This Morning I See the Oncologist
When you get aboard the cancer train, the engine starts slowly while information is being gathered. A screening. A diagnostic test to get a deeper look. And then the oh-shit news that you need a biopsy.
Chug, chug, chug. The locomotive is just now picking up speed. Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. It’s hurtling down a steep embankment. The velocity is of the shit-your-pants variety. You try to catch your breath because you see there’s a big fucking climb right after feeling thrown down to the bottom.
The chronicle of this demonic train ride is documented in the calendar. I’m old school, so I use both a paper planner and Google.
First, an appointment here and there. And then more appointments. Surgery. Recovery. Oh, shit, you need chemo.
There are other appointments too. Here, watch this webinar on chemo (not a suggestion, it is required.) Here’s a helpful one on learning how to manage drain tubes after surgery.
In a wink, your calendar is covered in appointments. The writing belies the sheer terror behind the “meet with oncologist” note. Sorry, doc. Nothing personal, but I don’t want to see your name on my calendar. And the word “oncologist” or “oncology” still scares me, even though I know you have extended my life a good amount.
This train ride includes hairpin turns and loop de loops. Vomiting may occur, the release waiver reads. (And you MUST sign this waiver.)
The fun (NOT) part of this train ride is the fact that it doesn’t care if you’ve got other things to do. It doesn’t care if you need time to process a divorce. Doesn’t care if you need to report to work. All the other difficulties swirling around? Tough shit! ALL ABOARD!
Now, I know it in my head that today’s visit is for discussing surveillance. I’ll be told to resume the estrogen blocking pills now that chemo is over.
But yet I am still rattled with anxiety. It was reflected in anxious nightmares last night too.
Is she going to scrutinize a mole and go, the words of Scooby Doo, Rut roh? We need to biopsy that.
Is she going to look all sober and tell me they did another look at my pathology and found out something dire?
She’s so sorry but that bald spot at the crown of my head-it’s never going to regrow.
Can I recognize that these are just the ramblings of a traumatized brain? Yes. Can I recognize that the probability of those ridiculous scenarios playing out is zilch? Checkaroni.
My observation through this whole cancer nightmare has been that this is as much a mind fuck as anything else. And managing my thought life is the biggest challenge.
They can treat the tumors but I and I alone am in charge of my mental health. And yes, I can and have gotten wholehearted support through counseling and spiritual direction during this time.
But when it comes down to it, it’s just you and the crazy train thoughts.
I am hoping today that today’s visit will be nothing more than pulling into the station and disembarking from a terrible ride.
I want to get far from this experience. But I will always know…that train will forever by looming in the background.
I’ll let you know how it goes with the appointment.
Theresa Winn is a certified life coach and spiritual director. She loves being flat and cancer free. Her next book, “Bye-Bye Boobs-Breast Cancer, Boobectomies and Badassery” is in the works.
