The Fatigue Sets In
am so tired. I'm tired of telling the story from start til now (I almost wrote "start to finish" and then realized there is not yet a "finish"). I'm NOT tired of supportive, kind people who only want to do whatever they can, so please don't read into that. I'm just tired of talking and processing and wondering.
We will go see a Dr. Dev Paul tomorrow of the Rocky Mountain Cancer Center in Denver. As of this writing, he has been highly recommended by the head of breast cancer at the National Institute of Health, as well as at least three patients with whom I've spoken directly. We are scheduled to meet with him at 7:00am, and they have scheduled an hour and 40 minutes for the appointment. Pretty damn impressive. That is, I am pretty impressive--my case, that is. We're starting to think that I'm somewhat of an anomaly, to be presenting so far along without a previous occurrence, and at my age, and with ER+ readings. Throw in the Her2 for giggles.
I keep wandering the house all day, knowing I need to sit down and write out my questions, but I feel so tired and worn out that I haven't done it yet.
Tomorrow is my personal deadline for having started treatment. I think I'll have to settle for a decision as to which treatment to start, as I'm somewhat skeptical of them ushering me directly into the chemo room promptly after my appointment and hooking me up. Our third opinion spoke to Dr. Tang after we saw him on Tuesday, and she agreed that the Taxol trial was a good one, and recommended it. Clark asked her why she recommended hormonal therapy when she knew the Her2 was positive, and she said, much like Shelanksi did when Tang recommended hormonal therapy (pre-Her2 results), that it's a difference in training, and thus, style. We're hoping for much more of a comprehensive rationale from Dr. Paul tomorrow.
Frankly, I'm champing at the bit. I want to start treatment and I want to have started it yesterday. I want to get past this phase of decisions and constant questions and waiting three hours in a room for a doctor. (o.k., so they haven't all been that bad, but I'm a bit of a drama queen.)
In other news, I'm halfway through Fortune's Daughters by Alice Hoffman, and it's an incredible book. So tightly woven and executed. I'm breathlessly in awe of these women who write fiction with such vivid imagery and clarity.
Also, I attended Field Day at the girl's school yesterday. That's an experience everyone needs to have, whether or not one has children. The tug of war alone is worth it. This morning both Katie and Emily got the coveted "Truscott Tiger" award, which basically means they're hot shit, but we already knew that.
For those of you who have brought meals, they're all extraordinarily delicious, and we're infinitely grateful. I'm pretty sure I could eat up Linda's hash brown potato cheese casserole by myself with a giant spoon. One nice thing about cancer: you no longer care if you overeat.
I'm wishing this were an eloquent post, but there's not much inspiration in this lazy brain. Oh! I do have something entertaining, though: I was headed out to mail some single copies of the mag when I pulled into the left turn lane. The young man ahead of me had pulled out too far and was backing up. He didn't see me (honestly--how could you MISS the gigantic big-ass gray van behind you?) and backed right into me. I sighed. Really? Do I really have to deal with cancer and a fender bender? I got out, inspected the lack of damage, and realized that I just didn't have the energy to figure out the phone number for the police. What the hell, I thought. Who even gives a rat's ass about the fact that he hit my license plate and I can't even notice a difference? He offered me a couple of bucks for my inconvenience, and I laughed and told him not to worry about it. He was a teenager and I'm sure scared shitless that I was going to go postal. I've often been really grateful for that gigantic van, and here's another time.
I'll write tomorrow when we've decided what to do.
We will go see a Dr. Dev Paul tomorrow of the Rocky Mountain Cancer Center in Denver. As of this writing, he has been highly recommended by the head of breast cancer at the National Institute of Health, as well as at least three patients with whom I've spoken directly. We are scheduled to meet with him at 7:00am, and they have scheduled an hour and 40 minutes for the appointment. Pretty damn impressive. That is, I am pretty impressive--my case, that is. We're starting to think that I'm somewhat of an anomaly, to be presenting so far along without a previous occurrence, and at my age, and with ER+ readings. Throw in the Her2 for giggles.
I keep wandering the house all day, knowing I need to sit down and write out my questions, but I feel so tired and worn out that I haven't done it yet.
Tomorrow is my personal deadline for having started treatment. I think I'll have to settle for a decision as to which treatment to start, as I'm somewhat skeptical of them ushering me directly into the chemo room promptly after my appointment and hooking me up. Our third opinion spoke to Dr. Tang after we saw him on Tuesday, and she agreed that the Taxol trial was a good one, and recommended it. Clark asked her why she recommended hormonal therapy when she knew the Her2 was positive, and she said, much like Shelanksi did when Tang recommended hormonal therapy (pre-Her2 results), that it's a difference in training, and thus, style. We're hoping for much more of a comprehensive rationale from Dr. Paul tomorrow.
Frankly, I'm champing at the bit. I want to start treatment and I want to have started it yesterday. I want to get past this phase of decisions and constant questions and waiting three hours in a room for a doctor. (o.k., so they haven't all been that bad, but I'm a bit of a drama queen.)
In other news, I'm halfway through Fortune's Daughters by Alice Hoffman, and it's an incredible book. So tightly woven and executed. I'm breathlessly in awe of these women who write fiction with such vivid imagery and clarity.
Also, I attended Field Day at the girl's school yesterday. That's an experience everyone needs to have, whether or not one has children. The tug of war alone is worth it. This morning both Katie and Emily got the coveted "Truscott Tiger" award, which basically means they're hot shit, but we already knew that.
For those of you who have brought meals, they're all extraordinarily delicious, and we're infinitely grateful. I'm pretty sure I could eat up Linda's hash brown potato cheese casserole by myself with a giant spoon. One nice thing about cancer: you no longer care if you overeat.
I'm wishing this were an eloquent post, but there's not much inspiration in this lazy brain. Oh! I do have something entertaining, though: I was headed out to mail some single copies of the mag when I pulled into the left turn lane. The young man ahead of me had pulled out too far and was backing up. He didn't see me (honestly--how could you MISS the gigantic big-ass gray van behind you?) and backed right into me. I sighed. Really? Do I really have to deal with cancer and a fender bender? I got out, inspected the lack of damage, and realized that I just didn't have the energy to figure out the phone number for the police. What the hell, I thought. Who even gives a rat's ass about the fact that he hit my license plate and I can't even notice a difference? He offered me a couple of bucks for my inconvenience, and I laughed and told him not to worry about it. He was a teenager and I'm sure scared shitless that I was going to go postal. I've often been really grateful for that gigantic van, and here's another time.
I'll write tomorrow when we've decided what to do.
Comments