Friday, January 6, 2012
I Love My Plastic Surgeon (1.6.201)
[This is a photo of me at my plastic surgeon's office. I wanted to take her picture but didn't want her to think I was a weirdo so instead, I took a picture of myself in the exam room mirror because that's not weird.]
I went to see my plastic surgeon today. Yes, I really do have one. Of course, in my case, I was referred to her by a general surgeon and an oncologist (last year when I went through "you-know-what"...)-- but being referred by a bunch of serious doctors somehow makes it OK.
Don't worry: this isn't going to be a downer blog or anything. I was actually just thinking this morning about how much I like her and how much our "relationship" has grown since she started putting me back together about a year ago. It really is a funny thing -- I can say that now -- going through the process of breast cancer. (There. I said it.) I mean, there are all the obvious things you go through. And you have to just kind of go through them because it's the only way to get to the other side. But the whole process of putting yourself physically back together is really a trip. (Do people still say that?)
Like for example, you have this wildly skilled surgeon who has this talent which is a mix of art and science with a little This Old House thrown in. And the Thursday before Christmas, she does this incredibly delicate procedure on me that took fifteen minutes and involved using a Sharpie and a tape measure. And a mirror. I mean, who does this for a living? And who is the fool that let's them? LOL.
But the truth is that I am wildly pleased with my plastic surgeon and her skills with a Sharpie and a tape measure. And how cool is it that she's worked with me so much to make me "whole" again, that it felt like me and my BFF looking in the mirror and saying "What do you think? A little more to the left?".