Living on the Other Side of Breast Cancer

It's been a while since writing, but I left town last week to visit my oncologist for my two year checkup since being diagnosed with breast cancer. I emotionally did much better with this visit than the last visit. Maybe because I've been feeling really good or maybe because I took an Alprazolam pill before the visit to help calm nerves.

When she entered the room, she gave me a big smile and boomed, "So good to see you! You look fantastic!"

Uh, OK.

"So, what have you been up to?" she asked. "How are your husband and kids? Do they like living by the beach? I love the beach."

At this point, all of the Alprazolam couldn't have prevented the ensuing panic attack. 'Oh my God, it's bad news. She's buttering me up,' I thought.

So I tried to bring the subject to my medical condition. "Ah, we're going on an extended vacation later this year and I know that I have to wear my arm sleeve on a plane to prevent lymphedema, but is there any else I should be concerned with?"

"Oh no, you're fine. Where are you going?" she asked.

When I told her, she exclaimed, "Oh how fun. I'm going to Africa this summer for two weeks. The first week will be a vacation and the last part will be a medical mission. I love Africa. I went there as a child."

Uh, OK. So I tried again to switch the conversation to medical concerns.

"You know I'm getting my reconstruction in a few months and I'm so ready to get my port out," I said hoping she would just tell me what's wrong. This is really torture.

"Oh, you're going to look great. It's about time to get it done. You can see me for your next visit after your initial surgery. It's too much to do everything at once."

Then she got up to walk out of the room. She escorted me to the appointment scheduler and told her, "Just be flexible with her for her next visit. Sometime this summer would be fine."

Then she turned to me, stretched out her arms and gave me a huge bear hug. "Have fun this summer!" she squealed.

I felt like I had just lived through a bad '70s sitcom skit.

When I walked back to me car, I called my husband who asked, "What did she say?"

"Uh, she's going to Africa this summer," I told him.

"What else?" he asked.

"It's part vacation and medical missionary work," I told him. I'm still in disbelief.

"What else? Didn't she say anything about your blood work?"

"No, nothing." I said.

"Nothing? Not even cholesterol?"

"No, so I guess that means there's nothing to talk about."

With such great news I met my friend Sara for margaritas and Mexican food. She said her oncologist's visit earlier in the week went the same way. We both sat there looking at each other when I had to ask, "You don't think there really IS something and she chickened out telling me do you? Maybe she doesn't want to ruin my summer."

"Nah, that would be unethical," I said calming myself.

When I got home, I confessed to my husband, "You know, I didn't really let myself get too excited about going abroad this summer because I worried if I had a recurrence, what would we do."

But now, no worries about that. Time to shop for espadrilles and cute shorts that cover my hail damaged thighs.

Wondering how many pairs of shorts and jeans to pack?

The Wondering Texan