One Down

In years past, my chemo oncologist check-ups were in late October and late April and my radiation oncologist check-ups were in June.

Thanks to Covid-19 and all the insanity that came with it, my oncologist appointment for April was postponed until June 16. That was a Tuesday.

My radiation oncologist appointment, which was scheduled a year ago, is Tuesday, June 23.

I think we can all be pretty sure that nothing is going to change in a week from one appointment to the next.

Of course there is the fact that my radiation oncologist is WAY more thorough than my chemo oncologist.

Though to be fair, this year my chemo oncology check was done by the nurse practitioner. She’s great. For a little woman she had STRONG hands. She digs in there during the physical exam. To be honest, I actually feel better after my appointments with her than I do after my appointments with Dr. Z. I have, in the past, felt like he’s just passing through, whereas she spends time with me, talks to me, treats me like an actual person.

Well. That was six paragraphs to say that my chemo oncology appointment went well. Nothing pointing that there is anything to be concerned about. She said my lungs sound perfect. Please, universe, karma, God…don’t take this to mean that I’m asking for my lungs to NOT sound good. Please, know that I am grateful, eternally, for every single day I am here and that I’d be ever so much more grateful for many, many more days, years, decades during which to life my simple little life.

I’m assuming, since the two appointments are a week apart, the next one will be fine too.

I am also going in to this next appointment with the full knowledge that Dr. R will make me feel terrible about myself. He’s kind about it but he reminds me that I’m a fatty and that my fattiness could very well be a contributing factor to my cancer. He will remind me that the Mediterranean diet, which is based on eating a mostly plant-based diet, has shown to work well for cancer survivors.

Wheee!

I know! I want to tell him that I KNOW all this. It doesn’t make it any easier to actually do all the things that might make a difference though.

Ah well, at least I know that the funk I often find myself in after my yearly appointment with him only lasts a few days and then I bounce right back to my lovely, jovial self.

Huh.

I wonder if he’ll have anything to say about my supposed lymphedema. I haven’t worn a sleeve on my left arm in, oh, six months. My arm is fine. It’s FINE! In fact, the nurse practitioner and a couple of other doctors concur that I probably do not have lymphedema. I show no signs of visible swelling. I have very little (no?) pain in my left arm.

I mean, I appreciate that he’s so proactive. I do. I also appreciate that he’s thorough. He wants me to get healthy, be healthy and stay healthy. I mean, he’s one of my doctors, I supposed I should want him to want those things. Sigh. If only it were that easy.

Anyway, I’m sure once I’ve seen him I will have lots to bitch about. But for now, I’m grateful. I’m blessed. I’m so, so lucky to be here, living this life and loving these people and skating in my driveway with my daughters. How did I get here? Please don’t let this just be a wishful dream that I wake up from.