Graduation

Fastest appointment ever.  The Dutchman was all business, today.  A quick feel, no chit chat, good MRI results, and that's it.

I did feel a little like I'd been sent to the principal's office.  It seems no one scheduled my mammogram, when the MRI appointment was made, so the results he was expecting from that test weren't in my file.  I'll get a remedial appointment for this month, but it didn't prevent the irrational feeling that I'd failed him.  My perfect patient status besmirched.

He saved the best news for last.  My next tests and appointment with The Dutchman will be twelve months from now.  No more six monthly visits;  I'm in the one year club.  Kinda like finally getting to high school.  Marie and Oscar's little girl is growing up.

Flying Solo

My usual dates being otherwise engaged -- the BFF and Jockette both onsite with programs -- I put on my big girl panties and showed up for my evening MRI, chaperoned only by my 2mg of Ativan.

The process never changes.  Two hospital gowns -- one open front, one open back -- no jewellry, an IV where the dye goes in, lying face down in the tube, blah, blah, blah.  Unfortunately, the anxiety never changes, either.  I'm not the least bit worried about the outcome of the MRI:  whatever the results, we'll deal.  It's the half hour in the tube that I find tough.  Nevertheless, with the drugs to take the edge off and the knowledge that I'm in the care of the pros, I assume the position (face down, arms at my sides, head first) and away we go.

Soon enough, the whirring and clicking is over and I emerge from my magnetic cocoon none the worse for wear.  Now, it's just a couple of weeks to anticipate the appointment with The Dutchman to receive the results, and I can forget about cancer for another few months.

Hey, Dude, the Show's Up Here

It's good to know some things don't change. The Dutchman is still well worth the wait.

He was particlarly chatty, today. Where was I born? What's the family connection to the Netherlands? All of this while making no eye contact, and palpating breasts, scars, nodes, and the like. Truly an odd combination of intimacy and small talk I don't experience anywhere else.

Long story short, the upshot of all the groping -- and the review of my MRI -- is that all's well. I'm booked for a fresh mammogram, an MRI and another tete-a-tete with The Dutchman in October. I'd expected it might be twelve months, as that's what The Pill scheduled, but you won't find me disappointed. I'll just think of my next appointment as an early Christmas gift.

Same Time, Next Year

The Pill gave me the spring pat down, this afternoon.  I was putty -- well, breast tissue -- in his hands.

After asking if I still get a period (my answer:  about every four months), or experience hot flashes (haven't yet, thank goodness), and letting me know my latest MRI was clear (yay!), he sent me packing with another prescription for Tamoxifen in hand.

Much as I like the guy, I was pleased to hear that he only wants to see me annually, from here on.  Six weeks from now, it's me and the Dutchman.  Here's hopin' for as easy an appointment with him.