9. Where's The Instruction Guide?

First-time parents often wish their newborn came with an instruction manual.I've heard many mothers and fathers say with disbelief, "I can't believe they just sent me home with this thing, this baby that I was totally responsible for keeping alive! What were they thinking?!"
 
Similarly, despite the many bookstore shelves and online storefronts lined with books about how to concur, destroy and outlive cancer, when you are diagnosed with cancer, you, like new parents, are not given a manual. (And those previously mentioned so-called informational brochures are practically useless. They just show people smiling, hugging one another, and tell you to talk to your doctor. Awesome, thanks for the advice.) Sure, there are books available on many aspects of dealing with cancer; I've purchased, borrowed, and read most of them. Topics from how juicing and natural foods as part of an organic-diet are the true answers to beating cancer to inspirational stories shared by survivors offering their opinions as the only way to battle cancer, well, there is no shortage of information out there, I concede. However, there is no master guide that tells you exactly what you should do, what questions to ask, explains every possible type and stage of your cancer, and details every treatment option available. The reason for this is simple. No two cases of cancer (and all that accompanies that diagnosis) are identical. There is no one way, one best-path to beat it. So, you rely on the experts - the doctors - to guide you on the best path for you. You put your trust in them and do what they say. (Right?)

Once my friend comprehended and accepted that yes, 'twas I with the lump and not my beloved canine child, she insisted on accompanying me to the consultation with the surgeon. I sat in the tiny exam room with both my friend (Beth) and my driver, uh, I mean Craig on either side of me. Dr. L knocked and entered the room and introductions were made. His brow raised a bit as he studied my file. "You're how old?" Yeah, I know. Too young for this kind of thing. "And your grandmother had breast cancer?" Yeah, she was 34 when diagnosed and had a mastectomy at 35. "And I see your mammograms and tests reveal bilateral cancerous findings, hmm."

To the authors of the beating cancer textbook (that doesn't exist), here's where you raise a very important HUGE red flag to your patient/reader. Patient is 34 years young, has a grandmother who had cancer, cancer is bilateral - a general surgeon is not the right surgeon for this patient!

But indeed, the office in which I sat, discussing plans for a double-lumpectomy and possible radiation, was that of the county hospital's general surgeon. The three of us in that room without medical degrees thought boy, are we lucky to have such a nice doctor, he must know what he's doing. He even said this is what he'd do if this was his daughter. He must deal with this kind of thing all day, every day, so let's do it! Heck, he says with a double lumpectomy and radiation it'll all be just fine and it'll be just as effective as, and less invasive than, mastectomy. He must be the best. Wonder if he graduated top in his class.

(Side note here. My comments here about this particular doctor are not meant as anything personally negative about the man. He was, indeed, kind and professional. As I'd learn in the days, weeks, and months to come, he was not, however, the doctor to whom I should have been referred. We'll get to that later, too.)

The surgery coordinator/scheduler put the caller on hold and shifted her attention to the lurking Dr. L. "She's here with her parents, let's get her scheduled," he told her. (Yes, both Craig and Beth heard that and shuttered. My parents are in Utah and these are my friends, but I didn't feel the need to explain all this to the scheduler.) "And we've got you scheduled for the right side redo biopsy on Thursday at 1pm," Dr. L informed me.

"How does June 24th work for you?" the scheduler asked of me. I turned to Craig, "How do you feel about spending your birthday in the waiting room while I have surgery?"

I reported, as instructed, the next day to the pre-surgery consultation at the hospital. I filled out the requisite forms, nothing major, just my Advanced Directive (!!) and such, and was given instructions to not eat or drink anything after 6pm the night prior to surgery. The kind lady gave me two stuffed pillows, shaped like hearts. A local charity organization makes them for the hospital to distribute to breast cancer patients for comfort during recovery. I had no other questions for her and prepared to leave. Almost made it out the door before Craig spoke up and asked the question I was not going to ask. (If I didn't ask, she couldn't tell me no. Made sense to me.)

"Oh, question for you. She's scheduled to get a tattoo. Is that okay to do before surgery?" Craig inquired.

"Well, it's best if she waits until after surgery. If she were to get infection, that would put off surgery until the infection cleared up and you don't really want to do that," she replied. You had to ask, eh Craig?! I had scheduled my appointment already for 4pm that day and I was so disappointed to think I'd have to cancel.

I got my very first tattoo a few years before then, while visiting my sister in Arizona. It was a small one ... just the initials of my nieces and nephews. After that, I got the tattoo bug. (When you hear that tattoos are addictive, trust me, they are.) After that first tat, I added a Scottish flag and thistle to my back/shoulder, a tribute to my late grandmother on my other back/shoulder, a sentiment to my sisters on my inside wrist and, well, maybe one or two others as well. 

While I was (and remain) incredibly proud of each of my tattoos, I'm most proud of the one on my outside left ankle. Chris (shoutout here to Chris at River City Tattoo in Old Sac) did a great job with the color and detail in the words. Best of all, my pink-ribbon tattoo was totally healed-up (okay, and hidden with the hospital socks) come the morning of June 24th.