I see my Oncologist every six months. Every three months there's blood work. Once a month my IV Port gets flushed. November would see a change in this protocol. It began with a visit to my Oncologist.
November 5th and I'm back at the Cancer Centre for my six month follow-up with my Oncologist. New procedural changes for notifying the patient that their doctor is ready to see them were introduced since my last visit. In the past you would register at the front reception desk, be given paperwork and a pager, go upstairs and perform your ESAS survey, drop off the paperwork with the doctor's receptionist and wait for the pager to inform you that you will now be seen. This time no paperwork and no pager. You check in with the front reception, they email your doctor's reception person and after you do the ESAS survey, you wait in the lounge. A friendly voice informs you when it's your turn. Less stressful than having a pager go off unexpectedly in your lap. Maintaining the personal interaction rather than abstracting a visit with a technical process is a nice "soft" change.
I had barely sat down when my name was called, and I was ushered into the patient examining area by the smiling nurse. My weigh is recorded (186lbs) and some survey questions are asked by the nurse - if you have any concerns for the upcoming meeting with your oncologist, now would be a good time to mention them.
There was only one item I wished to discuss, but the exam preliminaries needed to be performed. For that I need to hop up onto the exam table and take deep breaths so my lungs can be heard via stethoscope. Next comes the reclining portion of the exam, where I lie down and look up at the ceiling. Prodding and poking of the abdomen occurs, and the region of greatest interest-in my case the liver-is examined. Other than confirming I'm still ticklish, there was nothing of note to report.
From the cancer doctor's perspective, the liver is the most likely place for cancer to reoccur. My general aches and pains are not really symptoms of the disease that has changed my life. Mostly these complaints are under the larger umbrella of the affliction know as "getting older". I do remind the doc about my primary concern of late: my IV Port.
"We'll take it out." she says. Simple statements like that are, upon later reflection, profound. It means I don't need further treatment. It means I don't hold my breath waiting in fear. It means I have a future.
However those feelings wouldn't manifest until the port was actually removed. While sitting on the exam table, I half-expected my doctor to call a nurse and yank it out of me then and there. Not quite the way it would happen, but I was assured at the end of my visit that a time would be scheduled "before Christmas" for its removal. I was already thinking "Best Christmas Present Ever" when my doctor observed as an afterthought that there were lots of good veins in my hands should we need to resume treatment. OK, I can live with that should it be necessary, but hey it's been nearly two years without any treament, lets just live life today and tomorrow and see what happens. I was also reminded to maintain the rigorous schedule of getting my blood work done every three months. Those tests remain as always, my first line of defense. They also serve as a reminder that better doesn't always mean cured, and cured doesn't always mean finished. LIfe goes on..
My exam now complete, I left the clinic knowing I would be called very soon to schedule the ports' removal. It was a nice sunny day. I was happy. Whether it's true or not, all my positive memories of the WRCC are linked to images of sunshine in my mind. Nothing wrong with being happy, even better when you are healthy. I sincerely believe that you can't have one without the other.
Events are drawing to a close. One more simple small procedure brings me that much closer to finishing my journey. More importantly, to finish on my terms: not merely survive Cancer, but to step our from under its shadow and live without fear.
No comments:
Post a Comment