My First Specialist

I trust MBS (My Breast Specialist) immediately. Like a newly hatched chick I would follow him anywhere. This has very little to do with how young he thinks I look (if it’s a technique to gain my trust, it’s a great one) and everything to do with his nature. He is just so intuitive, when I explain why I’m here and the family history, he doesn’t labour the point but swiftly sets about the tasks that will help relieve the anxiety.

He explains what he sees on the ultra sound; a general anatomy lesson not just Lump oriented  and encourages me to watch the screen when he takes a core biopsy* – I actually see a needle** piercing the Lump. He even allows me to look at the little cross section he’s taken, “Like a little baby worm” he says. He’s right, it looks exactly like a powder-pink baby worm. To my mind cancerous tumours should be black and viscous like tar – I have a feeling this has a lot to do with those creepy government anti smoking/lung cancer ads and less about learnt science. In short MBS is super cool.

The thing I love best about MBS is that once he has explained it all to me, he is most anxious to set Dad’s mind at ease, sending me with the nurse to fetch him. He explains succinctly that from the look and feel of it, it’s a benign tumour. The core biopsy will confirm it but he’s 98% certain and he’ll text me on Tuesday with the results. I skip out of his office into the sunshine, to a life of few cares and little worry.

*A word on core biopsies, three words actually – Brace. Your. Self. It’s like being hole punched from within. Most peculiar and if you aren’t ready for it quite disturbing I’d imagine, obviously MBS made sure I was quite ready (gosh, I feel like I’m boasting about MBS but I feel very lucky to have him). The local anaesthetic means there’s no pain but you do get a freaking cool bruise. Everyone is different but paracetamol for a few days sorted me out. I did get a few sharp stabs when I forgot and caught myself, should have been better with the Arnica but I say that whenever I have a bruise.

** I’m afraid with cancer tests come a lot of needle jabs (sad face). If I haven’t had a needle stick for a while I always remember them worse than they are, which is stupid as I’m forever poking myself with sewing needles and the like. The build up doesn’t help, I just try to relax and zone out,  they’re generally over pretty quickly. The debate rages on as to the merits of looking vs. not looking – I generally look, I do not like surprises. This is also because I have funny veins, they hide and wiggle out of the way, I like to try and help (which now I think about it, probably isn’t very helpful, who likes an audience while they are trying to work…… hmmmm something to ponder on). I prefer the nurses who can acknowledge that perhaps needle sticks are not their strong point and hand me over to a colleague, as opposed to those who forget that I am not their human pin cushion. To those I say, perhaps it would be kinder to evoke the three strikes rule, while I understand you’d like to save face, I would very much like to save my arm.

Also, while I’m on the subject of needles; why is it that I am surround by menfolk who turn green at the very thought of injections? This is dull when I’m trying to show off war wounds. Women seem a lot more blasé. Am I wrong about this?