My oncologist and I
Early in July I have an appointment with my oncologist. She is younger than I, but more and more people are these days. Her father is an extremely well-respected doctor in his field, a longtime member of the Israeli medical elite. I don’t think she rode on his coattails throughout her training, but there is something of the aura of the elite that hovers around her. She and I do not have a natural affinity, but we have mutual respect.
I had no idea of how to choose an oncologist. The way it worked was this: After the biopsy confirmed the diagnosis my family doctor referred me to a surgeon. I didn’t really care who the surgeon would be because I knew what procedure I would have, and it was a pretty standard one. A day after my mastectomy, the hospital’s breast cancer nurse came to talk to me about, among many other things, choosing an oncologist.
By the way, a word about breast cancer nurses. I’ve come in contact with two, at two different hospitals, and could not be more impressed. Both had advanced nursing degrees, as well as a doctorate. Both were knowledgeable, caring, funny, supportive, respectful of my level of knowledge, and empowering. They gave me all the time I wanted, provided multiple ways of getting in touch with them, and “followed” me as long as I needed. I am confident that even today, years after my last contact with either of them, I could call either one and get whatever I need. Breast cancer nurses rock, if these two are anything to go by!
So the BCA nurse came to my room on the post-operative unit. When she arrived, a couple of friends were at my bedside, both of them nurses at the same hospital. She stayed and exchanged pleasantries with them for a few minutes, and they left to go to work. Then she told me her story.
This particular BCA nurse had had breast cancer herself and at that time was NED (no evidence of disease). She told me the story of how she had felt and reacted, not too much detail, but enough to help me feel more comfortable. We had a good connection. She gave me a lot of new information that day, and she gave it to me in a way that I could take in. One of the nicest things about her, was that she did not appear to mind pausing while I made notes, considered what she had said, formulated questions.
We got to the part about choosing an oncologist. She asked me what I wanted in an oncologist and we talked about that for a bit. She told me that she could think of two oncos who would fit: one was a professor and head of department, the other a senior attending at a very young age. In terms of professional skill, she said, they were pretty much equals. I asked if either had a sense of humor. She laughed and told me to stay far, far away from the professor. So I chose the other one.
I have always had the option of switching to a different onco, and I still have that option, but so far feel no need to go shopping for another one. We are not people who would hang out together, but that’s fine; this is not the nature of our relationship. She is quite decidedly non-religious, and I am quite decidedly a religious woman. Far from being a source of conflict, this has led to some fascinating conversations during the exam. I still remember a great exchange of ideas about expressing solidarity with the poor and marginalized of society. Once I got over the idea of talking about such things while I was wearing only underpants (gowns are often not provided for exams here), it was a really good exchange.
Also, she has the courtesy to laugh at the feeblest of my jokes. What more could I ask for?