(Cancerventures Book Excerpt)
… Will This Appointment with the New Surgeon Be a “Meet-Cute?”
I know. That’s probably asking too much.
But could we be on any kind of respectful same page? That’s probably more realistic… and to be determined.
I was fresh from my CA 27.29 blood test. Russell and I went upstairs, from Cancer Care, taking two elevators, to get to the second floor. We checked in for my appointment with Dr. W.* I read to pass the time; Russell played a game on his phone.
A nurse came out, “Sheryle?”
Here we go. Russell and I were ushered into the exam room. My blood pressure was taken: 113 over 75.
“Now, this is the first time you’ve met, right?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, you’re just going to love Dr. W.!”
I chose not to hop on that enthusiasm train. I said nothing in response.
“Okay, well, just change into the gown, opened to the front. The doctor will be in
shortly.”
I chatted with Russell, mid-story about my Tweety Bird Band Aid from the CA 27.29, when, knock-knock.
In walked my new surgeon. Outstretched hand, big smile.
“Nice to meet you…Nice to meet you…This is my husband, Russell…”
Okay, let’s get into it.
There was the introductory stuff about how Dr. M. had written notes about my situation. I envisioned scandalous things being said, like, “this patient thinks she is going to beat cancer…she’s delusional… she’ll probably argue with you…” I know. Doctors’ notes are supposed to be strictly professional, but really, I mean, there must be some dirt in there too, right? A head’s up warning about a patient who dares to challenge the infallible doctor?
I was asked if I had questions or concerns. I mentioned adjusting to my new normal body and what it should look like, at this point.
“Raise your arms.” I did.
“Oooh. Great range of motion.”
With the few post-surgery exercises I still was doing, I was able to reach, pick up things and function; I could use my arms.
Dr. W. then walked over to me, “feeling me up,” first on the left side…
“This seems normal, nothing going on here…” The words dovetailed into each other, almost muttering.
“Yeah, that’s the unaffected side.” I couldn’t help myself, chiming in.
Moving over to my right side, “Yeah, this feels slightly raised from the radiation. That’s common,” checking my arm pit area, “Yeah, I can feel you’re tight here, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
Continuing to probe, Dr. W. scaled along my scar line.
“Nothing feels abnormal. I’ll place an order for physical therapy again.”
I asked questions about Lymphedema, the lifelong need for physical therapy, which may be a possibility. I was reassured my scar site did not feel like I had Lymphedema. Because I only had one node removed, there was a one percent chance of developing the condition; radiation boosted it to ten percent. So, highly unlikely.
The pouch-y, fleshy area just under my arm, I learned, was referred to in the medical community as a “dog- ear flap,” and was just the remaining tissue of me collected in that spot.
So, this exam was easy, uneventful, non-jarring. No challenging of my choices, no lecturing, no death threats. I detected no God aura in Dr. W. The nurse came back in to schedule my six- month appointment in November and that was that.
Okay, I think I can work with Dr. W.
Post-appointment, in the elevator ride downstairs, Russell and I talked.
“I wish I could have gotten Dr. W. instead of Dr. M. for my surgery.”
“Well, this was after the fact. If they had done your surgery, you might have encountered the exact same thing.”
Hmm. You just don’t know.
It was reassuring to see that, at least, from this one brief encounter, a surgeon could possibly be different. I could, likewise, have a different experience, a better one, with that person. I know I’m not objective to grade these specialists. Everyone has their own style and personality. And sometimes, it truly is about two personalities just not coming together very well.
Leading up to this appointment, I prepared myself with battle strategies, including fleeing and filing a formal complaint against the clinic. And I didn’t have touse them.
As great as this appointment went- and it did go well- I strongly advise having at least one or two strategies for handling a situation. You just don’t know who you’ll encounter. It may be ho-hum, business as usual, it may be kismet and you’ve, indeed, found a new best friend. Or it could be tense, frustrating, and fear-inducing- or any shade of grey within any ofthose possibilities.
The lesson: trust your gut; know thyself. If something is not working, you don’t have to stay tied to it. There are other doctors. No, it’s not convenient to go shopping for them, but you shouldn’t have to feel trapped by a health care professional, either.
Now, before you think I classify Dr. M. as some Nazi, let me clarify things. My experience with this individual was not what I hoped it to be.
But did this surgeon give me information? Yes.
Did this person do a good job, as far as my surgery went? Yes, I think so.
For the most part, I haven’t had problems with my scar site. I had no infections, only the uncomfortable breast plate feeling I still contend with and the “dog-ear flap” (woof). I’m doing okay.
But I don’t know what constitutes a great surgery versus a mediocre surgery. And a scary movie kind of surgery, with results, like infection, a botched scar site, excessive bleeding, and dramatic complications would speak for itself as being a bad surgery experience.
If I knew I could have a positive communication experience with Dr. W. in the entire process of my appointments through, ultimately, my breast surgery and beyond, yes, I probably would have preferred Dr. W. to Dr. M…
