de Nile isn't just a river in Egypt
First, I would like to report that I am doing better, as in better living through chemistry. I no longer am going and hiding in the bedroom when there are people in the house. I am able to smile and even laugh again. I also have been looking at how I have been trying to deal with my cancer.
I know there are stages of grief and of dying. I can't remember what they are, nor have I looked into where I am in the process. I have been trying to deal with my disease head on and in a clear eyed fashion. I have come to the conclusion that that really isn't working for me at the moment, so I am going to try a new tactic. Denial. Maybe I've been here before, but it feels new to me right now.
I have been talking to my Hospice nurse and we are negotiating the waters of my release from Hospice. The challenging part is what to do next. I sort of fired my oncologist, and Daddy didn't like him anyway. I left the door open with him and I think he would take me back, but we still have different philosophies, so he doesn't feel quite right for me.
On the other hand, he has all my history and is familiar without having to read reams and reams of records. And I sort of feel like I owe him the rest of the story. This may seem sort of silly to you, but so many of his patients die due to the type of cancers he specializes in. Wouldn't it be nice for him to have a rare success story? He doesn't even know about my miraculous recovery.
Another option would be to just go with my primary care physician. I like her a lot; I feel like with both of us approach my care as a partnership. She hasn't let me down so far, but I don't think she will feel comfortable with this. We have discussed this in the past.
A third option is to start with her, and see who she recommends. The point is that I am once again at a crossroads and in the grip of uncertainty. I know, I know, we all live our lives with uncertainty, but most of us manage at most times to maintain the fascade of control. I know I have lost mine. But enough about that.
From now on, when anyone asks me how I am, I'm fine. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Comments
I think we're all agreed that you pretty much skipped the denial step. I must admit, it's hard not to say that you're fine when someone asks. What else can we say?
And doesn't Dr. P know your miraculous recovery? I does know your tumor is gone.
Posted by: Mara | March 26, 2007 12:20 PM
What he doesn't know is that it is still gone. And I am fine. There really is no other answer.
Posted by: Ma | March 26, 2007 5:14 PM
You can always call him or his nurse secretary to let him know without getting involved with him anymore. There is M.Espi... who is an oncologist too. She promised to work with you didn't she?
Posted by: Papa D | March 26, 2007 9:57 PM
M. Espi, (Dr. Espinoza) as you call her, is a hemotologist. She is an option, but I think I would feel more confident working with an oncologist who was more familiar with pancreatic cancer.
Posted by: Ma | March 27, 2007 9:45 AM
I'm sorry I don't know what to say.
I'm sorry. I don't know what to say.
I'm sorry I don't know.
I'm sorry, I don't know. What to say...?
I'm sorry, I dont. Know what to say?
This is my culminating, essay resulting from all of my years of using my English and Psychology degree. It is a perfect marriage.
Posted by: R . T. Bean | March 27, 2007 10:55 PM
Hey, Maman!
Better living through chemistry. I'm a big fan. And I'm happy to hear that you're doing better, for whatever the reason!
When is your next scan?
Posted by: Nathan Dornbrook | March 28, 2007 7:17 AM
I am in the process of figuring that out. That means I haven't connected yet with my next doctor, or even quite figured out who it will be. I was thinking of giving Dr. P a call today to see what I can see.
Posted by: ma | March 28, 2007 11:17 AM
Ahh...Denial, Ignorance, and Naivete, lovely to live in, but so hard to find your way back to once you leave.
Posted by: valerie | April 3, 2007 5:02 PM
So I think I will stay a while.
Posted by: Ma | April 4, 2007 9:57 AM
Dear Madame Maman. Your voice is powerful. I read, and re-read what you said. I tried to let the words sink in, and they sank, deep and long. And part of why they sank, is because your writing is so exquisite, sharp and clear and witty and simultaneously profound. I wish anyone out there who needed you and your words and your insights could find them, because I know they would be a light for them. They are for me. Your honesty and candor and ruthless head-on-ness is addicting, I pray for you constantly, but you give me so much more with your words. thank you for writing so beautifully about your life, and helping everyone, you included, I am sure, to appreciate LIFE a little more. Especially with a beautiful Liam here to be a gift to you.
Posted by: Violetta | April 6, 2007 12:46 AM