Last year, one of my most memorable days was an unexpected one.

Earlier in the year on my annual mammogram, they found some suspected calcifications in one of my breasts, of which they were adamant that I get checked out.

This led to a needle biopsy for two locations with results of no cancer, but an MRI was recommended for a follow up to see if they could see anything further as one spot although non-cancerous, was atypical in cellular nature.

The day of the Biopsies, I was the first patient and as I wasn’t too concerned, I  was able to enjoy the nurses and technicians and surgeon that performed the extraction.  The nurses were so pleased to have a calm and talkative first patient of the day that after they wrapped me up with some ice packs post surgery, they sent me off to work with a hug.

The MRI also was an interesting experience.  For those who haven’t had one, the noise of the machine is louder than one might anticipate. I am told they give headphones with music sometimes, but that wasn’t an option for me.  Even with the noise, I dozed off as they ran the machine around me.  Maybe my mind just associated it with the noise of public transport of which I can almost always doze off on.  No great conversations that day, so no hugs either, but again, the results were negative with no red flags – except for the last line that suggested a surgical consult.

I was due for my annual visit to the gynecologist, so I figured he would explain it all.  His suggestion was to go have the surgical consult and provided me with a list of surgeons to choose from.  One of the names on the list was Joyce Moore.  I choose her not after a long in depth search of her qualifications, but merely because of her name. (She has my mother’s first name and my good friend Sally’s last name – yes, I have a friend named Sally)

I am here to tell you that an surgical consult is not a meeting as much as it is the day you meet the surgeon to schedule surgery.  She was a woman of my age with a good sense of humor, had an open heart and was quite insistent that for everyone’s peace of mind, it was best to have a lumpectomy to take out the atypical cells and a bit of the surrounding tissue just to make sure that everything was clear.  In some tangent of our conversation, I learned that he husband’s second toe is longer that his big toe – same as me.  I don’t recall how our conversation got to that as I never took my shoes off, but I let her know that it was a sign of royalty. At least that is what I was always told by my Grandmother who also had the same toes. I have found it really interesting of late to notice what information people will share when not thinking.  I still get the giggles a little when I think of her going home for dinner and telling her husband that he has royal toes and him wondering just how in the world his toes come up in a conversation in her practice of women’s breast issues.

She picked a date in early November for the procedure and asked if I wanted to be put under anesthesia or go with a local.  I was surprised to hear I had an option and said I would prefer to have the local so that I could see and hear what goes on.

After all, I was the little girl who wanted to be front and center if there was surgery to be performed on any of the animals at the farm or be present at when we butchered a cow or sheep.  It always has fascinated me the complexities of what is hidden beneath the exterior of our outer coverings.

What is under all that wool, I wondered.

I’ll tell you about the day of the surgery tomorrow as it is the really unexpected great day.

Love Sally