Yesterday was the oncologist visit. I had been half dreading this day and half looking forward to it. I didn't want to hear when my next CATscan was, but I am ready to get on with my life.
We get to the oncologist's office and I take the required blood test. I think my mind set is switching from dropping my pants every time I see someone in a white coat to rolling up my sleeve and telling them they are going to need a butterfly. We had a very nice chatty nurse. She was fairly painless as well, but today it bruised pretty bad. I don't know if she was that good or just I have been stuck in the same places so many times that I can't feel anything there anymore. I don't care about bruising, I will take the bruise over the pain any day. She gives me my CBC (complete blood count) numbers and tells me I'm perfect. Tell me something I didn't know...oh, apparently she was referring to my CBC. I don't necessarily agree with her. They are within tolerances, but my white and red blood cells are still down considerably from my pre-chemo numbers. However, my platelets are almost up to normal, so I can bleed as much as I want. Maybe that is why she bruised me, just to show how good the numbers were.
Next we are led back to the doctor's waiting room. The wait seemed forever and the walls were paper thin. We could hear him talking to a breast cancer survivor and saying things to lighten her mood, and it was working, we could hear her laughing. However, if he starts doing a comedy routine while playing with my balls...ball, I don't think I will be laughing. He finally comes in and seems to be in a good mood. As a cancer patient, you want to see your oncologist in a good mood, because that means he is telling you good things...unless he is a very bad and inappropriate oncologist "Well, the good news is you want live long enough to pay off this bill!" He looks at my CBC results and says they are the best he's seen all day. I tell him that could mean I am doing good or that he has seen a bunch of really sick people all day. Not missing a beat he said that both were the case. I mention some of my concerns with my numbers and some other things and he said I worry too much. Of course I do, I am the cancer patient!
We then come to the part I am absolutely dreading, the follow up schedule where I find out how many CAT scans I have to do. He starts talking and I go into a trance. I hear him say every three months this year, every six months next year, and then just once a year. Not what I wanted to hear, but at least it's significantly less CAT scans than if I didn't do the chemo. Still in my daze, reliving in my head all the nastiness that happened last CAT scan, when my wife says something that snaps me back to reality. "So, he will only have to do the X-rays?" He says yes. I was so dreading hearing about CAT scans, I didn't even pay attention to what he said at first. I was focusing on the schedule and thinking about all the constipation and chalk and garlic I would be tasting. I am so flabbergasted I have to ask him myself. He affirms that chest X-rays will be able to show him what he needs to see. Now I am in a good mood! And it's about to get better.
Still trying to have a baby, my wife and I are trying to get the all clear from all of our respective doctors to resume our procreating. I ask the doctor the most delicate way I can, without making it sound like I am prepositioning him. The literature about chemo is kind of vague, some say you are safe to babymake after three days, and others say you have to wait months. The oncologist said, "Start tonight." That is good news! I look at my wife and say, "You heard the doctor!" Then she reminds me that we are still waiting for a couple more "all clears" from some other doctors before we can resume. I press the issue later on since this is the one time I am not so interested in a second opinion and she exclaims, "Well you aren't trying to make a baby with me yet." Which leads me to think she is saying it is OK to try with other people. She said that is not what she meant and refused to drop me off anywhere to find willing participants. The oncologist also suggested that I may be a good idea for me to look at enrolling in a sleep study. You know, where you go to sleep and some doctors watch you on camera to see what you do at night. At first I think that must be pretty boring for some doctor to sit there an watch me blog and pee, but I guess that is still more exciting that watching someone sleep. I may be the most exciting thing to hit the sleep study in years.
I was almost feeling like a normal person...until I got home that night. I am sitting there, I rub my head and a hair gets caught between my fingers. Curious I do it again. And again. And again. I finally go up to the bathroom and rub my scalp and lots of hair falls out. It finally did slow down, and you can't really tell that I lost much, unless you happen to look in the sink. Who knows if I am done molting or not. I really don't care either way, I am just hoping that if I do molt some more it will be while I am at home and not out somewhere...like I go out anywhere.
So here I sit with a little less hair, a little more blood pumping through my veins, and a lot less CAT scans. I still have to wait to see if the urologist will order any, but more than likely if he does it will just be one more. I can be chalky, garlicy, and constipated one more time to be sure I stay cancer free. Now I can focus on cultivating my pathetic mustache and trying to be normal again. Wish me luck on that, I will need it!
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