The Surgeon

She is cute. Dark-haired, tiny, smart and funny. I sense that she had to learn bed-side and knife-side manners. In Myers-Briggs I’m guessing that she is an ESTJ...you’d want that “S” and that “J” in a surgeon. You’d want a certain amount of confidence and being able to command and control.

The appointment was good. We both asked questions. Talked about the next steps. She will do his colonoscopy in May. The blood testing begins in March. They will test blood for the cancer “marker”. When and if it elevates then they look for more cancer. They don’t do regular CAT scans because, as she explained, you don’t want a lot of scans—after all excess radiation can cause cancer.

It was the first time we had left that office and felt normal. Only when we got to the car did I realize that no scary bomb had been dropped like there was each other time that we’d seen her: 1. I’m going to cut away your ascending colon. 2. You have Stage Three cancer and you need chemo—and a port. 3. The side effects are hard and they are yours. And now, a much friendlier visit, with laughter and smiles all around.