16. I Choose ...

Do you know how you'd respond if you were told you had breast cancer? Over the past four years, I've heard answers that cover the spectrum:

• No question, cut 'em off! And no reconstruction! I don't need boobs to be a woman!
• No question, cut 'em off but I must have immediate reconstruction!
• I'd like to save as much of my breast(s) as possible, so maybe just lumpectomy?
• Lumpectomy and radiation
• I have no idea ... what do you think I should do?
• Am I going to die? Will I lose my hair?

Regrettably, the notion that I would ever be confronted with such a question never entered my mind. Hell, I was 34 years old and was just getting used to gray hair and bones that cracked in the morning. Breast cancer - any cancer - was something that just wasn't on my personal radar. That was for older folks to worry about. I wasn't even due for a mammogram (according to national healthcare professionals' recommendations) for another sixteen years or so. So, when the reality of breast cancer came about, I did what the doctors "recommended" ... we've covered that already, though. Now, I'll tell you what I should have done and what the doctors should have counseled me to have done. Emphasis on the words should have ...

My support team that day was comprised of friends Craig and Tammie. Together we waited in Dr. F's small office for a few minutes prior to his grand entrance. He barely looked up over the manilla folder containing my medical records and whatever notes he had in there. He started talking quickly and with a matter-of-fact tone.

"There are several doctors from the tumor board who were adamant that you need a double mastectomy. They think that is the best course of treatment for you," he said. "But, there are also some who think radiation and hormone therapy is best choice."

My decision had already been made in my heart and mind. The choice was clear, correct, and comforting. I knew that by "cutting 'em off" I would be on the path that gave me the greatest odds of long-term survival. That was all that mattered. My goal was (and remains, of course), to be on this Earth as long as necessary for me to accomplish whatever it is that the kids need to learn from me and until the time I'm truly needed elsewhere. Grandma, I'm sure, has a plate of my special oranges waiting for me, someday. (As much as I miss her and many wonderful other family members and dear friends who have passed, I'm content here on Earth for a while longer ... the Good Lord willing.)

The counsel of Dr. R combined with the opinions of many others "in the know" and, of course, my personal gut feeling, had started me down this path. It had become quite evident that with my specific case factors (we've covered them, but in case you've forgotten - young age, family history, bilateral diagnosis, invasive and still in my chest tumor), that the botched lumpectomy with radiation wasn't going to be my best course of treatment.

"What do you think, Dr. F?" I asked. The next words out of his mouth are soundly and permanently ingrained in my memory.

"I don't like to cut into people if I don't have to," he said.

At that moment, I knew my response would be critical to everything that would happen on my journey of fighting breast cancer. The oncologist's opinion that it wasn't necessary could have led me to doubt, question or back away from the decision I had made. I could wander back into the land of wondering what I should do and maybe this doctor does know best. Therein such thinking, however, I would not find the peace I had felt when I walked into his office.

"Well, I want a double mastectomy with immediate reconstruction," I replied. I was strong, confident and purposeful.

He answered back, "Well, it may not necessarily be" ... I cut him off.

"I've made the decision. This is what is best for me and my odds of beating this." I refused to back down. He had letters after his name that proved his intelligence and education, sure. However, I had my gut feeling, my Grandma's voice of reason, and a tumor in my chest fighting to get out all on my side. I didn't need doctorate letters after my name. This was my chest, my life and, therefore, my decision.