Her Word

I went to see Dr. Rocco while I was home in California. It was nice to see her, and all their staff too. They are so sweet and friendly and I feel like I belong to them. They were there to help me when I needed it. I feel like they saved my life. Doesn't that make me theirs, in a way? They act like it. It's always a nice day when I have a visit at their office, which is an amazing thing to say, considering why I go there.

Dr. Rocco, as always, made time to sit and talk with me. We talked about how I was doing, but about how she is doing too. She still hopes to get on Oprah and talk about genetic testing. Her young daughter is still interested in becoming a chef. We talked about Liz, the Care Coordinator and why she was having a rough time lately. One of her favorite patients recently died.

We talked about what it was like having only one breast. What I told her was, basically, I don't really mind. I've gotten pretty used to it. If I wear a sports bra and a t-shirt, most people don't even notice. When I dress up to look pretty, plopping Phyllis into my bra means I look just great. Naked, I still feel attractive. Now, I feel interesting too.

This is where it surreal for me. Dr. Rocco, the woman whose words fell out of her mouth when I told her I might not have reconstruction, began to tell me how important it was that women consider the option I had taken. She talked about how painful and stressful reconstruction can be. She described how many surgeries it takes before women are really happy with the shape and appearance of their new breasts. She sighed over the great number of women who never end up really satisfied.

Now it was me with no words in my mouth. What should I say?

I didn't want to insult her or drive any kind of wedge between us by suggesting that this was pure opposite to the attitude she shared with me before my surgery. I still rely on her to keep me safe from cancer. I didn't want to sound accusing or critical of her. I don't FEEL accusing or critical of her. I worship her. I think she's done the absolute best for me that she possibly could. She is so smart, kind, generous, capable, educated and competent. She so obviously cares deeply for her patients and does her very best to see that they are thriving. The fact that she didn't offer me options other than immediate reconstruction has never changed my opinion of her, personally or professionally. It has always seemed to me like proof of how intense the whole culture of breast cancer treatment leans towards pushing the miracles of surgery.

To hear her now, espousing the importance of giving women the choice to forgo reconstruction, or to consider having in later, made my head reel. I was delighted. This was exactly what I hope all breast surgeons tell their patients. "Slow down. Take your time. You have choices. Reconstruction is a complicated, intensive process and not a process to be undertaken lightly."

But I also felt suspicious. At first I was suspicious of her. Did she really mean what she was saying, or was she just humoring me? Did she realize what a change this was from her previous approach? Was she entirely stable? Or, maybe I was the unstable one. Did I really remember correctly what had happened in this office 9 months ago? Had she really looked at me with shock and surprise when I asked about the possibility of NOT seeing a plastic surgeon? Maybe I had made up that story in my head.

The fact that I started questioning my own perception of reality at this point just illustrates how powerful the impulse is to trust a physician's thinking over you own. The pull is especially strong when you've already put yourself in her hands, and feel like your life depends on her good decisions. To doubt her then, is to worry. That's one thing, as a cancer patient, that I've done enough of this past year. I don't want to worry anymore. I want to trust her. I want to know I'm going to be okay as long as I'm in her care. If that means doubting my own memory of how things happened and who said what, so be it.

Except that I don't have the luxury of dismissing my own accounts as distorted over time...because I write it all down.

So I grew angry. Why hadn't she given me this kind of advice? Why had she assumed I would have immediate reconstruction and attempted to design my treatment plan accordingly? Why didn't she encourage me to be brave and face the personal growth that comes with losing a body part rather than push me to risk the the knife and needle.

And then it occurred to me that maybe I was the reason for her changed perspective. Maybe working with me had planted a seed that was blossoming now before me. Perhaps, because of the choice I made and the way I explained it, her future patients would feel encouraged and supported no matter which of the 3 post mastectomy options they chose. Now, later and never might now all be fine times for her patients to get new breasts built.

How proud I felt! I wanted to protect this vision of change, make sure it wasn't a fantasy. I wanted to ask her if she made a point of sharing this information with all her new patients. I wanted to ask her how she introduced the topic of reconstruction to women facing mastectomies. I wanted to know that she wasn't just talking this way to me, trying to make me feel better about not having a right breasts.

But, I didn't ask her. Again, I didn't want to insult her. I didn't want her to feel like I was judging her or doubting her. I can't risk making her mad at me. I still feel like I need her too much.







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