Tuesday, February 17, 2009
The most common question asked by well-meaning friends is, "How much longer?" or sometimes it's, "When are you going to be done?" They mean treatment, of course, but my brain always turns to the long haul, the forever, because you're never done fighting, once you have cancer.
As for the treatment, I am sick and tired of not knowing the answer to those questions. There are too many uncontrollable variables. This time, it was my liver. Yesterday, it threw me a "delay of game" penalty. I arrived at oncology with my sister-in-law Gwen (all the way from Ithaca, NY), mentally prepared and with a bag full of diversions. I was ready for round number nine, only to be told that my chemotherapy appointment had been canceled, and.... "Didn't anyone call you?"
No! They didn't!
My brother and family are visiting from New York! It's a holiday! Everyone else is skiing! I could have gone too! Why didn't anyone call me Friday to tell me my lab results!? (After I had calmed down a bit, I apologized to all the other chemo patients for my outburst, which I'm sure contained many a swear word.)
So Gwen and I headed up to Monarch on a bluebird day to join my brother, my husband, my niece, and my sons, for a day (half-day by the time we arrived) of skiing and then relaxing at Mt. Princeton Hot Springs. Was it better than sitting in the chemo chair all day? In the words of my 9-going-on-13-year-old son, "Well, duh!"
But would I rather have been in the chair with blood poison number nine?