\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cAngelina Jolie\u2019s Disclosure of Preventive Mastectomy Highlights Dilemma\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u2014The New York Times<\/em>, May 14, 2013<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n ________________________________________________________________________<\/strong><\/p>\n I. Catapult<\/strong><\/p>\n Plastic Surgeon #1, sidetracked, is convinced I have scoliosis.\u00a0 \u201cNo,\u201d I repeat. \u201cI do not have scoliosis.\u201d Still, I stand in my underwear and hang my arms over my head like I\u2019m diving. He fingers my spine silently. Humpity, humpity, hump.\u00a0 \u201cHmm,\u201d he says, unconvinced.\u00a0 It turns out I have \u201csevere chest wall asymmetry.\u201d Basically, I\u2019m uneven, a tippy table, which will make breast reconstruction complicated.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The plastic surgeon\u2019s name is Stephen. He\u2019s got a soft, dewy face, dark hair, black glasses, and when I ask questions, he suddenly whips back on his stool as if ready to catapult himself into space. Dr. Stephen crosses his hands over his white coat. He\u2019s busy and rich and has many women to see. He doesn\u2019t like my fifteen-point list of questions. \u201cWe\u2019ll take good care of you,\u201d he says. He signals we\u2019re done by stuffing his pen into his lab coat pocket. I bet myself one million dollars he\u2019s been trained to say that at the end of every consult.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n It\u2019s the nurse, Danielle, who lays out the facts in his wake: My BRCA (read: br<\/strong>east ca<\/strong>ncer) genetic mutation predisposes me to a 90% chance of the most vicious, untreatable breast cancer. Plus, holy hell: a 65% chance of ovarian cancer, the \u201csilent\u201d killer. The choices: 1) Have surgery to remove all at-risk body parts or 2) don\u2019t. I want \u201cdon\u2019t\u201d but can\u2019t choose \u201cdon\u2019t.\u201d How can I? I have two children. A beautiful husband. All the students I have yet to teach and love. There\u2019s still Japan to visit. Indonesia. My children\u2019s weddings. Their grandchildren! To do nothing is Russian Roulette. To do nothing is to wide-eye my way through every sleepless night waiting for my mutant DNA to blastoma the hell out of my breasts.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Danielle wears leather joggers and high heels. Her holiday manicure features tiny gold Christmas trees sparkling at the tips. I like her and imagine if I go with Dr. Stephen, I\u2019ll really be going with Danielle\u2014health care being what it is.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u00a0II. Goldilocks<\/strong><\/p>\n Plastic Surgeon #2 says I\u2019m lucky<\/em>. \u201cYou have the perfect \u2018Goldilocks\u2019 situation for direct-mastectomy-to-implant!\u201d She dutifully lists the reason aloud:<\/p>\n 1) my breasts have just the right droop (ptosis)<\/em><\/p>\n 2) I \u201cwant\u201d to go smaller, not larger<\/p>\n 3) I\u2019m not overweight<\/p>\n 4) I don\u2019t \u201cwant\u201d to keep my nipples<\/p>\n 5) I do not have and have not had cancer<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Apparently, I meet all items on the Goldilocks checklist for a perfect and immediate reconstruction. But where is my perfect little bowl of porridge? The tiny chair that\u2019s just right\u2014until I break it? Because I\u2019m broken. Am I broken? What does a broken little stick of DNA look like?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The doctor\u2019s name is Elena, and she tries to bring me in closer by hushing her voice. \u201cI understand why you\u2019re doing this,\u201d she says. \u201cI have a two-year-old.\u201d Which I translate to mean: she is young, still green, which makes me wonder, then worry: How many breast reconstructions does she even have under her belt? I ask; I have to. \u201cOne and a half,\u201d she says, smirking at the half. My friends have always teased me about my horrible poker face. Dr. Elena must see it in my eyes: my fear, my \u201coh hell no!\u201d She adjusts her white coat with a quick glance at the clock. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you look at some of these photos,\u201d she says. She is immensely professional and kind. She angles the monitor so I can see.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I stare at headless women\u2019s photographs on the website. Dr. Elena clicks to show me \u201cBefore\u201d and \u201cAfter\u201d breasts. I note the women\u2019s whiteout swimsuit lines, their freckly constellations, the taut cords of their necks: chins up, eyes unseen. The \u201cBefore\u201d breasts fascinate with their oddities and quirks: the gigantic bumpy nipples like big melted cookies; the soft, deep flop of boobs hanging heavy to the belly button; the tiny, hard nipples that really do look like pink pencil erasers. All the women wear the same white satin triangle underpants: the plastic surgery uniform of the brave. The \u201cAfter\u201d breasts remind me of Coraline\u2019s crisscross button eyes. They look like blank, soft doll faces, nipples gone, pale skin hatched with red scars. \u201cSo which of these are your patients?\u201d I ask. She scrolls and clicks back a few. \u201cThis one,\u201d she says. I nod. It looks like every other horror show of loss.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I don\u2019t ask about the other half of the one-and-a-half procedures she\u2019s done.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n III. Wink<\/strong><\/p>\n Plastic Surgeon #3 is the overeager guy in high school, the three-sport athlete, the smart, generically handsome, deeply insecure charmer all grown up. He\u2019s got a gray cowlick and an aggressive overbite some might find attractive. His name is Howard, and something about his beady eyes and frantic movements feels ferret-like. \u201cYou don\u2019t mind if I have a resident in here with me, do you? This is Luke.\u201d Hasn\u2019t that ship already sailed? I mean, here he is. \u201cThat\u2019s fine,\u201d I say, even though it\u2019s the only appointment my husband is unable to attend. Never mind: I\u2019ve grown used to standing topless in front of blue walls for photographs while men take pictures and talk about my breasts.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Luke is a curly-haired surfer type. He\u2019s the young scribe and the apprentice and is working hard to make me comfortable. \u201cOh, yeah, totally,\u201d he says in answer to my questions. \u201cYeah, yeah. I hear ya, man. It\u2019s all good.\u201d They measure the distance from sternum notch to nipple; they lift each breast as if feeling for the perfect weight and density of a ripe grapefruit. Dr. Howard dictates, and Luke writes: \u201cnipples everted, shoulder grooving mild, ptosis level two for each breast.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cHey, I know what ptosis means,\u201d I say. \u201cIt means my breasts are really floppy and droopy.\u201d I laugh, shrug my shoulders like, \u201cEh, what\u2019re you gonna do?\u201d This stops both of them in their tracks\u2014literally. Something has shifted. Dr. Howard fumbles with his tie. \u201cI didn\u2019t say that,\u201d he says. Luke offers bro backup. \u201cOh, no, man. That\u2019s not what he was saying at all.\u201d Now it makes sense how remarkably quick and easy it was to secure \u00a0an appointment with Dr. Howard, even though he\u2019s Chief of Breast Reconstructive Surgery at Best Hospital in the World. He\u2019s a hot commodity on the speaking circuit for his expertise on microvascular surgery, yet I got in to see him immediately. I think I might understand: He\u2019s a bit of a letch. Or is condescending. Cruel. Perhaps he has not dealt with women appropriately in the past. Perhaps that\u2019s why Luke is here at the get-go.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cCan you send me the link to the photo gallery of your past patients?\u201d I ask. Luke gives me a thumbs-up. Dr. Howard swivels back to his computer. \u201cOh, we don\u2019t really do photo galleries like that.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cReally.\u201d I dare him to dismiss my curt, angry tone. \u201cAnd why\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cPhotos aren\u2019t really that helpful,\u201d he says. He crosses his arms, and I catch him glancing at the clock. Luke\u2019s cell goes off; honest to god, it\u2019s Bruno Mars\u2019s \u201cUptown Funk.\u201d He doesn\u2019t apologize but dashes out the door without a word. It\u2019s now me against Dr. Howard.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cTrust me, your breasts will be stunning.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cDefine stunning,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cHa,\u201d he says. \u201cYou got me there.\u201d He looks longingly at the door for his wingman. Anyone, anything, to get him out of this room with this terrible woman who takes things way too seriously.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cAre we done?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n He stands, smoothing his tie. \u201cJust let me know what you decide.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n He winks at me on his way out.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Anne Panning \u00a0 \u201cAngelina Jolie\u2019s Disclosure of Preventive Mastectomy Highlights Dilemma\u201d \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u2014The New York Times, May 14, 2013 \u00a0 ________________________________________________________________________ I. Catapult Plastic Surgeon #1, sidetracked, is convinced I have scoliosis.\u00a0 \u201cNo,\u201d I repeat. \u201cI do not have scoliosis.\u201d Still, I stand in my underwear and hang my arms over my head […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":8921,"template":"","categories":[9,49,142],"tags":[782],"class_list":["post-8920","article","type-article","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-aquifer","category-literary-features","category-nonfiction","tag-anne-panning"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n