Practicing Medicine

The day I had been anxiously awaiting—and dreading—finally arrived. Day 155 of my journey marked the day of my lumpectomy and lymph node removal.

In the days leading up to the surgery, I felt a swirl of emotions. Nervousness dominated, but there was also a small sliver of hope. This surgery was another critical step forward—a chance for clarity and, hopefully, confirmation that the treatments had done their job. But what lay inside? What did my tissues look like after months of treatment? No one, not even my care team, could definitively answer that until today.

The morning was surreal. Hospitals have a way of making you feel both isolated and surrounded all at once. I was checked in, prepped, and marked for surgery. The marker placement was a moment I’ll never forget. Imagine a 7-inch metal rod puncturing through your breast to pinpoint the exact spot where cancer was found. It wasn’t just uncomfortable—it was outright painful. But what could I do? Scream? Cry? Refuse? No. I knew this was their job, and this marker would guide them to remove what needed to go. So I gritted my teeth, swallowed my discomfort, and let them proceed.

During surgery, pathology played an active role. Every single tissue removed was tested for cancer in real-time. Each piece of me, once hidden inside, was now under scrutiny. It was a surreal thought—that even though I had endured treatment, no one truly knew what lay beneath my skin until now.

When I woke up in recovery, I felt the weight of the surgery, both physically and emotionally. My chest was sore, my armpit ached from the lymph node removal, and my mind raced with thoughts. Six nodes in total were taken, and with them, the lingering question: how far had this disease reached? Had the cancer spread? Had we caught everything? I knew the answers wouldn’t come right away, but I clung to the hope that this surgery would bring more good news than bad.

Day 155 wasn’t just the day I had surgery. It was a day of discovery, of bravery, and of resilience.