It's now May 2013, two years 'cancer free', and my post-cancer protocol has me visiting my Oncologist twice a year. I'm somewhat anxious as I step once more into the Windsor Regional Cancer Centre. Although I'm no longer receiving treatment, there's a twinge of anxiety when I sit down in front of a terminal to enter my health survey. First challenge: remembering my password. Once logged-in I answer queries about my health in a mechanical, perfunctory fashion. All the answers are scored on a scale from One to Ten. Most of my answers are on the low-end of the scale. I'm telling the computer that basically everything is OK. I hope I'm right, because shortly my name will be called and I'll be brought to the exam room.
First there's a matter of stepping on a scale. I divest myself of cell phone, wallet, keys, eReader, android device, pens and pencils, loose change. I didn't bring my back pack with me this visit, 'cuz I didn't want to bring too much stuff... I briefly consider removing my shoes, after all, I want to be accurate with my weight right? I weigh-in at 186 pounds, not too bad. It takes me a while to get all that junk back into my pockets, and then I'm shuttled to the exam room. As the doctor walks in I realize that an exam requires that I be lying down on the table, which means I have to empty out my pockets. Again.
My nice Oncologist lady sees the eReader I'm removing from my pocket. A Kobo-Mini, very nice compact little device. We chat for a couple of minutes, she smiles at my enthusiasm for electronics gadgets -boys and their toys. Now the toys go back out of my pockets and onto the chair. I get on the exam table.
Although my primary cancer was in the Colon, it had spread to the liver by the time I was diagnosed. Surgery and chemotherapy and a lot of support helped me recover. My Oncologist is performing a follow-up check on my liver looking for whatever symptoms mean bad things might be happening. Apparently the process of meticulous abdominal probing involves tickling the patient. As the exam continue I am required do take deep breaths. She's apparently satisfied that my lungs do what they should be doing. And we're done.
Once more I shovel all that hardware back into my pockets. My Oncologist is pleased that things are going well, and she reminds me to keep going for the quarterly blood work. I'm to be scheduled for yet another CT in September. Note to self: ask the doctor how many CT's are too many?
Overall I'm relieved; you can't help but feel happy walking out of a Cancer institution with no strings attached. Or an I.V. tube. It's the little things that make a difference.
A day after my recent visit with the Oncologist, I get a phone call: my CT appointment has been scheduled for September. I'll go for my blood work sometime in July. However before any of that happens I register for the Relay For Life : I've decided to join in on the Survivor Walk this year.
So this June I'll join with other survivors, walking the inaugural lap of the all-night Relay. I'll walk to show that having Cancer is simply part of the journey through life. I'll walk and remember where I've been and how far I have yet to go. And I'll get there, one step at a time.
