Now back to the gynecologist!

This doctor's office is hysterical. There are notes posted everywhere including one asking that children not climb on the chairs nor spit on the floor.

Is this a problem here? I wanted to ask-but didn't!

She sends me right away into the examining room. Get it over with, suits me!

"By the way, thanks for driving my son to the party the other night." Nothing like hearing "Mom, your gynecologist is taking me to Brumath for a party".  She chuckles. "Can you believe these kids and their social lives?!? Every weekend, or day off 'Mom, I'm going to a...'" I nodded in agreement. "And they're all over the place. Brumath this week, Severne the next... Can't you entertain yourselves here in Strasbourg?"

Apparently, she had a full car going up there, including a blond boy who she assumed was mine. After the event, her son says "You know Ronan's mom is one of your patients?" "What?!? I would have never guessed it!" Yeah, can't tell. My kids don't look like they're really mine. 

Good distraction from The Wand. "Your left ovary is clear and there's a 3 1/2cm cyst on the right". It looked bigger than that on the screen but she measured it. Uterus is shrinking too. 

When we get back to the office, I saw the diagrams on her wall. "Just curious, are twins always C-sections?" No, she went on to explain that it depends on the positioning and a few other factors. She was shocked when I told her of the woman I knew who saw 8 Ob's in the L.A. area and all insisted on a C. She returned to France to have the babies for this reason.

Anyway, I mentioned the newly discovered twin. She laughed. Apparently there was an amusing incident on a gold course once, when one of his colleagues was happy to see him, or whom he thought...

Well, he did my thyroid scan because I'm never going back to Dr. B. again.

"Why is that?"
"They don't like each other."
"...and how do you know that??"
"Well, I just mentioned in passing that I was Dr. N's patient and he said some nasty things including stating outright that I should change radiologists."
"You know it's not good for patients to get themselves in the middle of these sorts of conflicts" she scolded, and then changing tones completely, asked "So what did Dr. N. say??"
"Not as bad. When I handed him Dr. B.'s report, he asked for the 'other six pages'." I even demonstrated how he held out his hands, waving his fingers. 
 "When I said it was only one page, he acted all shocked and went on about 'Is it possible that Dr. B can write a report that's only one page?!?' Then he explained that Dr. B. can 'go on and on, for pages and pages, saying nothing'." She bent over laughing.

Enough radiologist conflict stories. She took my blood pressure. A little high. We'll do it again.

She also asked me how many times I was in the restroom while waiting. Um, can't remember.
"This is not normal". I assured her that I didn't have any problems after the births and this is my history. I always peed a lot and I had a history of UTI's. Then I proudly listed everything I do to successfully avoid them (cotton undies, none for sleeping, plain soap, etc.) After the births, they asked if I leaked when I coughed and/or laughed. I didn't so they didn't think I had a problem. She told me that I sort of leaked during the exam.

"I also noticed that you have a little cache of underwear in your purse". Yes. True. "This is not normal. I know this specialist..." She didn't think I'd need surgery but to let this doctor decide. She explained that it was a new specialty, under gastroentrology but specifically for women. I was surprised it wasn't urology but she said that it covers that too.

I had discussed some "damage" I had during delivery, with my other gynecologist but I explained, she was hesitant because they surgery isn't always successful. We'll see. I'm kind of relieved that something might be done. She said exactly what I was thinking. I'm okay now. No big problems but what happens in a few more decades? This won't get better and I might not be able to deal.

Blood pressure, still high. So when was the last time I saw a cardiologist? Like never. Oh. I'm sending you to one. Nothing scary. Pressure a little high. She wasn't thrilled to hear that the grandfather I never met, because he died at 47 (two packs a day but still way young). Also, radiation on the left side. Let's just be sure!

Her waiting room had gotten busier so I managed to escape. She was going to get back to me about the letters. I picked them up from Adassa Clinique two days later, and ran into the former director leaving a retirement party. "I'm going to miss this place when it closes!" Sad!

I had to pick my non-look-alike son up from school. I saw a tall, black boy which reminded me. "Next time you see Hugo, tell me which one he is." "Easy!" said my son. "HIM!" pointing to the same kid. Oh yeah. He looks much more like his mom!

 

Thyroid Saga

Thyroid check done for this year.

Dr. N., instead of horrible Dr. B., did my thyroid check.

Both radiologists were there and the waiting room was so packed that I sat in the hall. There was no where to sit. I came back in when I thought it was getting close.

He calls me in and since it was late February, I whispered in English "Happy New Year!" as we were coming down the hall. Tet, Vietnamese New Year had been a week or so earlier. He smiled and then set about trying to find an examining room. He started darting around like a lost gnome. The lab coats a lot of doctors wear here in France are amusing. They're gathered at the neck and have floppy arms. They look almost Medieval. Finally, he finds one I haven't seen in years. He dashes out the door, telling me to roll my turtle neck down.

I already had a spat with evil Dr. B. over this so I had on a tank top under my turtle neck. I only had to take it off. Dr. N. stops at the door, coming back in. "That's very good!" Yes, I told him. I've been through this with your wonderful colleague...

He didn't want me lying flat down like Dr. B. I wanted to tell him this but was torn about appearing to tell him to do his job. More comfortable sitting up and not having to lie on that rod thing behind the back, like Dr. B. uses.

He starts telling me about his Tet celebration. It fell conveniently on a weekend and he was able to go to Paris. He said that they had a gathering of about 40 family members. Then, oddly, he starts explaining Tet to me. I finally interjected "New Moon, right?" He stopped. Yes, you know that.

"I'm from San Francisco. I know about Tet... well, Chinese New Year's. I had enough firecrackers thrown at my feet as a child..." Little blond girl from the suburbs, of course!

He looked crestfallen. Oops. He seemed really keen to talk about it and then I took the wind out of his sails. I felt guilty, like saying "No, continue explaining..." even if I knew already. Too late. Of course I had to bring up Chinese New Year's. I know the Vietnamese love being compared to their big neighbors! He just fell silent.

So we get to the thyroid. He's looking at the screen. "THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH THIS THYROID!" he exclaims. Well no, there isn't. I could have told him that. He didn't get the memo. This is a yearly CHECK.

"Nothing here to puncture!" Oh for crying out loud. Can I someday have ONE normal appointment without weirdness from him. "Puncture?!? Who talked about puncturing anything?!?" Then I realized, I was about to sink myself again. "But believe me, if I need any puncturing, I won't hesitate to have you do it!" Need ego stroking here!

"This thyroid is perfectly normal. I don't know why they're monitoring it!"

"Because I have a bad family history, I've done radiation..." He still didn't look convinced. "My sister had a rare form of lymphoma that started in her thyroid so they want to keep an eye on mine." Then he looked alarmed. "No, your thyroid looks fine. Just normal signs of aging..." He keeps on "Yes, it's just growing OLD". Oh heaven help me.

I'm done but I do have some of my scans which I think were from my last apt. Turns out I grabbed the wrong ones. I'm so lame! I'm kicking myself. But he snaps them out of my hand and starts talking about my benign ovarian cysts again. Of course he doesn't realize these are scans he's already seen (unless he has some sort of weird photographic memory which I wouldn't put past him). I then start to feel guilty about the waiting room full of patients so try to squirm out of it.

He repeats that I shouldn't have yearly MRI's because of possible kidney damage but when I mention that the gynecologist wants to do an MRI of my ovaries, he says "Yes, we can do that..." and that won't damage my kidneys since I just had a breast MRI?? No, he means yearly. Whatever. I grab my stuff and leave, bummed that I didn't get the chance to see another picture of him with his twin. Gosh that was cute!!!

Of course I find the right scans a week later while cleaning up. Kick myself. Have to think of strategy to see twin picture again...

Then I went to see the endocrinologist. For some dumb reason, I thought that I had had done the wrong blood work. I lost the original Rx so I called for another. She gave me one with another doctor's name on it. Hmmm... So I did it. Then, I couldn't figure out how to handle this. I called the office and diplomatically told the secretary (whom I did not want to accuse) that I had a "concern" about the labwork. Please ask Dr. B-S and IF I didn't hear back from her, I would assume everything was fine. I didn't want to create extra work for them. At least I knew that I'd be covered if it was wrong.

The labwork was fine. She didn't notice nor mention the fact that Dr. N. had done my scan. Yeah! In fact, she was in a cheery mood and told me that my numbers actually looked better than a year ago.

She talks to fast. Actually, her talking fast is not so much the problem. I understand her but it's all terminology I don't get. I can talk Breast Cancer or Birth Medicalese in French, no problem. But thyroids? I'm all confused. I don't "get" the thyroid in English, let alone French!

I do know that radiation patients have a higher chance of thyroid problems but they don't know much more about the subject. I had radiation, I have a family history AND I have elevated levels in one category. It's not good but my thyroid is. She even said that maybe we'd drop the scans and just do yearly bloodwork.

Okay, that's done for the year! Next task... those ovaries.

Rads-Onc apt.

Went to see my pretty rads-onc for my yearly visit. She was pleased on how I looked and approved me to get my tattoos taken off.

So then I told her about the tattoos I wanted to put on the scar.

Um, no. Radiated skin doesn't heal the same way. Can't have tattoos on that area. Anywhere else on my body but not the boob.

My kids weren't keen on the idea anyway. No tummy tuck and no tattoos. Just so uncool!

She wants me back next year. I saw the other doctor whom I know his parents. Nice guy. There was also a youngster behind the counter. I asked if she was doing her "stage d'observation" when 3iemes (equivalent of high school freshmen but still in middle school here) so a week of observing a profession. My son did his at a hotel which of course, was the week of my surgery. My daughter did hers at a notary public. Not nearly as interesting!

She was loving hers! They were sending her all over Clinique Sainte Anne to observe various departments. Much better choice!

Seeing a Plastic Surgeon, no, not for that reason!

When I wasn't sure if I'd need a mastectomy or not, I started doing research.

Ugh! What a subject. I wonder now whether most women just do whatever their doctor suggests and doesn't push it further. But I'm in France. I'm doing it all in a foreign language. I want to compare my care with what is done back home, yada, yada, yada...

The vast majority of women who do reconstruction, get expanders put in when they get a mastectomy. These are usually expanded, as the name implies, several times and then they have to go in for surgery again to "swap" the implants for more natural and comfortable implants.

There is also a "direct to implant" procedure but not all women qualify. I read the qualifications and I would have missed it by a mile. Nope. Not an option (I understand many plastic surgeons won't do it because of the complications). The only advantage is that there is no swap surgery, but honestly, the swap surgery is not as involved as the initial mastectomy and one small surgery would not be a deal-breaker for me. 

After some sole searching, especially while I was waiting on my BRCA results, I had to be honest with myself. I wouldn't be happy with implants. The idea of a foreign thing in my body didn't appeal.

There are a few procedures which use a woman's own body tissue. The gold standard is called DIEP. Basically, it's a combo tummy tuck with the tummy fat transferred to the boobs. It's a very long surgery, minimum 8 hours and there's the double recovery, stomach and boobs. Sounded intimidating but I felt I'd do better with this.

Well, my BRCA test was negative so all my homework and research was basically for nothing.

Except... that tummy tuck sounded good. Just the tummy tuck. I went on line and read up on just that. I found a clinic in Poland that is a third the price with a doctor who was trained in the U.K. and patients travel to him. Daniel was having none of it. If I do this, I'm doing this right here in Strasbourg. Price? Well, that can be my birthday, Christmas, Hanukkah, Mother's Day, etc. gift for the next five years!

I asked the pediatrician for a recommendation and he gave me a name. I figured I'd start there.

I had to cancel the first appointment because I was sick for ages. I figure that a plastics guy doesn't pick plastics to get sick from patients. I also didn't need to expose anyone to my germs unnecessarily so I put it off.

Finally I arrived. Nice office, all decorated. Secretary who seems to have been a patient herself a few times...

Door opens and he is what I expected a plastic surgeon to look like. Not super handsome but well-dressed, fit and precisely coiffed.

We start out all stiffly at first, like with any new doctor. I couldn't resist playing with the implants on his desk. I even recognized a few of them. Not here to talk about breasts!

I told him I wanted a tummy tuck. I wasn't sure if he spoke English but I figured that he would know the term, just because he was a plastic surgeon. He just jumped into English from there. Hey, he really speaks it! I had to throw in a few jabs, and he picked them up immediately.

I tried to briefly go through the breast cancer saga and how that lead me to think about the tummy tuck after reading about DIEP. He was interested in my medical team and was impressed. He knows my surgeon and says he's good. I admitted that I only picked him because of my radiologist, which I realize is not the best logic but I really wanted my radiologist doing the wire implants. When I said who my radiologist was, he doesn't know him but said he has a good reputation. He also liked my African gynecologist. "You picked a great team!" 

Exam time! Bra and panties.  I was surprised that he didn't even want to look at the breasts but I told him, good results. Two tumors with clear margins. Very little "damage" and didn't even need fat grafting. He was concentrated on the belly...

OMG he took pictures!! "Don't use these to blackmail me" I said in English.

"Don't give me ideas!" he quipped without hesitation.

He kind of mushed my stomach around while I was lying on the table.

Dressed and back at his desk, he explained it to me.

It was a big operation. TMI alert! He cuts around the belly button, pulls the skin down. Big scar along the hip, right under the bikini line. The pregnancies had split the stomach muscles. That needed to be sewn together, then liposuction, about two liters.

I'm only slightly overweight and well within his parameters to operate. Better if I lose? Always better but not entirely necessary.

The split muscle wasn't necessarily because of the three pregnancies. He said he's seen tons of damage in women who just had one baby and hardly any in ones with a gaggle of kids. I asked and he confirmed that usually the damage was with the first baby "But please don't go home and blame him!" he scolded. 

I would need the liposuction even if I lost weight. That is my weak area. I envy women who gain in their rear. A big butt can be sexy (although too much of a good thing...) Nothing sexy about stomach fat! I just lose my waist. Liposuction would mean that the fat would be gone forever.

I didn't want to talk about boobs but there are a couple of women looking into reconstruction here so I did ask. I also, since boobs are the subject I know, wanted to sort of test him out.

He doesn't do DIEP but he gave me the name of the doctor who does. Only one in Strasbourg. He does TRAM flap. "But isn't that outdated??" I asked. Oops! Really not a great thing to say. "I read that it had been replaced with DIEP..." He kind of made an exasperated face. I mentioned direct-to-implant and he said that he's not thrilled with that but he can do it. We have to put a sort of hammock in there..." "Alloderm?" He looks at me in shock. "You really do know this subject!" Um yeah. My boobs were on the block twice!

Then, of course, I mention that I might be getting my ovaries out. He throws up his hands. "Yes, you're supposed to tell me these things!" No, no, not right away! I went through the whole story. I just needed the time frame. "I won't do them together! I did that once and never again." Fair enough. I don't think I want to get two surgeries like that together anyway. Ick. Grim! No need...

He said to put a three month minimum gap either way, after the hysterectomy or after the tummy tuck. He gave me instructions to go back to my gynecologist and find out what the deal is. I explained that was already the plan. He didn't pressure me at all to hurry.

A sort of corset has to be worn for three weeks afterwards. He showed me a picture. Getting this done in summer was not recommended, because of this reason. Cooler months are better. 

The cost was going to be steep, he warned. The French system won't pay unless it's a very extreme case and I was far from it. My complimentary insurance might, just might, cover a little of the cost of the sewing-muscles-back-together part. I told him that the belly pulls on my back and causes back pain. Naw, that probably won't get me far. True but can't hurt to ask. "Wait till you see the TVA on plastic surgery!" Oh no. 20%!! 

That little visit cost 87€. I do get an extra visit for that but when I was sure and we could set dates. Same clinic where I had everything else done, as long as I do it before it closes next year! The total cost was 6500. I nearly fainted.

The secretary gave me all the papers. As I walked out, I saw another plaque with the same last name. Some sort of therapist. I pointed to it. The first name was "Heather". "She's French?" No, Canadian. Well that explains his English! (not that it helped my husband's English). I laughed. "That's absolutely the worst name to have if living in France!" The secretary laughed. "Oh they all have so much trouble with it!" Yes, the aspirated "H", the "th" which is said like a "t" and the "er" at the end. It comes out something like "Et-er". Yikes! The secretary asked me how it's supposed to sound and I said "Heather, the national flower of Scotland!" Yes, she's Scottish descent. Figures.

MRI victory!!

I was still not over my gynecologist retiring. No filters or not, she was amazingly supportive. I tried her replacement, twice.

Since I'm not a medical person, I can't really shake down their medical knowledge that well. We were talking about mastectomies and Dr. F. said that with a cancer diagnosis, nipple sparing mastectomies can't be done. Now, I'm not planning on any mastectomies OR occurrences but I was curious... Of course I consulted a site on the net and an American doctor responded that yes, NS can be done.

She also missed the two ovarian cysts on my ultrasound, that she had done. I didn't say anything and showed it to Dr. N. who started counting... No. Not good. Gotta look for another gynecologist...

Where does one look? In the Land Without Board Certification, I need the recommendation of a medical person. I wasn't seeing anyone for awhile so I asked my trusty pediatrician, the same I've had for 16 years, for someone.

First he said another gynecologist. I know about her. I know a lot of her patients and they love her. She has a fabulous reputation but I know that she's oversubscribed and probably isn't taking new patients.

Great suggestion but I better get another name. But it was encouraging that he recommended a doctor who is so well regarded. He then mentioned an African woman.

I had heard that my old gynecologist, before Dr. K, was working with her. That Gyn is also retired but she had already started her own practice.

The pediatrician asks his secretary to look her up. Not finding her... My son was with me, having just had an injection. He then pipes up "Try spelling it with a 'D' like this..."

So when did my son become an expert in African name spellings??

"Well, there's a guy at school... Really tall and I know his parents are African."

Sure enough, up it popped!

I went over there and there wasn't anyone at the desk. A tall black woman in a white coat comes out. I said "Bonjour" and asked if she was taking new patients. My history is a little complicated... Sure. Wait, I had to tell her. I used to be with the gynecologist who she worked with and it ended badly.

"Really? What happened?" I told her that I was having symptoms and that Dr. N. (yes, the radiologist, again...) said brightly that I had a progesterone deficiency. I had to go back to the gynecologist because "I'm a radiologist. I can't help you". Well yeah, found something my gyn missed. Ugh.

She stops the story right there. "Dr. X thought that it was all in your head?" Yes! She flipped her hand up "Oh he said that about everybody..."




We made an apt. and I asked her if she had a son at the same high school as my son. Yup. Our sons are friends. Then she adds "My son is very social. He knows everyone!"

I danced out of there a happy camper.

Meanwhile, I mentioned this to a friend who had a funny story. She's African-American and once, at a parents' meeting, a French woman approached her and started spilling out all this personal medical stuff. My girlfriend was intrigued. This is very unusual, culturally speaking, for a Frenchwoman to do. My friend realized that this woman was mistaking her for someone else. Someone else who's a doctor...

My friend had to cut her off. I think you're mistaken, etc. She assured this woman that anything she had shared would be kept in confidence.

The woman looked like she was going to die of embarrassment. She couldn't even look my friend in the eye at other events...

"Poor thing!" I exclaimed. "Poor thing nothing!" my friend retorted. "Serves her right for thinking all niggers look the same!"

The day of my appointment came. I brought all my files in a bag. A big bag. She dumped them on her desk and started going through them.

She asked all the detailed questions. I was able to blurt it all out like a machine. Three births, epidural only on the second, etc.

She held up the MRI. "You can keep that one. I have two" remembering the amusing scene when Dr. N. ordered a copy after I had turned his office upside down. "No, not that. You had this before the surgery. Where are the ones afterward?"

Ones afterward?!? This sounded hopeful. Out spouted the story of the Quest of a Screening MRI. The surgeon, the GP and the two last gynecologists had said no. Dr. N. was ready to order it himself. My sister back in the U.S. was getting them every year, and had not had breast cancer.

"Oh no! But mammograms are useless on you with your dense breast tissue". Yes!!!! "We need to order another one". She picks up the phone and calls Dr. N.'s office. "Dec. 19th?" "No, I'm not there..." Whoa. She wants this MRI and now! January 13th was the date. "Go over there once you're finished here. Get the prescription and confirm this appointment." Noooo problem!

She did the exam and there were some more ovarian cysts. She could see them. She's not thrilled with the laizzez-faire attitude I had so far. "We might MRI these too." Oh let me face the Ovarian Cyst Question when I'm faced with it.

I jumped in the car and drove the two blocks to the hospital where I gave birth and had my operation.

I walked in and Dr. N. showed up at the desk. "I'm getting the MRI. Look!" I said excitedly. He had a blank look. "False positives..." he mumbled.

Sigh. Dr. N, we talked about this, I told him, exasperated. Tell me, if you see something, can you do an ultrasound right away? Yes. Then I'm good. See you on the 13th.




Yes, I was nervous going out the the Building Where My Cancer was Found but excited to check out the new MRI machine. They had majorly redone the office to accommodate the machine. There were now two waiting rooms. I was sent to the back.



Dr. N. called another patient in. He smiled and said hello quickly but I knew I wouldn't see him for awhile. I went into the back room. Undressed, tech arrived. Right side, all needles. Okay. MRI machines are noisy so I could hear the patient before me. Lots of humming and clicking. I could also hear Dr. N's voice through the walls but I couldn't make out the words. Thin walls. He's not that loud.



When I came in, I realized that not taking Xanax was not a good idea. I kind of panicked and had to be pulled out of the machine. I couldn't breathe and trying to breathe made me move too much. They were able to raise the face form, which helped but not entirely. I was still getting over a nasty chest infection but didn't want to delay this.



Please tell me when you're halfway through. No problem. They forgot. The music also stopped so I was stuck hearing the machine.


I was relieved when they pulled me out again. Glad to have it over. Needle out, clothes back on...


I ran into him again in the hallway. He shook my hand and asked me how I was. Using a line I've told him before "It's YOU who will tell me how I am!" "No, no, how were your holidays? How are you doing?"

I stood there silently, staring at him with my best "I'm not in the mood for small talk" face.

I haven't looked at your results yet, he confesses, smiling. Go do that and then we can talk, I told him as I marched down the hall to the waiting room.


He comes into the waiting room and announces that "all is good" and hands my file over to the secretary. "Great, but is that all? No ultrasound needed? Aren't you going to show it to me??"

He stops. "Okay! come back here with me..." turning and grabbing the file back.



Confession; I wanted to see the cool machine that shows the layers but he just showed me the printed up version. But it was all boring and blank, compared to the MRI I had had just over two years earlier. "See, nothing..."

I can't remember how we got off-subject but it happens every time. His nephew got into Harvard. Oh sweet. He's thinking of medicine. Really? Please don't mention your non-medical daughters again. Please, I thought to myself... Maybe this will make up.

"Look, they visited me this summer! And Dr. G. had him and my brother observe surgery!" He shows smiling Asian dad and son in surgical scrubs, looking very happy, on his cell phone. I noticed it wasn't Apple, so that explains why he was lost with mine.

I was actually growling on the inside. This was the same doctor who explained that my husband couldn't be in the operating room if I had needed a C-section because the minimum number can be in the room... Grrrrrr! But I didn't say anything. I hadn't needed a C-section and it was 16 years ago...



"Oh lucky them!" I said, sort of sincerely. I had a question of my own.


While I was in the waiting room, I had pulled up his brother's project, the brother who got to watch the surgery, and screenshotted two pictures. One was of them playing baseball. The other of his family, the day they left for France. Which ones are you?


The guy hitting the bat. Oh good! He pointed out the barracks behind, where they stayed.

The other, he pointed to himself. There's the older brother. Correct. He's 17 and you're 14. This is your little brother? How old is he?

"We're the same age. We're twins."
"Fraternal, right?'
"No. Identical..."

Seriously, there are two of them??


"Wait! I'll show you..." He scrambled through his photos.
"Here, this is us at Christmas!"

OMG there they were. Same hair. Both had their hands laced (a common gesture Dr. N. does) Same smile. Kind of.
"This is me on the left." He didn't need to tell me that. I knew instinctively which one he was. Something very subtly different in the other one, who is an orthopedist in the Paris region.
I swear I giggled like a school girl. It was just so cute. I guess my unique radiologist isn't so unique after all! Maybe it's kind of scary that there are two of them in the world...

So long without an update!

I feel guilty about it.

The thyroid apt. went fine. They're still not concerned.

In May, I had to return to Dr. N. for my annual check. I remembered the eight tiny swans I saw the year before and how I saw that as a sign of good luck (8 being lucky for Chinese but since I'm a Sinofile...) It was too cold to go swan seeking this time. It was again, a clear day but cold for the season.

I walked in and saw some friends from the synagogue. Their daughter had had breast cancer. She's fine now but this was the mom's turn to get checked. Added to that, there was a death of another member of that synagogue and the mom and dad were worried about getting to the funeral on time.

I came up to the counter. Dr. N. sees me and while still on the phone, runs over to shake my hand. Nice to see you too, but, asking the secretary, would you mind swapping with Madame W. who has a funeral to get to afterwards?

The changed the procedure. You go in for the mammo and then wait for the ultrasound. I saw Madame W. come out but missed her afterwards. Later on, they told me they made it on time...

But while sitting there, I was comforting her, which was kind of absurd since I'm the one who has had breast cancer, not her.

Then, while waiting for Dr. N. in the room, I realized that my attempts at being a Good Samaritan didn't work in my favor. In fact, I was now more nervous than when I arrived.

He burst into the room with a big smile. Shook my hand again. Looking away he laughed. "You're nervous!" Okay, sweaty palms. Dr. No Filters!

Then, in a rather strange gesture, he pulled my arm up. I couldn't figure out what he was doing but somehow moved my hand around. Next thing I knew, he had planted my hand, with his on top, on my thigh. I looked down, in sort of a disbelief and then felt his arm around my shoulder. Then he whispered, very softly, "Don't be afraid" ("Il ne faut pas avoir peur").

I think, for a moment, the world stopped turning. My brain was awash in disbelief and absolute terror. At the same time, I wanted to burst into tears and was afraid I would. But then again, he's seen enough of my tears already...

This tender gesture, surrounded by all these humming and blinking machines, juxtaposed by this very human moment. I gripped his hands and tried to relax.

Finally, I was the one who had to end it. I leaned over and, almost amusingly, started unzipping my top. In any other circumstances, it would have been interpreted differently but to him, it meant getting to work.

He mumbled something about having to start it. Having done this for 15 years, we have it down to a routine but it just feels different after the cancer.

Then I showed him my ovarian cyst scans from my last gynecological visit. "Totally benign. Nothing to worry about..." 

I tried to tell him about Dr. B. and my less-than-stellar encounter. He processed it all wrong. I wanted to tell him how I "defended" him to Dr. B. but Dr. N. took it as I was really upset by it all. He didn't interpret what I was saying correctly. I was quite proud of myself, but Dr. N. started comforting me, saying I never had to go back to him again. He'd do my next thyroid scan, which wasn't the first time he's offered.

"I'll take care of you. You don't have to go back there..."

Um, thanks?

Nothing found. Sure? He's always sure. I start to get ready. He started to talk about Vietnam again and of the 40th anniversary. He saw the Rory Kennedy documentary and liked it. Oh yes, what happened for that? Nothing here but back in Vietnam, with a tone of disgust, yes, they celebrated it.

But, his brother had put together something, I didn't get what, about their trip to the U.S. "It explains it all..." Oh that's great!

Would I like to see it?

Oh my goodness yes! Did he even need to ask? I was so curious now.

"I need your email..." and he started looking around.

What are you doing?

Looking for a piece of paper. I started getting dressed.

You don't need to, I said to him, holding my iPhone. I had tapped on my email address and set up a message.

He walked back over to me and I handed him the iPhone. He held it like I had just handed him a newborn baby. He looked at me blankly.

It was all I could do (partly over relief over my results) to not burst out laughing. Here I was, surrounded by machines that I couldn't begin to even figure out where the "on" button was. Here was my trusted radiologist who manipulates them all day, can't figure out how an email is sent on an iPhone?

Trying not to sound diplomatic, I said carefully "You're going to send yourself a message from my email account. Then when you look at your messages, you'll know it's correct and only have to respond to it, with the attachment."

The light goes on. He then ponders what to put in the subject line. "It doesn't matter. Just put anything. I'll know what it is..." He decided to put the title his brother gave it. He also wanted to show me his email, which actually was very clever and I let him know.

I'm thinking, I bet the others out in the waiting room are really hating me right now!

Sent. Said goodbye. See you in February for the thyroid...

At lunch, about an hour later, I had the email. It was fabulous! His brother put together a sort of Powerpoint show with photos of the boats they took, how Saigon fell, pictures of his family in the refugee camps, even a copy of the bilingual newspaper they put out in the camp. There was even a photo of him and his family, on the day they left the refugee camp in Pennsylvania in October of 1975.

I looked at the map. I had spent the summer of '75 only a few miles away. How funny. We were about an hours' drive away, all summer and he ends up my doctor in Strasbourg, France.

He replied with the link, and nothing else! Totally blank message. Here was all this rather personal information, and not even a "here's the link I told you about". Nada. I had to laugh.

Not even an hour later, another email arrives, from another account with the link to the "Last Days in Vietnam". It actually wasn't. He sent the link to the trailer by accident, but I looked at the strip on the right on YouTube and found it. They posted it on April 30, 2015. It was wonderful.

The brother has a very astute sense of humor. He had little jokes sort of written into what is really, a very harrowing account.

Basically, he and his siblings were originally sent to the U.S. They escaped with extended family. The uncles decided to stay while he and his siblings were reunited with their parents who were already in France. His brother ended up marrying a woman he met in the refugee camp and moving back to the U.S.

But it answered my question. He did not fly on Pan Am. Some charter company I'd never heard of. I must admit, I was a little disappointed!

I wrote him back, and thanked him. Told him that his brother had a good sense of humor. Told him he sent the wrong link, and gave him the correct one;

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTqF_AR4s60

Never heard back. Wasn't surprised. 

Thyroid scan

I returned for my now-yearly appointment with the endocrinologist. First, I had to return to the other radiologist.

I honestly messed up the day. When I was changing calendars, I messed up the date of this appointment which I made before New Year's. I walked in and the secretary was amused. "He's not here today". Oh great! Last time I went towards the street with his name, instead of his office (luckily not far) and this time, I mess up the date!

Oh and I can't find the order from the endocrinologist. Who is it? Oh her... same procedure as last time? You don't need it. I can get it, really. No, not needed.

Famous last words.

I walk in 24 hours later, at the actual time of my appointment. Where is the order? Um, I was told I didn't need it. Secretary I spoke to, of course, wasn't there.

I can get it, really. We'll cancel and I'll reschedule. Not necessary. Okay fine. Dr. Wrong Street walks in and then starts in on me for not having that piece of paper! So I recounted all that bit about not needing it, etc. I wasn't digging his attitude so I finally blurted it out... "I'm just a bad girl. You know I've had the same radiologist for 14 years and I don't need orders. He has all my stuff in the computer and I just make an appointment.

"I think it's time you changed radiologists." I was shocked he said that.

"Never" I snapped. "You know Dr. N. found my cancer so early I didn't need either a mastectomy or chemo." I said it slowly too, on purpose.

Can't wait to tell Dr. N.!!!! He's going to die when he hears that!

Then, he won't tell me anything he found. I asked. He said I'd talk to her. Great. I will. 

Of course I can be glib. I really didn't think it was anything serious. Everyone has told me 10,000 times that this isn't serious. If anything were a concern (and we are talking thyroid here) then even he wouldn't play this game. 

Actually, he's RIGHT. I am going to change radiologists, just the one who does my thyroid. If my endocrinologist doesn't like the way Dr. N. does my thyroid, I'll just have to get another endocrinologist. My shadow is not crossing that other radiologist's door EVER.