6. The One with the Surgeon

 Last week we left off with me having the BRACA gene test.

A theme I am seeing as I recollect all that happened is that there was a lot of waiting.

In retrospect it was three months from mammogram to mastectomy (RIP Lefty). But man... those three months felt like forever.

A rollercoaster of self pity, anger, uncertainty, questions, confusion and at the end the best care a girl could hope for. From the medical professionals and my tribe.

So back to the BRACA:

As promised the results arrived in the mail and everything was clear. A sigh of relief that we weren't going to have to think through that path (I mean... I had obsessively thought about every eventual outcome but I didn't need to spend anymore time on this topic. There were plenty of other things to keep me awake at night).

Next up was the appointment with the surgeon. I believe this is the point where my mom was no longer accepting 'i'm fine' as an answer and started attending all appointments with me. 

Which was extremely helpful. I had a notebook for all questions and appointments but was clearly not in a state of mind where I was going to remember everything that was explained to me.

Again, upstairs from the breast center, this was my floor from here on out and the vibe continued to be one of concern and care.

The surgeon was a petite unassuming woman who could not have been nicer. Given the credentials she carried, her humility and attentiveness spoke volumes as to who she is as a person.

She was surprised that I had asked for the BRACA test. To which I responded why wouldn't I? And she said well we don't know that you have cancer....yet.

And I explained that while I appreciate that, if we are going to be rooting around in there anyway why not nip any future issues in the bud (or boob if you like).

She seemed to accept this explanation.

And I am constantly baffled by things like this: I am never the smartest person in a room. I know a little about a little but I assume most people have the same general knowledge that I do.

 I assumed that every woman faced with what I was up against would want that information.

I understand I have been a dedicated reader of People magazine since the 80s but didn't everyone know about this? And how it might effect an otherwise benign outcome?

Apparently not.

She then did an exam. Up until this point my modesty had been that of a 1920s spinster but with all the exams, poking, prodding and needles that was right out the window. I was used to whipping out Lefty and having her man-handled (RIP Lefty).

We talked about what the lumpectomy would involve: She was going in and grabbing the lump and digging a little deeper to get to the satellite lesions as well.

In order to see what she was doing apparently two guide wires would be inserted first to make sure she was in the right place.

At this point the plan was to leave the lymph nodes alone.

Possible outcomes included:

Papilloma (not cancer)

Some cancer

Something indeterminable

If cancer I could look forward to: 

additional surgery

radiation

anti-estrogen therapy

or some combination thereof

WOW that all sounded like a barrel of monkeys

It was all overwhelming

We scheduled the date for surgery and we left the hospital. Drove home in a daze once again.

It was at this point I needed to start sharing what was going on.

We had kicked it up a notch with actual surgery and we were barreling down a path that could result in long and complicated.

So my immediate need was to tell my boss. He is without a doubt one of the kindest people I have worked for. When he says work/life balance he means it. To the point where when I would tell him I was leaving early his response was "i don't care". As long as you were getting your shit done, he didn't care where you did it.

In addition to being an amazing boss, he had also become a friend. Someone who had supported me through all the other shitty things that had happened over the previous two years. 

As I mentioned before, when I am going through something I need to be busy at work. And we had devised a method of communication where I would tell him about the current shitty thing and he would say 'so you want more work?', I would say yes, he would shake his head and proceed to give me more work. I mean... it was really a win/win situation.

I could be distracted and he got more out of me. I think part of the reason I was promoted to my current role was because of the shitty things I have been through and all the extra work that meant. I looked like a freaking rock star. So I guess all that emotional damage was good for something.

Being a lady with lady issues and a male boss I gave some consideration to how to explain what was going on. 

Did I need to be delicate? Chose my words carefully? 

Was I in danger of committing some HR violation by describing  that one of my boobs may in fact be trying to kill me?

In the end I gave it to him straight. Here is where I have been, here is what's next and here's where it might be headed.

"Do you need more work?"

"Yes"

"Same as last time?"

"Nope, this one is going to probably take double"

Head shake, 

"K"

and the conversation about whatever I needed, time, kindness, support he had me covered.

And I knew he did. Before I even said a word, I knew he was going to be looking out for me.

That made it less shitty. At the same time though, what a hot mess he must think I am. I had been going through something for most of the time I was reporting to him. But he has always been a source of support for me.

Next came the ride or dies. The girls who had my back through all that came before and in some cases had literally held my hand on my darkest day.

 I consider them my quarters (I would rather have 4 quarters than 100 pennies).

And I was not looking forward to those conversations. I felt like I had used my allotment of emotional support probably for life at that point. So I sat down on the following Saturday and made some of the hardest calls of my life. 

Next time on Kris vs. Cancer: The one with the Friends