Dr. Bloom put me in touch with a nice radiologist named Dr. Hu (pronounced ‘who’) just to prove his position (“Not that will do any good but…”). Hu didn’t think there was much he could do for me but did a radiology staging anyway. That’s where they put you into the radiation machine and take exact measurements of where you need to be scanned. They then put your leg onto a plaster-y pillow to make a mold of how your leg needs to be held. Finally you’re tattooed, something I didn’t know until he was injecting four black dye dots into my leg with a syringe. I also learned the importance of wearing butt-covering underwear when they took a Polaroid of me lying on the table from my feet-up and pointing up at my crotch, Pretty, and it’s on the front of my radiology file, to boot. Just how I’d like to be remembered.
After seeing Dr. Hu, someone told me that if you have cancer you should go to Sloan-Kettering, the Rolls Royce of cancer centers. Costs about the same, too. Dr. Coit was another Surgical Oncologist and came up with much the same conclusion; amputation was my only option, except he was a lot nicer about breaking the news to me. He also did another biopsy, a chunk the size of a pencil eraser this time while being surrounded by young doctors taking notes. After he told me about the results of the biopsy (sarcoma) I never heard from him again except from his billing office. I have to say though, if you either have the money or Sloan-Kettering takes your insurance it’s worth going to if, for no other reason, to check out the super-nice outpatient waiting room. It's all about the waterfalls, orchids and free coffee.