What Happened When I Anxiously Made Plans for Which Treatments to Get After Breast Cancer Surgery

I’m a researcher. According to my sister and friends, I’m more of a hypochondriac. They suggest I limit my research to my writing.

Whatever, I know a lot of medical stuff. It’s a curse.

Once, when I was advising a new acquaintance in detail on how to treat a UTI, she asked,

“Are you a doctor or a nurse?”

I replied, “No, I’m just a hypochondriac.

So, when I’m actually diagnosed with something serious, I become a fountain of information. So much so, that my surgeon looked at me with surprise when I asked her if I would need Aramatose medication after the removal of my breast cancer.

Most people have heard of Tamoxofen. Few know about Aramatose types of estrogen blockers.

Oncologists and breast surgeons do know all the treatments for breast cancer. So do we hypochondriacs. We have years, even decades of experience researching every possible disease, treatment, and treatment side effects.

When my dad had bladder cancer, I asked his doctor about a particular follow-up. This was in the bad old days before the internet. My huge book on every conceivable illness was out-of-date. That was embarrassing.

No longer. Now I can consult, via computer, Mayo Clinic, Cleveland Clinic, the National Institute of Health, the British National Health Service, and every wackadoodle alternative health website on the other side of the rabbit hole. I’m full of information and full of myself by the time I meet with my breast cancer surgeon.

Whatever, I know a lot of medical stuff. It’s a curse.

For instance, I know that at my age they will want me to take an Aromatase instead of Tamoxifen. Tamoxifen blocks estrogen from attaching to cancer cells should cancer reappear. Aromatase blocks all estrogen throughout the body. Both make you feel menopausal again.

I’ve already gone through menopause, thank you very much. I’ve suffered the loss of libido, hot flashes, trouble sleeping, joint pain, and mod swings. Why would I ever go through that again??

I know, I know. To stay alive.

And I support all my friends, and all of you, who have done any or all of the follow-ups from breast cancer.

As you can imagine, I am not always a compliant patient

Once I gave my plastic surgeon instructions as he was about to begin. He told the anesthesiologist to knock me out. Doctors aren’t big on taking directions. Especially from somebody already whacked out from xanax.

I’ve refused prescriptions for tramadol and steroids. The doctor was not amused. I didn’t care about his feelings. Tramadol addiction killed my mother. (see link below).

I’ve refused to give blood at 4:00 a.m. at the hospital recovering from ankle surgery on both ankles. (see second link below). We’re told we need plenty of sleep to recover and stay healthy, but apparently that’s only true OUTSIDE the hospital walls.

I had already decided before meeting my breast cancer surgeon what I would and wouldn’t do

Fortunately, my sister went with me to ask all the questions about things I didn’t want to do. She’s a realist, and a logical buffer to my stubbornness and a doctor’s hubris.

Not that my breast cancer surgeon has hubris. She’s a wonderful, acclaimed, pixie-like, doctor who is undoubtedly older than the twelve-years-old she looks to be to me.

I was all prepared to agree to radiation after surgery, but to say a firm “no” to estrogen blockers. My sister rolled her eyes and encouraged me to be open-minded. She’s known me all her life. I’m not sure why she thinks I will be different this time.

My surgeon cut me off at the pass

She came in and did all the doctor things: Listened to heart and lungs, felt under the inadequate cape-like gown to examine my breasts, asked if I had any pain in my breasts

She showed me the scan of my breast, pointed to the tiny cancer, and told me all I needed was surgery

The cancer is small, and contained in a milk duct, so she feels sure she can get it all and the required clear margins around it. She tells us I very likely won’t need radiation.

She says she will not prescribe an estrogen blocker.

I want to hug her. My sister still has questions. Good for her. That’s why she’s here with me.

All I have to do for the remainder of the appointment is bring my adrenaline level down from the “fight” level it was preparing for if the doctor was going to prescribe estrogen blockers.

Don’t you hate it when that happens?

There are a couple of morals to this story.

One is, don’t get all riled up about something before you know you have to. It’s a waste of energy you’ll need for the treatments with which you do agree.

Second, do your research. Only make sure you’re looking at credible sources, not random threads or websites promising miracle cures. I like to know what I’m likely facing, to help me make the best ultimate decisions.

Third, get your mammagram ma’am. I skipped a year because I was told women over 65 only need one every other year. My tiny cancer cells grew within a space of two years. I was lucky it wasn’t an aggressive form.

Fourth, If you want, check out all the amazing things they do to treat breast cancer and do reconstruction. My friend has 3-D tattoos of nipples after her mastectomies and reconstruction. Until she stands sideways, you cannot tell!

Fifth, find the best doctors and surgeons you can. Check their reputation. Meet with them, then decide if they’re the ones for you. Stand up for yourself. I‘ll be writing about the horror stories from two friends who definitely had the wrong doctors. Don’t be them.

Finally, seek out all the information and help and support you need. It’s important. You’re important.

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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.

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