I Can’t Believe I Need an Oncologist!

Three days after my diagnostic mammogram, Dear Hubby and I met with Surgeon #1 for preliminary discussion about the results. With a serious expression on his face, the surgeon rated my newly discovered mass a 5 on the “suspicious scale” of 1-5. This rating was due to the lump’s size and my family history.

My initial oncology appointment was therefore made that very day, even before my biopsy was scheduled.

There seemed to be a real sense of urgency. Perhaps doctors have some kind of intuition about these things, although of course, Surgeon #1 emphasized the oncology appointment could easily be canceled if it was found to be unnecessary should my biopsy result turn out to be negative.

Somehow, I knew right then and there we would not be canceling it. Women have intuition too.

Of course, my biopsy did reveal cancer and we had to keep that oncology appointment.

Things were on a roll. I had entered the “cancer treatment tunnel” literally walking around in a daze as I began the process of trying to soak up volumes of information and trying to compile lists of questions.

When I walked through the doors of my oncologist’s office merely days after that meeting with Surgeon #1, all I could think was, shit – I can’t believe I need an oncologist. For ME. That would mean I have cancer. You do have cancer, I had to tell myself over and over again.

I couldn’t quite fathom this new reality. I guess I was still a bit in denial.

As I studied my oncologist’s neatly framed certificates on the wall and looked around the room while sitting there fidgeting under the buzzing florescent lights, I had the uncanny feeling of deja vu.

Not that long ago, I had been sitting in a similarly appointed oncology exam room discussing my mother’s cancer with her oncologist.

How could this be happening to me already?

Many things were discussed that day, but the main decision agreed upon by all was the need for me to be immediately tested for the BRCA 2 gene mutation. Since we now knew my mother had been a carrier of this mutation, I had a 50-50 chance of having it as well.

The result of this test would determine my immediate future.

A positive result would mean a bilateral mastectomy unless I truly wanted to tempt fate. On the other hand, a negative result would mean being treated like the general population of women with a lump of similar size and a lumpectomy would be a possibility.

Suddenly, I sure wanted to be a woman of the general population sort.  

The genetic test result would take about two weeks to come back. We had two weeks to contemplate and prepare ourselves for whatever the future held.

Suddenly a great deal was riding on a simple blood test.

Next, we needed a consultation with Surgeon #2 who would be performing the procedure; we just didn’t know which procedure it would be yet.

In addition, we also now needed to speak with a plastic surgeon just to be prepared, of course, for the possibility of the mastectomy scenario coming true. I never envisioned myself needing a plastic surgeon, but then I never envisioned myself with breast cancer either.

Dear Hubby kept telling me we needed to wait for the test results and see what happened, but somehow I already knew what the results would be.

Again, women have intuition too.

Even now, I still can’t believe I need an oncologist. In fact, I likely always will.

Have you ever had intuition about a test result that turned out to be accurate?

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