, and I will be you technician today.” Said the woman leading me through the maze like halls. Sheila gave me warnings before she turned. “Right” she said before she turned right, “left” she said next before she turned left, all the while keeping up banter of conversation. I liked this because I was able to walk beside her instead of following her, and I never crashed in to her once.

Chapter 2 SIX MONTHS LATER…Cont...

On top of all that Ronni had an appointment with her orthopedic surgeon. Ronni has been a toe walker all of her young life, and we had been on a merry-go-round of doctors both orthopedic and neurology until we found the right medical people who could correct her feet.
Just when I was about to catch my breath, I get a phone call from Anna, our insurance agent. She reminded me that the last time that Mark and I were in her office that we expressed interest in buying life insurance. She told me that the price would increase if I bought the insurance after I turn forty-five, and since my forty-fifth birthday was just a week away Mark and I might want to buy the insurance now. So, there we were, the couple whose normal speed for making any decision was slow and stop, we had to make the decision whether or not to buy life insurance and we had to make it now.
I wanted Mark and me to get more life insurance. Unlike many people we know who take a job because of salary and benefits, we do the jobs that we do because we love them. As long as we stay alive and healthy, we can make enough money to meet our needs.
We live differently than most people. You see I worked part-time at the local library and my husband is a forth generation Methodist Minister. We don't own the house we live in, heck, we don't even rent it. The house or parsonage is owned by the church that Mark is assigned to serve. So we don't really have a house to call our own which is ok, because the church takes good care of its minister and their families. But, if something were to happen to Mark, I would have to move out of the parsonage to make room for the new minister. To do that I would need enough money to be able to buy a small home for the girls and me.
So our lives were perfect, we had each other, two great kids and jobs that we loved that paid us just enough to live middle-class lives, but what it something happened…I felt we needed more insurance.
Although Mark wouldn’t need to move if I died, he would loose my income (small as it was). He would also have many added expenses, such as baby sitting, house keeping, and so on. We also realized that we needed two full-time incomes (I plan to start working full-time in a few years) to get these girls through college.
So, we decided to buy each of us a twenty-year, $100,000 term life insurance policy. All we had to do was pass a physical. We weren’t worried about me because I was in good shape; my only health flaw was that I had mult-valved prolapsed a minor heart valve thing that the cardiologist told me not even to worry about. I just had to take antibiotics before I had work done by my dentist or any other surgery.
Mark on the other hand had high blood pressure so we were worried that he might not pass. A nurse came to our house, we filled out many forms, and she took some blood. Then we waited. A few weeks later Anna called to tell us that the insurance agency was willing to insure Mark for the $100,000 but not me because of the mult-valved prolapsed. They would however offer me a very expensive five-year police.
I was very angry and wanted to take all of our business to a difference insurance company. But, Mark calmed me down, saying that we didn’t need me to be covered, because my job does pay about $10,000 if I died. That would be enough bury me, and anyway, he didn’t plan on me dying any time soon. I was still mad, after all I was healthy and I plan to live to be 100 years old. I decided that I was going to send the insurance company a card on my birthday each year saying “I’M STILL ALIVE, AND YOUR COULD HAVE COLLECTED A YEARS WORTH OF PREMIUMS, HA-HA. Mark didn’t think that the card was a very good idea.
After Ronni’s birthday, my niece’s birthday, valentines days, the visit to Ronni’s doctor and dealing with the insurance company I ran out of excuses..

Chapter 2 SIX MONTHS LATER…Cont...

I promised Mark that I would make an appointment…as soon as things slowed down. You see, Ronni was turning ten, and she wanted a sleepover birthday party. There is a lot of work in planning a sleepover party. You have to make the guest list, buy the innovations, matching cups, napkins and plates. Then you have to plan a craft, organize games and put together loot bags. The trick is to plan enough activities to keep six ten-year-olds occupied from 6:00pm to 10:00am the next morning since sleeping itself rarely occurs at these parties.
The day came for the party and the guest arrived with the expatiation of a fun evening, but the sleepover quickly turned into a disaster. Two of the girls tried to take control of the party. They disrupted all the games that I planed; they pick fights and made some of the girls' cry including Ronni,
"Sob, sob, Hanna and Heidi are teasing me, they say my horse looks funny." I looked at the craft that Ronni had made and I had to admit that it didn't look much like a horse. My daughter is a very talented child, but arts and crafts are not her strong point.
"Your horse looks…original." I told her. And the party went on. At midnight I
told the girls to go to sleep. Every one complied, except Hanna and Heidi, and it took
a threat of calling their mothers to get them to settle down. The next morning things didn't improve; there were a few more fights before the girls left 10:00am.
-
Next there was our family birthday party for Ronni, not to mention, buying her birthday gifts. Oh, yea, I had to help her write all those thank you cards too. I also had to get a card and gift to mail to my nice. Then we had to pick out and write Valentine cards for Ronni and Lea to give to all their classmates.