Thursday at 10am I had a follow-up appointment with Dr. Singhal. I was carefully packaged (escorted into my seat) and wrapped (towels as padding from the seat-belt) in the car and driven to her office. It was time to evaluate how well I was healing. (Healing physically that is; the emotional and mental healing, well, a story for a different time.)
My entourage accompanied me. I felt a mix of semi-celebrity meets wimpy-patient as my crew of Anne, Cheryl and Craig helped me into Dr. Singhal's new, state of the art, very clean and sterile, exam room. I was put on the exam table while Craig took out a newspaper and had a seat. Anne and Cheryl stood over me, protecting me from any potential harm that might fall upon my chest. Dr. Singhal entered the room, cheery and bubbly as ever.
"Ouch, dang! I hate that damn light!" she exclaimed as she ducked and recovered from having hit her head on the overhanging exam light. "We could have had the track lighting, but that would have cost like $20,000 dollars and that's just wrong to spend that much money on a light." My doctor was so awesome. Cheryl laughed and admired the logic of Dr. Singhal.
The pink tube top was removed and I could breathe. At that moment I realized my life since Monday after surgery had been nothing short of miracle. I hadn't really taken a breath in four days; how was I still alive?! I wanted to suck in as much air as I could as I was finally, though temporarily, free from the constraint of that damn tube top. But it hurt too much to take deep breaths, so I continued with the shallow breathing technique I had mastered over recent days.
"Looks good. No infection. How are you doing on the pain medication?" Dr. Singhal asked. Someone briefed her on the events of the past few days. "Yeah, stick with the Ibuprofen if you can. That other stuff is really hard on the stomach. So, any questions right now for me?"
"Did you get it all?" I asked of her.
"Of course. That's my job," she replied. "But while we're on the subject..." Oh boy. This couldn't be good. My imagination took off. Maybe it had spread. Maybe they found I never had cancer and this was all a big oops. Maybe they forgot to put in the spacers for reconstruction. Brain, shut up. Focus on what the doctor has to say.
"The pathologist wants to confirm that there are, in fact, clear margins in one area. The upper quadrant of your right breast, under your armpit area. I'm pretty confident it's all clear. But, to be 100% certain and just to be safe, I have to go back in." (Go back in where? The office? The pathologist's lab?)
She continued, "Let's see, I'm going on vacation next week, so how about the sixteenth?"
I looked at my entourage. Heads were nodding. Whatever Dr. Singhal needed to do was what we were going to do. I realized to where it was she had to return. Surgery was scheduled for November 16th, 2009. So much for giving my incision(s) time to heal.
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