Sept 20, 2019
We are walking into a decrepit building. Why would a prominent surgeon choose to rent an office in such a depressing space? We are sitting on aluminum framed chairs with thin, black, pleather seats, waiting to be called in. There is an invisible space that’s wedged between us from the argument in the truck. He’s holding my hand but I can’t feel him. We are called into the office around the corner.
The redeeming feature of this building is the large window overlooking the Columbia River in the surgeons office. I am distracted by the rushing waters while the surgeon introduces himself.
He is a bespectacled, brainy looking man that describes what he is talking about by drawing diagrams. He is removing various parts of my womanhood on paper.
I’ve suddenly landed on an alien spaceship. I’m strapped down to a metal table looking up into enormous, inky, almond, eyes. Tall, lanky, grey, aliens with tiny slit mouths holding scalpels. High tech machines are looming over me with bright lights offensively illuminating my naked body. Terror makes its grand entrance colliding into me.
I teleport back as the surgeon pulls out another sheet of blank paper to draw out my “best case scenario”; a Lumpectomy with Radiation. “You see in this case, we can remove the clip when we go in there.” he says. “What? What Clip?”, I ask. “The titanium clip that was inserted when you got your biopsy.” I did get fucking abducted! They implanted something inside me!
I try to keep my cool as I tell him that I was not informed, nor did I give my consent to embed a foreign object inside me. He says that they don’t need my consent. There is liquid lava bubbling in my belly and heat is rising to my face. Deep breath in, long breath out… “why did they put the clip in there?” “Well, when you insert a needle to get a sample of the mass, it creates a pathway for the cancer cells to potentially spread. We put a clip in there as a locator so when we do the surgery, we can make sure to get clear margins to remove the tumour and the pathway that may be compromised.”
This information of risk was not disclosed to me at the time of the procedure. Was it assumed that I would get the surgery right from the get go? Do I have any say in this? I feel violated, the little bit of faith I have in Allopathic medicine dissipates into molten lava.
Reality sets in like a left hook by a Southpaw. I want to vomit. I want to escape. I want to press the reset button and reclaim my life as my own. I become the ghost of my optimism. Al is pale… trying to contain the enormity of what we must face. On the drive home, I let him crush my fingers because he needs to hold onto me. I try to lighten the mood by saying, “Good thing I’m going to the Bahamas tomorrow, better get packing!” He shakes his head like a bobble head.
LESSON: PAY ATTENTION TO MY THOUGHTS AND WHERE THEY ARE TAKING ME.