I’ve been waiting for months to revisit my breast surgeon, since our string of regular surgical dates and reviews was completed and she sent me on my way to heal. I grieved a little for the finality of the first part of treatment farewelling so many characters which had been such a feature of my life in the early days of diagnosis; the breast care nurses, the plastic surgeon, and their side kicks. The familiar surrounds of the hospital. As I returned to continue the treatment plan at my local hospital.

Today is breast review day back in the big smoke. She will inspect her handy work, the scalpel cuts that are four months along, the Asian sized tissue expander as well as the armpit with no lymph nodes. There is the small matter of radiotherapy to discuss before plans for the second mastectomy and sentinel node biopsy can proceed. All of this dialogue might occur in a fifteen minute meeting which I am happy to make a four hour round trip for.

I have not forgotten the scent of her perfume. Or the excitement and anticipation I felt when I saw her clothes and shoes each time we met. Time has moved through two seasons since our beginning. Today I’m expecting some wintery attire. Stilettos would be unlikely. Perhaps long leather boots?

I am a little excited for this date. Despite feeling unwell, I have put some makeup on my bloated steroid infused face and chosen one of my favorite headscarves. But it is a very different woman that will meet the surgeon today. I wonder if she will remember who I was? Maybe she could remind me.