In the movie “My big fat Greek wedding”, Aunt Voula corners the prospective in-laws and starts jabbering about a lump. “All my life, I’ve had a lump…always a lump”. She then goes on, in TMI fashion, to tell them they found bits and pieces of her twin sister when they removed it.
That’s not my story. I haven’t always had a lump. One sort of appeared a few months ago and refused to go away. After a needle biopsy, it was found to be cancerous. That’s when the fun began.
My region is blessed with an amazing array of medical facilities. And each doctor I’ve met has been better than the last. But along the way, there’s too many funny stories not to pass on.
For instance, one doctor saying it would be best for me to put on another 30 lbs or so before starting therapy. I, no lightweight, pointed out I had 80-100 lbs to give to the cause and should be fine. Still, what he said had merit. I’ll lose a crap-lot of weight regardless, and that buffer would leave me with a better energy level. I get that. But that extra tonnage would affect a number of other systems that I’ll also need working – like cardio-vascular, and digestive to name a couple. I’ve approached that weight before, and it’s deeply uncomfortable, especially in the Texas heat.
Today I finally got a call from the chemo people. In true Texas form, sounding like Flo from the TV series “Alice”, she started the call “Well, I understand you’re a little agitated with us…”. She said that right after introducing herself. I’m sure when we meet, I’ll have one of my patented “Knuckles on the Desk” moments. I have cancer. No shit I’m agitated. And my already short fuse is practically non-existent. And I’m sorry my main oncologist had to call her boss, so her boss yelled at her, but it’s my oncologist’s office she was supposed to create an appointment with, on my behalf. She didn’t. Nor did she call them back. Not even after the Nurse walked my paperwork to their office. Laziness is something endemic with administration types around here. I’ll probably end up telling her that her life isn’t my fault.
In Dante’s Inferno, Virgil is sent to Dante to guide him through hell. In each level, or circle, he explains who is there any why. Virgil, by and large does not exist when you have Cancer, I’ve come to find. True, they all communicate, but mostly at their level. So what you find is the original doc will say – oh, seven weeks of therapy, good cure rate. A few levels down, they tell you that it’s seven weeks submerged in boiling tar, oh by the way. What I need is a Virgil. Although my main doc is pretty close.
Every week he has a great line that sticks with me. This week’s was; “You know, a lot of people worry about getting addicted to pain killers during treatment. That’s not really an issue. You see, the way addiction works, you need euphoria. There’ll be no euphoria for you.”
Hence the name. I’ll post when I can as long as I can.
Inspected By Pat 