Twists, turns, bumps, and bridges ...

After agreeing to have my final treatment unannounced, I moved along to an examination room where I was to have my final pre-chemo appointment with Dr. MacCormick. He was very prompt this time, which took me by surprise. We went through the normal pre-chemo things, discussing how the anti-nausea medication worked for me and going over other symptoms that troubled me. Because the third treatment went well and I was getting used to dealing with the side-effects, we had little to talk about. The time came to discuss the end of treatment, which, for the first time since all this began, I was not prepared for. I had recently trained myself to deal with things as they came to me to avoid mind overload. So, all I was prepared for was discussing the usual.

"I believe this is your fourth treatment, correct?" I nodded my head and smiled. "This must have been very tough on you. You know, the younger you are, the harder this is to deal with, really. It's really is too bad that you had to go through this." Not knowing how to respond, I let out a nervous giggle and nodded, as if to say "you got that right." He responded: "It's not funny, though. I know you're trying to be strong, but this really is tough." There was a short, uncomfortable silence. I was glad to see the doctor I trusted when I first stepped into the cancer centre a few months earlier. I was shown this man's compassionate side once again as he looked at me as a human being, rather than a patient. "Is there anything you would like to ask me now?" Shoot... I have nothing prepared! There was a knock at the door and the doctor excused himself.

I tried to think quickly to conjur up any questions I may have had. Aha! I did want to know what he thought about the double mastectomy the plastic surgeon seemed to suggest last month. He quickly returned and we picked up where we had left off. I asked: "Would there be any benefit to getting the second breast removed as a precaution?" His response was that he thought it was an excellent question, but he really thought it was something I should decide for myself. He said that if I was his daughter there would be two things he would bring up to me. The first would be the warning that breastfeeding (something he seemed to consider as very important) would no longer be an option. If I wanted to have children I should take this into consideration. The second would be that having already had breast cancer at 25 years old, my chances of developing a brand new cancer in the other breast would be approx. 1% per year for the rest of my life. Thus, if my life expectancy is somewhere around 75 years old, I now have a 50% lifetime risk of developing a brand new cancer in the breast that was left behind.

Nonetheless, the doctor seemed to steer clear of making any suggestions. He said that, first of all, he was a man and could never fully relate to me in that way. He thought it may be useful for me to talk to another female about it, preferably a female doctor. Second of all, he thought that it was a very personal decision that should be left for me to decide. He did suggest that it may be a good idea, however, if it was causing me psychological distress. Being the very resourceful man he is, Dr. MacC said that he would phone a female oncologist he knows in Halifax and ask her what her opinion would be. He would let me know at a later date.

Another knock came to the door. Dr. MacCormick returned with a sheet of paper that he looked over quickly. He turned to me. Are you supposed to have chemo tomorrow? I explained that I was supposed to have it tomorrow, but due to the storm I was rescheduled for today. "Okay ..." He had a look of uncertainty on his face. "The only thing, Melanie, is that your cell counts are just slightly lower than we want them to be for you to receive chemo." (I believe they were supposed to be 15 and were 14). "We could go ahead and do it ..." He shook his head back and forth as if to say "This could be risky ... I'm unsure." He said: "See, I would say to go ahead with it, but with you being 25 and all, I don't like taking risks. We never know how you will react." I asked if he thought I should wait until tomorrow. "I would feel more comfortable if we waited until tomorrow. Your cell counts should probably be right by then, but we will still have to test them again tomorrow morning. I do hate for you to risk coming out in a storm, though, do you have a four wheel drive?" I answered yes and we then decided that I would wait until tomorrow for chemo afterall.

Twists, turns, bumps, and bridges ... the story of my life.