The first surgery

I’m not all that fond of doctors. I tend to be skeptical of the way they do things, especially of the doctors I’ve had the misfortune to run into: the ones who have far too little time to listen to what’s really going on and are far too quick whipping out the pen to write me a prescription. In this whole ordeal the first doctor that I felt completely comfortable with was the surgeon I spoke with at Johns Hopkins. She wasn’t the least bit hurried and was surrounded by a staff that had us so informed even before she walked into the room that our heads were spinning. I liked her almost immediately and was sad when I realized I wouldn’t be under her care.

Luckily my girlfriend grew up and Florida and had a lead on a surgeon in Tampa who had done surgery on her mother. She had nothing but good things to say about him so I put away my usual prejudice – I hadn’t seen a male doctor in at least twenty years – and scheduled my appointment with him.

The first meeting with him I was very impressed. He was also unhurried and took the time to explain the entire procedure to us, even though by that time we were practically pros ourselves. We set the surgery date and went back home to regroup for a bit.

I won’t go into it here, it’s just too much for me to dredge up, but the surgery day was one of my worst medical experiences. I’m glad to report, however, that the surgery went off without any major complications. It was the news that we got when we went back for the pathology report that threw us off balance again: the tumor was larger than we thought, I had two “dirty” margins, and for the first time I was told I would need chemo.