We didn't stay much longer. Torben drove us to our Belltown apartment. I was a little down. Not because I had cancer - I figured I could handle that. I felt sorry because I'd made my mother sad.

Cover headline, Time Magazine, Jan. 14, 1991:

One American woman in ten will get
BREAST CANCER
Why - and what can be done?

Everywhere I turned, there was more breast-cancer news. Was there this much before, and I just didn't notice?

At times all this information was overwhelming. But I needed enough to make decisions: Which surgeon? Lumpectomy or mastectomy? Which oncologist? What about reconstruction? Which plastic surgeon? TRAM flap or implant? Silicone or saline?

My boss said to take off whatever time I needed. Only later would I realize how important - and rare - that kind of support can be. I told her I might want to write about this whole experience one day. Betty Udesen, then the Pacific staff photographer, started tagging along. Her mother died of breast cancer.

I phoned the National Cancer Institute for free copies of research articles. Joined the UW Alumni Association so I could use the Health Sciences Library. Hit the downtown public library. Tried to get semi-conversant in flow cytometry, T-cells, estrogen receptors. Called the American Cancer Society for phone numbers of women who had reconstructions, and those who did not. Gathered more than 80 names and phone numbers from family, friends, the medical community. Called about half of 'em.

I wound up seeing three surgeons, three plastic surgeons and five oncologists.

The year is 1977. I'm getting second opinions on the knee I blew out playing basketball. One surgeon says that although he would operate for a male basketball player, he wouldn't for a female, because a career isn't at stake. The surgeon at Group Health calls the operation "experimental surgery" and writes in his notes that "she's just looking for someone to tell her what she wants to hear." I wind up choosing one who's a five-hour drive away. Not just because he's a well-known specialist, but because he's the only one who actually takes the time to address all my questions.

I was prepared for a similar battle. I was surprised. Appointments were granted within days, not weeks. Doctors were less defensive. Questions welcome. Counseling and support groups at every turn. Had the medical world changed that much since '77? Or just for this disease?

Still, it seems as if today's model patient asks a couple of questions and trusts the doctors and the system from there. I didn't. Maybe it was my journalistic training, or some notion that I could understand a few of the details, even if I hadn't gone to medical school.

Asking a lot of questions meant challenging authority. I cried while trying to argue my point with that Group Health knee doctor. He took it as a sign of emotional instability.