Chapt 7 Cont..

June 12th Mark and I drove the girls to school. Ronni was still in a great mood from a field trip to the Bronx Zoo she took the day before. The happy chatter was good because I was able to focus on her and not me. First we drop-off the girls at their respective schools, then it was off to the hospital. Mark drove while I give him directions. I don't like to drive. I do it all the time, but I don't like it. As a driver you have to watch the road. As a passenger you can look around, take in the sights and relax. So, given a choice I will be the passenger every time.
We sat in the waiting room briefly, and then entered Dr. Sullivan's office. After the introductions are made we discussed my biopsy results. The test showed that I had two tumors, one at six o'clock and the other at eight o'clock. Because of the locations Dr. Sullivan felt that a lumpectomy would not work. I would need a full mastectomy.
I was disappointed but not surprised. In my research, some books said that if a surgeon won't do a lumpectomy-run. On the other hand other books said that in certain circumstances mastectomies were the only option.
While I was thinking…second opinion, Dr. Sullivan went on discussing how he would approach the surgery. He drew pictures, showing his approach, explaining every detail of the process. Then he started talking about the sentinel node.
"The sentinel node?" I asked.
"Yes, the sentinel node test is my standard procedure." He said. Mark and I looked at each other and smiled, Dr. Sullivan continued explaining the procedure. "What about reconstruction?" I ask. That’s stopped him.
"Do you think you might want reconstruction surgery?" He asks.
"I might." I reply. I would love to say that I did lots or research on reconstruction or that I spent hours and hours reading about the pros and cons of the surgery, but that would be a lie. I became aware of reconstruction surgery in the early eighties when I was at the peak of my soap opera watching.
I started watching 'soaps' when I was a teenager, like many people my age I was a huge fan of Dark Shadows which was on at 4:00 pm. I just loved that show and I couldn't wait for it to be on. First I turned on the TV at 3:55 pm, then 3:50 and so on before I knew it I was hooked on General Hospital. Then One Life to Live and so on. Before I realized it, I was schudeling my life around my shows.
Why did I stop? Because of a comment I over heard at work one day. By this time I was in my early twenties and I working full time as a reservationists for Eastern airlines. On a normal day I would wake up somewhere around 9:00 am, then I schudeled my errands so that I would be home by noon and watch my soaps. I watched them from 12:00 to 3:45 pm, then hop in my car and rush to be at work by 4:00 pm (by this time Dark Shadows was cancled). Sometime I would be late to work because I just couldn't pull myself away from the TV.
Then one day when I was on my break and I over heard two women who were sitting near me talking. One of the women was very excited about a place that she had gone too recently and invited the other woman to join the next time that she went, but the second woman said something like:
"What time? I HAVE to be home by noon so I can watch my soaps." The first woman explained that the place didn't open until 1:00 pm so the second woman declined. I thought how stupid! Then I realized that I was living my life the same way. So I decided to quit.
It wasn't easy. The problem was I really wanted to know how the story lines that I had invested so much time in would resolve themselves. But if I watched to see how storyline 'A' ends-I got sucked in to storyline 'B'. I didn't think that I was ever going to get over my addiction, then techonolgy came to the rescue in the form of a VCR. I was able to tape the soaps and watch story line 'A'. Then I would fast forward through story line 'B'. With in a few months I was cured. This maybe part of the reason that I hate TV's in waiting rooms, it makes me feel like an alcoholic who is forced to sit in a bar.
Anyway, there was a character on one of my soaps that had breast cancer and was refusing treatment because loosing a breast would take away her womanhood. The TV doctor explained the wonders of reconstruction surgery, she had the surgery, lived and was still the town vixen. I didn't know much about the surgery, only that the surgery existed and that I might want it.
It wasn't that I looked at a mastectomy and as horrible disfiguring surgery. If I could find a plastic surgeon who can give me a fake breast, great. If not, that was okay too. This attitude can also be traced to the eighties.
When I was in my early twenties and working at the airline, I met a guy that I will call Paul. We started out as friends, then the relationship slowly changed. Paul had a secret, which he didn't tell me until it was obvious the relationship was becoming romantic. Paul's secret was that a few years earlier he was in an accident, an explosion really. A furnace at his job blew up, killing one and injuring others. Paul's injuries were the worst of the survivors. He had been burned on over seventy per cent of his body. Actually at the time he was given only a five per cent chance to live.
He had a body full of scars that I hadn't noticed. He had a few scars on his face but since he wore his hair long and had a full beard I didn't see them. I should have been suspicious about a person who wore long sleeved shirts in July. At the time of the accident Paul had a serious girlfriend, who stood by him through out his recovery. When he was well, they got married, but the marriage didn't last long. After the divorce he didn't date again until he met me. As our relationship became more physical, he started to panic.
I was going to be the first woman he met after the accident to see his scars, all of his scars. I will always remember the first time that we made love, watching him slowly, timidly taking off his shirt. Neither of us knew how I would react. Up until that point, the only burned people that I had ever seen were on TV. We were both nervous. There was nothing romantic or sexy about that day, just fear. As he took off his shirt he looked down at the floor and said in a quit voice:
"It's ok if you want to run out of the room, or throw-up. I'll understand." His chest and arms were full of scars, his back was the worst. I didn't run or throw-up. I walked over to him and held him, my fingers tracing the outlines of his scars. It was an important moment for both of us because he realized that his scars would not interfere with his love life, and I could confirm that even though I had always stated that I wasn't superficial, I now knew I really wasn't
In the long run our relationship didn't work out. We were two people who should have never been lovers. Our personalities were more suited to being friends. Years later when I was in a bar with some friends I ran into Paul. He was flirting with women at the bar, and they were flirting back. He wore a short sleeve shirt that was half unbuttoned, proudly displaying many burn scars, which were not slowing him down one bit-lets not talk about the gold chains. We talked for a few minutes; he even bought me a drink. I remember thinking that I had created a monster.
All of these thoughts ran through my head when I head the word mastectomy. I wasn't afraid of scars or losing a breast, I didn't think that having a mastectomy would change my quality of life. But if reconstruction was a possibility-why not? At the end of the meeting, Dr. Sullivan gave me the names of two doctors. The first one was an oncologist named Dr. O'Hara. Dr. Sullivan suggested that she look at my charts and x-rays, then give me her thoughts about having the surgery. All of the books said to get a second opinion from a second doctor NOT associated with the first one. But because of all the time I took finding Dr. Sullivan I trusted him.
I decided to follow his advise about the second opinion and set up an appointment with Dr. O'Hara. I wanted to meet my possible oncologist as soon as possible. My mother had a good surgeon, but a lousy oncologist. I wanted to meet this Dr. O'Hara and decide whether I wanted her to be my doctor or not.
The second doctor was Dr. Asgari who is a plastic surgeon, a type of doctor that I never thought that I would ever be going to. I was scheduled to meet with Dr. Asgari on June 22 and Dr. O'Hara on June 23rd. The problem was that June 21 was the last day of school. I wanted Mark with me when I meet these doctors but I didn't want to drag the girls to the doctor's appointments, we needed babysitting coverage. Another one of the women from the church came to our rescue offering to watch the girls both days.
Diane and her husband were both active members of our church. They were in their early thirties and both work as systems analysts (what ever that is). They have a son who is six and a daughter who is three. They were the first couple to invite Mark and I over for dinner when we first came to this church. Diane is a pretty woman who stands only an inch or two shorted then me, she is thin, and has shoulder length straight brown hair. When I first met Diane I thought that she was very shy. Later I would learn that although she was quiet, she could be a force to be reckoned with. When she gets involved in a project, she runs it with the precision of a Swiss watch. Lucky for me because Diane will become the coordinator of everyone who wanted to cook for me. She will set up a schedule that would make the next few months much easier.