I just tried on my new lavender wig. I love it. The pink wig I got is an absolutely beautiful shade of pink but the lavender suits my skin tone and eye color better. I feel a little bit like a cute alien from Lost In Space. With jeans and snow boots it will be adorable this winter (I have one pair of jeans that were too small and now they fit though I don’t look shapely because I no longer have a shape). Maybe I can also bring some cheer to the other chemo patients if I get my cancer-killing drug dosage looking fun and positive.
I’ll check back later today. I’m Zooming with my new primary care doctor this afternoon. Looking forward to it.
Talk to you later …
So much – Zoomed with my new PCP and had a good talk; received an email from the oncology administrator with a status update (much appreciated); received a phone call from my new oncologist who is setting me up for procedures next week with chemo to directly follow – he is completely on top of it; continued to pack; called my surgical team because I’ve had no output since Sunday and I don’t know how much medicine to take (and my new PCP suggested I call them) – no call back, no surprise – assume they’ll call tomorrow but that’s no excuse for no call back today; spent hours on the phone dealing with car insurance and utilities – trying to cancel service at my present address and being unable to do so either because websites did not have or would not take the information or customer service never answered; set up appointments for tomorrow – a guy to haul away stuff I’m donating, a haircut; booked a hotel room for next week re trip to hospital; contacted waste management to pick up stuff being thrown out; cleaned the bathrooms and started on the kitchen; and a million other things – I have a long, long list.
Big news: my new oncologist said my cancer is treatable. (He also acknowledged that I needed time to recover from the surgery prior to starting chemo and that it has been a tough recovery.) When my old primary care physician broke the cancer news, he kept saying how sorry he was like I was on death’s door which convinced me that I was. My old oncologist said the horse was out of the barn so they couldn’t cure me but they could try to shrink the tumor with an estimated 2-3 year life expectancy based on stats. My old surgeon said I was at risk of immediate death due to internal bleeding if the tumor invades a blood vessel. Maybe they’re all right.
But here’s the difference: I’m no longer just a number. I’m a person, a human being, and everyone on my team is invested in having me live. After my experiences in the health care system over the past few months, I no longer take that simple fact for granted. My new team has already started taking care of me and is working hard to get my treatment going. I feel secure. I am extraordinarily grateful and thankful.
There is hope.