Sometimes a second opinion is not a good thing.

Sometimes it adds more layers of confusion and uncertainty to existing chaos.

I have two doctors, in two cities, who are both receiving the labs and reports. I adore them both and one actually referred me to the other years ago when Sam was born. My primary GP has been heading all of this boob stuff, and has been quick and decisive. So far, we’re good with everything and the lumpectomy is scheduled for Monday. But my other doctor, my gynecologist, called the other day, and while he is NOT countering the findings or approach given to me, he asked about the lumpectomy and reconstruction from it? He wanted me to have a second opinion from one of his trusted colleagues, to ask about simultaneous reconstruction.

I thought this lumpectomy would be so small that there would be no need to fix anything now or later. I thought it would be simple. But when your beloved doctor begs you to get that second opinion, you do, because you know he has your best interests at heart, proven over many years of grieving with him and having him save my life a few times.

Yesterday I had a consult with his recommended breast surgeon. We’ll call him Dr. SK. Dr. SK is skilled and competent and he was mostly caring. He knew that we were there for a second opinion and asked if we were interested in his take. Of course, we said. That’s why we’re here. He got the results of my MRI (from Monday) before my other surgeon, because we were in there. He also got that last lab test we were waiting for. HER2 negative is what we wanted, so we’re in a good place there. That means that while chemo is still on the table, it’s not as automatic a concern.

But my MRI shows two small, very small, tumors shooting off of the main one. Next thing I know, I’m scheduled for ANOTHER needle biopsy  Thursday, a follow up appointment with Dr. SK on Tuesday and surgery on Sept. 2, even though I’m already scheduled for a lumpectomy on Monday with my primary surgeon. Then he autographed his book for me (I swear this is true) and sent us on our way, completely confident that we would return to him next week. (Did I also mention that he had smelling salts taped to the back of every door in the office? Kinda creepy…)

We left and I was reeling with too much input. I also felt the need for a shower, because I had just cheated on my surgeon, Dr. B, who I like and trust very much.

Yes, these two doctors approach the lumpectomy differently, though both will remove it. While I was attracted to the process Dr. SK outlined, I don’t like being sold hard—and we were—and I don’t like having another doctor’s expertise disrespected. (No nothing overt was said to that thought, just tone and ‘tude.) This is where my Super Power skills of people reading, honed expertly from years of shoveling BS through my reporter’s brain, comes in. The alarms in my head were blaring from Dr. SK!

It took me several hours of soul-searching, bitching, moaning, analyzing, identifying my feeling and making panicked phone calls to my beloved Dr. D. to decide that I was in good hands where I was, with Dr. B.

Dr. B. called this morning as she now has my MRI. Besides the two small tumors that she also sees (and I don’t need a needle biopsy for those—she’s taking them out regardless), she said that there is “enhanced activity” in my breasts. I love the descriptors used here. I hear enhanced activity and think there’s a party going on in there. But the reality is even better, ahem. Because I have “young breasts” (who’s my new best friend now, huh, huh???) my hormones make my breasts active. The activity could reflect more tumors birthing in there. Or it could just be the norm for my luscious, young breasts. (Luscious wasn’t one of her medical terms, but it should be.)

I sit here now waiting for an enhanced ultrasound to look at my enhanced and active breasts.

Flash forward several hours: I am sore. My boobs have been prodded to the extreme, all in the name of making sure there’s nothing bad going on in there, you know, besides the breast cancer we already know about. To the point, I still need the needle biopsy tomorrow, but for another area, and more as a precaution than anything. They are taking me and my boobs very seriously, and I appreciate that. I’m still scheduled for my lumpectomy on Monday, but there’s a small possibility that it could be delayed a day or two as we wait for more test results.

My takeaway from all of this?

• Nothing is ever simple.
• Doctors are subject to the same human personality vices as the rest of us mere mortals, including hubris, inconsideration, manipulation and arrogance.
• When you find someone you trust in your mind and your soul, stay with them forever.
• The medical industry is a business, too often first, and as such breeds competition and hard sales techniques because for some doctors, it is about the money and ego. For many others, it’s about the patient.

I know that I’ve attached myself to the patient-first kind of doctors through this. My boobs, and my life, are in great hands.