I have another appointment with Dr. L, the oncologist, on Monday. My hope is to advance the decision-making process, which I'm finding increasingly awful, by tossing pointed questions at her. Because my friends are now lining up on the mastectomy question, and let me tell you, I could form two good teams. So that not only hasn't helped, it's increased my anxiety and stress about it all.
Every time I think, Okay, it will be fine as it is, someone says, "You're kidding me, you're going to risk your life, even a little bit, for that little old breast?"
Then I think, That's absurd, of course I won't. Better have the dreadful surgeries and get it over with. Then someone else says, "The surgeon wouldn't have said it was safe if he didn't think it was. Don't trust the ones who tell you to run to the most extreme measure. Surgery is hell you don't want to put yourself through for very little risk."
And I'm back where I was. So we'll see if Dr. L can manage to shed more light on Monday.
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