Kindly Dr. Welby

I'm not crazy about the idea of bouncing around between the east and west side of Rochester. There was no help for it. First, drive carpool to the east side, then head back to work on the west side, then off towards the east side for my appointment with the Ear, Nose, Throat specialist. Though listed as being part of Strong hospital, the clinic was actually out towards Brighton in a quiet neighborhood near 390. Bottom floor was a cardiology unit, top floor the ENT guys. They had a quiet reception area with a pleasant view. It wasn't crowded, and in a few minutes a nurse called my name and ushered me into an exam room for the usual vitals and questions, ending with "the doctor will be with you shortly."

As I sat waiting for the doctor to appear, I was tempted to tip my head back against the wall and snooze. It was so peaceful. You couldn't even hear muffled voices from the hallway or bells dinging from the elevator. Fearing getting caught in mid-snore, I resisted the temptation and poked through a stack of Newsweeks and sports magazines looking for something to read. Lacking anything engaging, I pulled out my to-do list and sorted through it, updating and adding. Finally, I put that away and just sat, reflecting on how much of my life I am wasting waiting to "be seen." I guess I am not much different from anyone else in that respect.

There came a gentle knock on the door, a pause ( I finally realized he was waiting for an invitation to enter ), and then he opened the door, a tall elderly man with thick white hair and glasses. He took my hand and greeted me, holding on to my hand while he gazed into my face and sized me up for what felt like a good ten minutes, though I am sure it was not that long. I found myself staring at a man who looked for all the world like Marcus Welby, MD. He was kindly and considerate, his movements slow and deliberate, his attention focused on me, not on my file.

"Ah," I thought. "Here is a person who is not in a hurry. He will listen to what I am saying, he will not make snap decisions based on norms. He will be careful." And in fact, he was. He asked a lot of questions, all the while examining my neck and throat. He never asked me to answer any questions while he was poking about in my mouth with a tongue depressor or mirror. During the exam, I could feel the warmth of the bright light reflecting from the mirror on his head. He was thorough, precise, and paid attention to what I said.

Then he was just quiet while he repeated his exam, looking more closely, feeling some areas over and over. Finally, he lay his instruments down and looked me square in the eye. "I just can't find anything worth biopsying. I read the report, and I should be able to feel some of these glands, but they just aren't there. Even on the PET scan, the active areas in the neck are listed at 1.7 and 1.8 cm, and I am usually reticent to fuss with anything under 2cm. Given your history, of course, we want to proceed, but I can't palpate anything. I am recommending against a biopsy at this time. Let's see what happens on the next PET scan, and I know your oncologist is planning to investigate both the lighted areas of the rectum and the shoulder and arm. Do you agree?"

Do I agree? I am not used to being asked, just told. I do agree. I have said so all along. I don't want to go through cancer again. Of course, I want to do what I have to in order to hang around until Drew gets old enough to survive on his own. But really, I'd just as soon not do any biopsies, no chemo, no radiation. I'm not even sure I understand what happened the first time around, and I don't want to risk repeating something dangerous just in the name of caution. I told him that I had been scheduled for the biopsy, but I had not gone. "Good girl!" he laughed, slapping his knee. "Good for you!"

Will my oncologist leave it alone? I doubt it. But for now, I have a Get Out Of Jail Free card, and I'm using it! Dr. Welby assured me that if anything worrisome shows up on future scans, he will be the first to call me. In the meantime, he will let my oncologist know his findings. And with a pat on the shoulder, he points me toward the exit.

Hum. Well, back to work. Meantime, the oncologist has left me a voice mail about my next PET scan appointment. . .