Through doors of care, the surgeon walks,
In sterile rooms where whispers talk.
With steady hands and mind precise,
She meets the breast’s unwelcome vice.
For diagnosis comes her skill,
To map the tumors, small or ill.
Then biopsy follows, needle fine,
Drawing cells along a line.
Afterwards, she plans the way—
Lumpectomy or mastectomy’s sway.
Each choice, a path to cut and mend,
Towards the light where hope might bend.
Moreover, she stands in trusted teams,
With radiologists whose vision gleams.
Alongside plastic surgeons too,
Together, dreams of healing brew.
Yet beyond her scalpel’s blade,
She guides the fears that can’t be weighed.
Through patient eyes, she glimpses pain,
And with soft words, she breaks the strain.
Even so, her role extends,
Past surgery where scars transcend.
Through months and years of healing slow,
She charts the paths where wellness grows.
Thus, her journey knows no end—
In every scar, the hope she’ll send.
For breast by breast, with all her art,
She stitches science into heart.
And so, she walks this path anew,
Each patient’s courage breaking through.
