Meeting with the Surgeons

I'll be meeting with two breast surgeons on Wednesday, 1/18/2012.  Both are recommended and are publishing in medical journals. So the difference will be which doctor has the best bedside manner and a system set up to help patients get throughwhat I like to call this intro into hell of cancer.  Frankly, the only doctor who has actually spoken honestly to me at this point is a cancer researcher at NIH who is a good friend of my friend Sheila (God bless you, Nico).

I've also spoken to several breast cancer survivors so I am more confident that this won't kill me but merely take my breasts and make me feel like crap for a while. I'm good with that.  As I've mentioned to several folks, my breasts have never done anything for me, not even buy me dinner.  So tata to the tatas as my friend Joan coined the phrase.

I've never been so grateful to be a drunk (at least a recovering one).  Friends in AA, and friends I have outside of AA, have swarmed forward with offers of help.  As my father said to me recently, "You can't do this alone."  He's right.   So instead of continuing my stupidly typical pattern of doing it alone (note incident last summer where I carried two 80 pound AC units up the stairs, resulting in sciatica), I will ask people to help, take help that is offered, and swallow my pride and concerns of "being a bother." That pattern has done me more harm than good.

I will know more on Wednesday.  I've been told that once I meet with the surgeons, things will move very quickly.  I'm good with that. The sooner these petri dishes of cancer are gone, the better.