Who would have ever thought I would be going to a plastic surgeon? Not me! I felt like a fish out of water. It is a sad day when you are more comfortable going to an oncologist than a plastic surgeon.
Now that I was rubbing elbows with the beautiful people I really wished I had dressed for the occasion. Somehow my comfy sweats and pink shirt seem tacky.
I am ushered to a exam room and instructed to put on the gown. By now I am well aware that the opening goes in the front. The surgeon walks in and says “Hello Mrs Ghilotti, advanced stage breast cancer” I tell him he can call me Genevieve. Being referred to as Advanced Stage Breast Cancer kinda freaks me out. Then he gets down to describing the surgery complete with a magic marker and my boob as the canvas. After a few minutes of coloring he starts going in to detail about the nitty gritty of slicing and dicing. I cut him off reassuring him that I am fine with just knowing he has done this kind of thing before and hopefully I will be asleep during the surgery and he won’t be needing me to assist.
Next, he takes photos. He says I don’t need to smile. I smiled anyway.
Now we start looking at new parts for my breasts. He tells me I have a lot of flesh and I am fairly certain that is an insult but I am still smiling. Then he reminds me that I will no longer have breasts, I will have mounds. They will look like breasts under a sweater but when I look at myself naked in the mirror they will just be mounds. I stopped him right there. Told him in no uncertain terms do I ever look at myself naked in the mirror! If I have successfully avoided doing that for the last 15 years why on earth would I start looking when I have mounds? After that I tuned him out and started day dreaming about Almond Joys.
He tells me my weight might make the surgery/recovery more difficult. I wished I had eaten broccoli before my appointment so I could make him as uncomfortable as he was making me. I stopped smiling.
My makeover (OK, double mastectomy) is scheduled for Monday, Feb 11.