When I flew back to North Carolina, my plan was to stay for two more weeks, then head to Orlando for the girls to attend Seaworld camp for two weeks, and finally land back on the west coast full time in early August. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Trying to navigate a breast cancer diagnosis in the middle of those plans, while also working full-time, was tough – to say the least.
I desperately wanted to keep spending time with my family, to let my daughters enjoy their time with my parents and their cousins, and to have them return to a summer favorite of ours since living in Florida – Seaworld. At the same time, I knew I had to start figuring out the medical side of things. I mapped out every possible way to get the care I needed at UNC, where I’d been diagnosed, while also preparing to build my medical team in San Diego once I was finally settled there. But with another month before I’d be in San Diego, I knew I couldn’t wait. I needed to meet with an oncologist at UNC as soon as possible. I needed information. I needed to understand what was happening, what my options were, and what the plan was moving forward.
While all this was swirling around in my head, I tried to explain the urgency to the nurse on the phone. She was incredibly kind and reassured me that she understood. She managed to schedule a consultation with a surgical oncologist for the following week. It felt like an eternity, but I took the earliest appointment they could offer: Monday.
Up until my meeting with the surgical oncologist I still didn’t have a grasp on what I was dealing with. Was this stage 1 or stage 4? I had no idea. Can I get a lumpectomy or will this require a bi-lateral mastectomy? Not a clue. Will I need chemo? Hell if I know. I was drowning in questions, all of them unanswered, all of them urgent.
First Appointment with My (first) Surgical Oncologist
I liked her immediately. I was terrified walking into her office, but from the moment she spoke, she gave my shoulders permission to relax and, more importantly, she gave me hope.
As she walked in, she introduced herself, shook my and Tarik’s hands, and said “Well, I hope the radiologist told you – this is most likely stage 1 and totally treatable.” No. No, the radiologist had not told me that. In fact, the concern in her eyes when she mentioned the mass had left me more worried than ever. Damnit. What a different week I would have had if I’d had this woman’s reassurance sooner. Anyway.
The surgeon moves on to a quick physical examination, but it’s clear she’s already poured over my chart. She doesn’t need much time before we move to the consultation room. This is already feeling like a different experience than any I’d had before. How medical professionals approach patients is synonymous with how they approach the unknown — some rush in with assumptions and outline treatment plans, while others take time to observe, listen, and gather details. My surgeon was the latter. Her calm presence and clear understanding of my case made me feel seen, not just as a patient with a chart, but as a person navigating something overwhelming. In that consultation room, I wasn’t just absorbing information — I was building trust. Every question I asked was met with thoughtful answers, and when I didn’t know what to ask, she filled in the gaps. It felt less like being lectured and more like being guided, like she knew I was holding my breath and was determined to make sure I could exhale by the time I left.
We spent an hour discussing all things my breast cancer. She takes her time explaining what ER+ HER2 – means, how the treatment options for this type of cancer differ from others, and she even draws diagrams of the breast to show exactly what’s going on with me. She walks through all treatment options. One thing I hadn’t really considered before this appointment was how much choice I would have. I thought I’d just be asking what the recommendation was and following it without question. Instead, I had choices. I was in control. Sort of – it’s interesting the type of control we hold onto when everything seems out of control.
I could opt for a lumpectomy + radiation (her (first) recommendation). I could have a single mastectomy or a bi-lateral mastectomy. If I went the mastectomy route, I could choose a flat closure or undergo reconstruction. And if I choose reconstruction, I could go for a DIEP flap procedure (potentially) or implants. At that moment, what felt most reasonable, and what I left the office that day feeling confident about, was to go for the lumpectomy at UNC in the next couple of weeks (appointments can be scheduled quickly when no one needs to coordinate with a plastic surgeon’s schedule and I wanted this tumor out now), followed by throwing myself a glow party for radiation treatment once out in San Diego.
Before we wrapped up, the surgeon recommended genetic testing. She mentioned that it’s something she recommends for everyone and while most people don’t have a genetic link when diagnosed with cancer, if I happen to be one of the rare cases, it could potentially affect my treatment decisions. Not required, but honestly, why not? I really didn’t give it much thought other than ‘Yea, let’s do this.’ After all, the more you know…
So, when Tarik and I left the appointment – folder full of breast cancer treatment options in hand and feelings surprisingly hopeful – we headed across the street to the lab for a quick blood draw. Easy peasy. I’d get the results in about 10 days but really didn’t give it another thought. I was too busy scheduling my next appointment – a breast MRI, another imaging test the doctor recommended to get a clearer picture of the tumor and surrounding lymph nodes prior to surgery. Happy to do it. Scheduled.