BCAG
member, Annie Huet, wrote to us in 1997 with her experience:
“I had a breast cancer operation in November 1995. I
was surprised, at the time of diagnosis, by the attitude of
the surgeon, at his total lack of sympathy. I know surgeons
see many patients every day and they may have become blasé
about the whole thing. However, we are not just statistics,
and with respect to the medical profession, I think they often
lack sensitivity.”
The following is her story… |
Friday
was my birthday and, as usual, I had arranged to have afternoon
tea with a few girlfriends – we always celebrated our
birthdays together.
A week earlier, I woke up with my hand on my breast and felt
a lump. Probably a cyst. Just in case, I took advantage of
the free screening. Now, on the morning of my birthday, I
had to go to the public hospital in Prahran for a follow-up.
I wasn’t worried. “Just a cyst”. In the
waiting room I immersed myself in a New Idea and tried to
read the latest about Lady Di and Prince Charles.
Another mammogram was done, then back to the cubicle. Some
time later a nurse came and inserted a huge needle in my breast.
“Just a biopsy, don’t worry” she said. Later,
I was to have an ultrasound. Now and then she came and asked:
“Are you okay?” She did not wait for an answer.
Left alone, I was beginning to feel like a piece of meat at
the butchers.
Eventually, three doctors come to examine me. Each one, without
speaking, prodded my breast. Then they disappeared for a while,
came back and talked between themselves in the corner. I was
left alone in the cubicle once more. A hundred years later
the nurse came in. I tried to keep calm.
“What’s the matter?” I almost cried. She
smiled and said I’d have to speak to the doctor. Somehow,
I got dressed.
“Please sit down, Mrs H”, the doctor said as he
looked up from the file. “You’ve got cancer…”
“I beg your pardon! Did you say…?”
“Yes… You have cancer. You must have your operation
on Monday. It is urgent. You must go straight to your GP and
get me a referral, then go and book yourself into the private
hospital. You want private, don’t you Mrs H?”
I floated. “Yes… but you mean today… Now?”
“Yes. Now! No time to lose. I’ll see you Monday
then?”
The question was rhetorical. He did not ask of my circumstances,
whether I was alright to drive; whether I had someone waiting
for me at home. Actually, I do live alone, but he didn’t
ask.
Somehow, I managed to drive to Middle Park for the referral,
then to the private hospital in Malvern to book in for Monday.
I had rung my friends between the waitings to say I’d
be late.
Two-and-a-half hours later I arrived. They were all waiting
for me. I had a strong cup of tea and nibbled on cake. Everything
seemed unreal.
To this day I am still surprised I did not protest at the
doctor’s complete lack of compassion. The operation
and treatment went well, and now I can look forward to celebrate
many more Happy Birthdays! |
