A BEAUTIFUL MIND

The "lump" was NOTHING to worry about. Oh, happy, happy day. As my friend said, it's great for the medical community to confirm what we already knew, but still. (And medical personnel that tell you to call after noon to get test results and then are closed from 12-1 should be forced to wear those paper gowns for a week.)
Speaking of doctor's offices, we went to another plastic surgeon for a second opinion yesterday. This gentleman came very highly recommended from my surgeon, and she has never worked with the other guy I saw a few weeks ago, so I assumed that I would go with #2. When we walked into the office there was a lifelike mannequin/sculpture of a dancer in a leotard in front of a mirror. We were all (me, jim & my dad) taken aback. Then we were offered water bottles labeled with the firm's name and ushered through a secret door into the circle waiting room. Plaques adorned the walls about being the Best in Denver for all sorts of plastic surgery procedures along with a framed article about how the main doctor in the group had worked on none other than Dolly Parton herself. That alone should've tipped me off.
After an impressively short waiting time, we were next ushered into an office (props to this guy-- it's the first time that a consultation was conducted in an office instead of an exam room) but that's where the fun ended. Next an office assistant said I had to come back to get some photos taken. WHA?!? The pre-appointment paperwork had included a photo release which I had not signed, because, well, ick... so I asked if it was entirely necessary, and she assured me that it was.
I was brought back to the blue "photo room" that was complete with lights and shading umbrellas. I again asked the assistant if I needed to do this and why.
"The dr. needs to see them during the consultation," she answered.
"But my dad is going to be in the consultation," I told her.
"He can sit far away," she said.
Very reluctantly, I signed the photo release (I felt like I was in a bad Lifetime movie about a struggling actress about to do a porn shoot) and had to take off my top and pose for several pictures. "Face the front... face at an angle... face the sidewall... turn your back..."
It was incredibly demeaning and humiliating. Why did I allow this? What is it about going to the doctor that makes you lose all confidence and assertiveness? I do understand the potential point of medical photos, but do not believe they were justified in this instance. How come every time I think there's nothing else that can phase me I'm wrong?
When I got back (fairly stricken) to the office, we watched an interactive multi-media cd about breast reconstruction options. I had to answer questions at the end of each session... which eventually I stopped reading because all of the answers were "True." Then the doctor came in and went through everything with us. He was okay, but it turns out although he does the "belly boob" procedure, he doesn't use the more advanced, much less invasive procedure because the hospital at which he works doesn't have good enough microscopes. When we discussed it afterwards, we all agreed that this guy seemed competent, but obviously didn't focus on reconstruction procedures. After the consultation, he performed an exam during which I stood in front of a mirror (I'm a big fan of mirrors these days, let me tell you) and he took a series of TMI measurements, to which he made me feel I didn't measure up. This guy is obviously used to tweaking perfection, and I'm no model. The whole time I wanted to shake him and say YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT A BEAUTIFUL PERSON I AM.
He never looked at the pictures. Doctors suck.
In any event, I'm going with the other guy. It's always good to get second opinions though-- if nothing else to show how relatively good the other dr. is. I've decided to do the belly boob procedure (implants freak me out, and, honestly, the idea of a tummy tuck sounds like a good start to the "new me"). I'm tentatively scheduled for surgery July 15th (yes, a saturday, mark your calendars). We've still got some stuff to work out (like how/when to deal with my ovaries) but are farther down the path.
...and I am learning to be more and more assertive (beware whoever crosses me by the end of this whole experience)
...and the lump was NOTHING. Which ultimately, trumps any yukky doctor visit bigtime.