Nice morning. Parked at Adassa and walked Davina to her school, since it was close by and the traffic is awful in the morning. Didn't even have to pay for parking since it starts at 9am. Davina starts school at 8:10 and my appointment was at 8:15.
Davina scampers off and I head back to Adassa. Dr. G. greets me with a "Yom Tov" since it's Shavuot and I wish him the same. I sit down in the same seat where he told me I wouldn't need chemo. Then he takes off without explanation. I can hear his voice in the hall. I look around. No diplomas displayed. American doctors usually frame and post them. I never see them in French doctor's waiting rooms. Dr. N. has a bunch of photos of S.E. Asia but Dr. G. seemed to have a lot of African art around, some of which I remembered from his Ob-Gyn office across town, 15 years ago, when I was pregnant for the first time and he was still just a Ob-Gyn. New location and roles, both of us...
I was braced for a confrontation so I took the High Ground. When he finally pops back in, I stand up, hand him Dr. N.'s envelope and say brightly "Good news!"
I didn't need to tell him what it was. He quickly slid everything out and started popping the mammogram images on the light screen. He then ripped into the ultrasound papers like a kid with a new comic book.
I waited but no question came. He didn't ask how or why and he was pleased.
I'm trying to remember how we changed subjects but I explained about the Tamoxifen, and the side effects. I made it very clear that these were not bad enough to justify any anti-depressants. Not even sure if they're really "hot flashes". I kind of get warm and sweat sometimes? So I did this... and put a mini ziplock with the odd looking homeopathic remedies on his desk. "I went to see a Dr. B..."
I thought, he won't like this! So wrong I was. He knows him! Dr. B. has worked with oncology patients for years. His remedies actually work!
Dr. G., a homeopathic sympathizer?
Well, I had to so something... Can't say yet if it works... Thought it couldn't hurt...
Then he asks carefully "But are you still on the Tamoxifen?"
"Um, you told me that I had 100% markers for both hormones. How many cancer patients even have the option of taking a pill to reduce the chances of a reoccurrence?"
He puts his hand over his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "I don't know how many times I repeat those words every week. But they have side effects and want to stop it..." I assured him that stopping wasn't on the table. I don't want this again!
I went over some odd points. Soy products are fine.
So we do the exam. I was a little concerned about the pain under my left arm. Every BC survivor fears the dreaded lymphedema (look it up if you want, not pretty!) which can show up long after the lymph nodes were removed. No, it's not that. I explained about the swimming. He explained that my flesh, frozen by the rads, is coming back to life slowly and the swimming is pulling on it. That's all. Promise.
The lump is still there but it's scar tissue and might take ages to leave.
The exam is much more thorough than usual. He really presses down on it. Doesn't hurt.
He says the scars look good. I think they're ugly but don't tell him! Softening up well but I think they still have a long way to go.
I dress and sit back down at his desk. He's looking at my results one last time and putting them together. I bring up the Dreaded Subject. I explain about the strange periods. Um, wondering if you wanted to...take anything out?
No. Not even with the odd cycles? "That's just the Tamoxifen!" Well, yes, it is but Tamoxifen does carry a slight risk of uterine cancer and BC survivors also have a slightly higher chance of ovarian cancer. I'm 50 and I was convinced that he'd mention removing some stuff. I can't say I'd be against it either.
No. No need to remove anything. No further surgeries needed.
I kind of let it drop because that's really more the call for the gynecologist. Also, I'd need another surgeon anyway, since he just does breasts. I don't think this subject is entirely off the table but no use discussing it further.
"You realized everything worked out really well for you. You know that..."
Yes, I did, I assured him. I told him I'd had some bad news a few days ago. I can't go into details but wanted to know if there was anywhere or anyone who specialized in Triple Negative Breast Cancer (TNBC). No, he said "I hate that one. We all see it." Not comforting! He made it clear he can't talk about another case...
"You realize how lucky you are. Are you..." and the word he used in French was "contente" which is happy/contented/satisfied (as opposed to "heureux" which translates as "happy")
I'm contente. Yes, I know. I don't take it for granted. I'm not sure if he really believes it or not. It doesn't matter. "Don't forget these" he says, handing me my envelope as I leave.
I did not mention the MRI Dr. N. has planned for the fall.
He originally said once a year but the secretary says he wants to see me in 6 months so I book a date for Dec.
Davina scampers off and I head back to Adassa. Dr. G. greets me with a "Yom Tov" since it's Shavuot and I wish him the same. I sit down in the same seat where he told me I wouldn't need chemo. Then he takes off without explanation. I can hear his voice in the hall. I look around. No diplomas displayed. American doctors usually frame and post them. I never see them in French doctor's waiting rooms. Dr. N. has a bunch of photos of S.E. Asia but Dr. G. seemed to have a lot of African art around, some of which I remembered from his Ob-Gyn office across town, 15 years ago, when I was pregnant for the first time and he was still just a Ob-Gyn. New location and roles, both of us...
I was braced for a confrontation so I took the High Ground. When he finally pops back in, I stand up, hand him Dr. N.'s envelope and say brightly "Good news!"
I didn't need to tell him what it was. He quickly slid everything out and started popping the mammogram images on the light screen. He then ripped into the ultrasound papers like a kid with a new comic book.
I waited but no question came. He didn't ask how or why and he was pleased.
I'm trying to remember how we changed subjects but I explained about the Tamoxifen, and the side effects. I made it very clear that these were not bad enough to justify any anti-depressants. Not even sure if they're really "hot flashes". I kind of get warm and sweat sometimes? So I did this... and put a mini ziplock with the odd looking homeopathic remedies on his desk. "I went to see a Dr. B..."
I thought, he won't like this! So wrong I was. He knows him! Dr. B. has worked with oncology patients for years. His remedies actually work!
Dr. G., a homeopathic sympathizer?
Well, I had to so something... Can't say yet if it works... Thought it couldn't hurt...
Then he asks carefully "But are you still on the Tamoxifen?"
"Um, you told me that I had 100% markers for both hormones. How many cancer patients even have the option of taking a pill to reduce the chances of a reoccurrence?"
He puts his hand over his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "I don't know how many times I repeat those words every week. But they have side effects and want to stop it..." I assured him that stopping wasn't on the table. I don't want this again!
I went over some odd points. Soy products are fine.
So we do the exam. I was a little concerned about the pain under my left arm. Every BC survivor fears the dreaded lymphedema (look it up if you want, not pretty!) which can show up long after the lymph nodes were removed. No, it's not that. I explained about the swimming. He explained that my flesh, frozen by the rads, is coming back to life slowly and the swimming is pulling on it. That's all. Promise.
The lump is still there but it's scar tissue and might take ages to leave.
The exam is much more thorough than usual. He really presses down on it. Doesn't hurt.
He says the scars look good. I think they're ugly but don't tell him! Softening up well but I think they still have a long way to go.
I dress and sit back down at his desk. He's looking at my results one last time and putting them together. I bring up the Dreaded Subject. I explain about the strange periods. Um, wondering if you wanted to...take anything out?
No. Not even with the odd cycles? "That's just the Tamoxifen!" Well, yes, it is but Tamoxifen does carry a slight risk of uterine cancer and BC survivors also have a slightly higher chance of ovarian cancer. I'm 50 and I was convinced that he'd mention removing some stuff. I can't say I'd be against it either.
No. No need to remove anything. No further surgeries needed.
I kind of let it drop because that's really more the call for the gynecologist. Also, I'd need another surgeon anyway, since he just does breasts. I don't think this subject is entirely off the table but no use discussing it further.
"You realized everything worked out really well for you. You know that..."
Yes, I did, I assured him. I told him I'd had some bad news a few days ago. I can't go into details but wanted to know if there was anywhere or anyone who specialized in Triple Negative Breast Cancer (TNBC). No, he said "I hate that one. We all see it." Not comforting! He made it clear he can't talk about another case...
"You realize how lucky you are. Are you..." and the word he used in French was "contente" which is happy/contented/satisfied (as opposed to "heureux" which translates as "happy")
I'm contente. Yes, I know. I don't take it for granted. I'm not sure if he really believes it or not. It doesn't matter. "Don't forget these" he says, handing me my envelope as I leave.
I did not mention the MRI Dr. N. has planned for the fall.
He originally said once a year but the secretary says he wants to see me in 6 months so I book a date for Dec.
No comments:
Post a Comment