He was always there

So, I guess you could think that God was not being a big help--after all, I have cancer now. Well, that first day of diagnosis, the gal from the High Risk Breast Center (note to self: tell her to change her voice mail message for heaven's sake) was getting ready to set me up with the breast surgeon that my ob normally refers to, when I mentioned that my in-laws are close friends with a retired breast surgeon, who they told me was very prominent in my city. I mentioned this man's name to her, asking if she had heard of him...not only had she heard of him, she had worked with him many times, highly respected him and related how sad she was when he retired. I explained that my husband had grown up next door to this man and his parents were still friends with them, etc. She said, "Well then you'll probably want to see the surgeon he trained and gave his practice to, Dr. T." She wanted to run that past my ob, but was very comfortable saying that Dr. T. was also someone she liked a great deal and trusted.

She called back within just a few minutes to say that my ob was very comfortable sending me to Dr. T. and she could get me in there on Thursday, three days away. By this time I was heading to the library to do my usual--load up on a million books to peruse and surround myself with. Books truly make me feel comfortable, looking at them, carrying them around; I think it's a disease. ;) I'm thinking, fine lumpectomy and radiation. I remember telling my grandma that the recurrence rate for mastectomy v. lumpectomy/radiation was almost equal. A couple of the books said that LCIS was actually a cancer, but a precancerous cell abnormality and that LCIS was a "good" diagnosis.

When I got online to register at Dr. T's office, I found out he had been named best breast surgeon in my city by the city magazine, three years in a row. I was glad to know that that voting is done by peers, not by magazine staff. Still, no grief or sadness, honestly. Annoyance and dread of telling my parents.

Handyman was more shocked than me, I think. It is difficult, because our neighbor's young wife died of breast cancer over Memorial Day weekend, leaving 2 small children. We felt terrible and have been driving those little punkins to Awana. I knew I couldn't tell them, no matter what.

When I saw Dr. T. on Thursday, I think he was surprised that I was by myself. I didn't mind at all being by myself. I don't think I would want my husband with me while I have a breast exam by a strange guy. Anyway, Dr. T. is soft spoken, approachable, a little older than me but not much. He said other than where the clip is from my biopsy, my mammo pictures look really good. Nothing of note. He felt nothing in any of my lymph nodes and didn't mention that he could feel anything in the breast exam. All good signs. He wanted me to have an MRI, later in my cycle, so that the breast are at "low ebb" on hormones. Then they give you contrast during the MRI because cancer processes the dye much differently than "normal" tissue. So that was set up for 10 days later.

He said assuming that my MRI was clean and that my lymph nodes were clean, I might have less than a 50% chance of having chemo. I told him that my hair was my one vanity and I would sure like to keep it, but in reality, that too is temporary and if it means I get to be at my daughters' weddings and be a grandma, then whoopdeedoo. Bring it on--

I kept thinking of my poor neighbor with pancreatic cancer, who died within a couple weeks of his diagnosis and I honestly was thankful to have this instead. I kept thinking of a picture of a shelf on the wall with all the "terrible" things that could happen to you, but you have to pick one...which would you pick?? Honestly, this might not be that bad a choice. They can't make a falsie for your pancreas, or your brain stem.

So God, knowing that someday little Handyman would grow up and marry a girl who was born in Germany, planted him next door to a man that became a prominent breast surgeon, who would someday give his practice to a younger man from Iowa, who would someday work to save my life...