My breast cancer diaries 4: Chucky the doctor

So it is the 17th of december when I’m writing this. I sit at my laptop with my woolen socks and in my pyjamas. I took my medrol and I no longer crave for salty stuff. It must be the enthusiasm of having to move to a different town again and of changing Chucky, my former oncologist. Yes. I have the audacity to change my doctor in the middle of treatment as I discovered some pretty serious errors that she has done. No, I am not afraid of the cancer spreading as much as I fear of being in the wrong hands.

I discovered the cancer in august when I took a biopsy. I didn’t know then, but it is a standard in oncology to place a biopsy marker clip in the breast at the same time as you do the biopsy. In this way the tiny metal seed called clip will be the guide for the surgeon in order to ensure minimal healthy tissue removal. Basically you save a woman’s breast from being mutilated by an invasive surgery. During chemotheraphy the tumours can disappear and unless you have the tiny metal seed which was placed inside the tumour at the beginning the surgeon has the difficult job of operating like a blind man, relying on previous MRI’s and ultrasounds. I have found out about this clip from one of Chucky’s coworkers, another female oncologist. In a talk with her on 31st of october when I wanted her opinion on my swollen hand she told me about it. She gave me a shit diagnosis of a muscle strain when in fact I was having an autoimmune reaction but her comment about the clip made me google and find out that I was deprived of it. I was furious.

The first trip to get a second opinion from an oncologist left me disappointed. With papers at hand proving I was having an autoimmune reaction she was not convinced and she thought that epirubicine treatment should be continued. I knew I had to run from her office. At least the place where I stayed was nice as it had a lovely ficus benjamina plant

I asked the assistant of my oncologist to ask her about the clip. She didn’t. I went on a monday to ask her directly. She removed all residents and her assistant from her office. It was just me and her. I asked her why didn’t she follow protocol. She turned red in her face. She mumbled. “I was going to tell you after chemotheraphy” she said. “You say what? There is no more tumour after chemotheraphy, this is why you should have done this in august” I replied furiously. I am not an idiot and she tried to lie to me in my face. What a Chucky! She turned around and immediately offered to schedule me in the same day to do a mammogram and an ultrasound. She asked me if I have found a surgeon . I said no.

There was still some remains of the tumour. The clip had to be inserted now or never. The next day Chucky tries to again tell me that the breast can’t be salvaged, that it is better to cut it, that the result of a minimal invasive surgery would be an ugly small breast. She tried to deter my attention from the fact that she did not follow protocol. Do you notice that she has placed herself into the position of a surgeon, something that it is not the job of an oncologist? She rushed to connect me with one of her surgeons from the state hospital and at my suggestion she considered recommending me to get a port-a-cath, a small device implanted under my clavicle and connected to the jugular in order to spare my veins from the toxic chemotheraphy and to deliver treatment easier. I had to tell her to give me a ticket for that! She talked with this surgeon to receive me on friday. I had a feeling she tried to cover her ass and that her friend was about to tell me the same thing:remove the breast. I would not trust the surgeon from her. So I skipped friday on purpose and went to a different town to get the opinion of a real surgeon about my breast. This sounds like an action movie right? When this surgeon heard my story he told me to change my oncologist immediately. How on earth I come now in december to put a clip when I was supposed to do this in august? He assured me that my breast will not be cut off and that Chucky spoke crazy stuff. I bursted into tears! I knew it! And I had the medical letter from him to prove it. I knew that this damned woman was fixated on seeing my breast cut! What a crazy person to have the job of a chief oncologist!!

This is the port-a-cath. A titanium device under my skin. I hope it was well put as I will find it out in january 2026 if it actually works. I had to speak with chat gpt about how to sleep with this as the surgeon did not bother to tell me anything. Sleep on your back folks if you are getting this

I return and write to Chucky’s surgeon that I could not make it on friday because I felt sick (I lied yes) and that I can come on Tuesday. I check in into the hospital on Tuesday at 7 a.m. Guess what? I wait until 9.30 pm to get the surgery! This is Romania, a place where it does not matter the hour when you are scheduled but the mood of the doctor who will perform the surgery. On Wednesday I check out and go to Chucky. She thought that her plan worked and asked me with a smirk on her face what did her surgeon tell me. I smacked her with a smile and told her that I did not go to talk with him and that I only put my port-a-cath. I knew from the get go this was a set-up and already had the opinion of a good surgeon in my pocket. She frozed. She did not see this coming. Let me tell you that the only thing I wanted from Chucky in that day was my medical leave.I already knew I was going to change her. You see...I think that a lot of doctors might suffer from God complex. They think they know it all. They love the feeling of power over their patiens who are like obedient little children in the hopes of being saved. Come on, medicine has failed even the richest of the rich! Only God can save someone and we have a long list of rich people who died with all of the best doctors around them without a good explanation.

What followed after Chucky’s frozen blank expression was a dull conversation. She turned red. I stayed cool. She tried to fool me again:”Do you want me to call the surgeon again for you to go and talk with him? “ , she asked. What a fool, she really thought that I missed by accident the talk with him. No, I did it on purpose. You see, I already had the opinion of a surgeon in my pocket since Friday and I also noticed how badly this doctor treated his residents. He called them idiots. No wonder he is good friends with Chucky.

I do not want to talk a lot about this woman and her possible mental issues which can explain why she was keen to see my breast cut. I sigh in sadness wondering how many women got mutilated unnecessarily by her lack of following protocol. I sigh in sadness knowing that after me there will be another woman and another woman stepping into Chucky’s office with the hope for salvation only to find irony, mocking and superiour attitude. Do you know that without the letter from a surgeon they would not accept me to get a clip? I also found out this when I went to put this clip inside my breast. So now do you realize what would have happened if I would not have followed my intuition and ditch Chucky’s surgeon on friday?

I am changing towns. I got lucky is my word for saying that God has my back. Incredible coincidences have happened. I was offered a free place to stay for a couple of months by complete strangers which is close to the medical facility where I will continue treatment. They heard my story and offered to not charge me rent until march 2026.Incredible right? My new oncologist is nice and she even accepted the second opinion I took from an oncologist abroad about what to do next.

Another trip in which I finally managed to find a great oncologist at a medical center

I once in a while think of Chucky and a million ways in which I would love to see her leave earth in incredible pain together with her family, children, pets and other acquaintances.Yup. I wish her extinction. But I also realize that she did me the biggest favour by showing me how much force I have within me in order to leave her and move on to greener pastures in the midst of a cancer diagnosis which would scare a lot of people. I am not afraid of dying, I am afraid of living like an idiot and following like a blind sheep what others suggest. Perhaps longterm suffering is what scares me the most as I believe that physical pain or a permanent disability is the most difficult to live with rather than leaving earth permanently.

Follow your intuition. Now that I look back I realize that in august when I have met this woman I felt something off in her attitude. Our bodies do not lie. We can pick up stuff though our senses long before our mind catches up.

Don’t be afraid by what a diagnosis says on paper. Doctors are not God. God works though them and and it only by His will that we find salvation.

Most of all believe in the universe having your back. In october an unexpected help came my way. My coworkers helped me financially , each of them contributing to the extent of their ability. Their help bought my ticket to travelling to a different town multiple times to pay for private consultations with different oncologists, the surgeon , to get my clip put, to have a second opinion from a doctor abroad. Not in my wildest dreams I could have done that only on my own. So God is at work and I feel that I need to strenghten my faith in order to stay strong and keep my head high.

New town, here I come! Bald and brave!

I know that my curls will return and now I am happy that I have a pretty shaped head to rock this look with lol