The two things I miss most are bread (sourdough in particular) and potatoes.
My best friend had breast cancer in 2013. Her OB/gyn recommended a surgeon ... why this one, I don’t know. After hearing about her overall experience with him, he just seems ‘shady’ to me (I have significant experience with some ‘shady’ doctors so I trust my gut feelings). He took a biopsy and wanted to do a ‘lumpectomy’. A relative of this friend told her to go to a hospital where they had a ‘team’ approach, not one single surgeon. She took that advice and boy, what a difference. They did genetic testing on the tumor, came up with a plan of treatment - two types of chemo, mastectomy, then radiation. Her surgeon was fantastic - I met him twice (the day of mastectomy surgery & when she had her port taken out). She had no family in town, so I helped her out.
I will never forget the day she cried to me after realizing what a difference it made ... the one surgeon vs the team. Her tumor was staged at 2A and aggressive ... she probably would have had a metastasized cancer or died with just the lumpectomy approach. Her surgeon only removed one lymph node, so that was a blessing as well ... she was very concerned due to the lymphedema that can occur after surgery. She was going to have reconstruction surgery, but once she went through everything, the thought of more surgery was just too much. So far she appears to be doing fine.
I did consider reconstruction surgery about a year after mastectomy and saw a doctor who’s supposed to be some hot-shot plastic surgeon in the area.
Hubby and I saw the doctor who did an exam and then discussed the procedure/outcome. He asked about the size I wanted, then did a nudge-nudge-wink-wink to my husband about “bigger”. I couldn’t believe it. I was there due to cancer; I wasn’t some bimbo wanting a bigger rack. Hubby and I looked at each other and said nothing.
For many years I was assistant in a construction office in Alaska. I’m not a prude, and could hold my own with the guys. This was not happy hour after work on Friday night, but (allegedly) a professional medical appointment.
Perfectly choreographed, as I finished dressing, a saleswoman came in with a big calendar book. She sat down and demanded, “Tell me when you want to schedule your surgery.” I said, “I have to discuss it with my husband first but will let you know.” She SLAMMED the calendar closed and stalked out of the room.
On our trip home we were silent for a long time. Then he asked what I thought. I said, “I think I need a shower.” He agreed.
I never pursued reconstruction again, even with a different surgeon.