My mom and I were shuffled off to meet the “Nurse Navigator” who would scrape us up off the floor if we collapsed. We holed up in her office crying and wondering what was going to happen next.
Dr. Zuurbier was on a mission to keep things rolling for me. “Anything we can do today, we are going to do!” She went to set up for a sonogram-guided core biopsy of my left breast and then brought me back to the exam room for the procedure. I usually don’t like needles at all (I have been known to pass out cold), but I curled up on my side and went into a zen-like state while Dr. Zurbier injected the area with a numbing agent. Once I was numb, she started to dig into the side of my left breast. I could feel the pulling and tugging, and then Dr. Zuurbier commented “Gosh, I need a hammer and chisel to get through this dense breast tissue!” That was a mental image I could have done without. My mom was in the room this time and rubbed my legs while I stared off into space. I seemed to be tapping into some inner strength that I didn’t know was there.
Dr. Zuurbier set off to find Dr. Colette Magnant, a top Breast Surgeon and
Director of the Sullivan Center’s Breast Cancer Program to see if she could get me on her schedule. A few minutes later, Dr. Magnant walked in, handed me her card, and said she had set up an apppoiment with me for the following Tuesday. As luck would have it, we later found out that Dr. Magnant is a good friend of some very old close friends of ours (always nice to have a glowing reccomendation from someone you trust). Things seemed to be falling into place.
By the end of the day, I found out I had breast cancer, had a biopsy, got an appointment with a top surgeon, and was scheduled for an MRI and genetic testing.
We wrapped for the day, and I called my husband, Jim, to give him the news. He was stunned and grabbed a cab to come meet me at Sibley.
Traffic was too heavy to drive home once Jim arrived, so we headed to dinner at an Indian Restaurant. I felt like I was in a weird dream. Did all that really just happen? Later that night, Jim and I sat in the living room. Jim said, “I don’t feel like you really have this.” I felt the same way. I guess that’s called denial.
