Too Much Pressure

I have three total cancer doctors - an oncologist, a surgeon, and a radiation oncologist.  Now that I am out of treatments I continue to see each of them either on a six-month basis (the oncologist and surgeon) or a yearly basis (the radiation oncologist).  Today was my six-month appointment with my oncologist, Dr. Cheng, and let me tell you...it's no fun.

Okay, who ever described a Dr. appt. as fun, but for like two whole weeks preceding these appointments, I find myself to be a little edgier, a tad bit angrier, slightly less patient, and way easier to upset.  I don't realize why for a long time and then suddenly it occurs to me, "Oh yeah, you have that hanging over your head.  No wonder."

Dr. Cheng is a really nice guy and personally, I think he is the bomb.  I mean, he did play an integral part in ridding my body of cancer and so I am incredibly thankful for him and all of his work.  But, I can't but help feel ridiculous as I sit there and explain all of the stupid questions that have cropped up in the six months since I have seen him last.  All of them relate to cancer...in my mind.  Most of them probably seem silly to him as he goes on to his next appointment with a patient who actually still has cancer and maybe isn't responding to treatment.  And yet, I know that if I don't ask him these questions they will eat away at me for the next six months.  So, I might as well purge myself of them, right?  In the meantime, I feel so dumb.

So...Dr. Cheng nicely, sweetly, and many times with a smile and an anecdotal story, answered all of my questions, put up with my silliness and sent me on my way till next time.  But, in the world of cancer, here is one of my silly questions: "So, when I came in the first time, with actual cancer cells in my body, what did my labs look like?  Do they look any different now?"  (One of things you have to do before seeing the oncologist is have blood drawn and then you wait a half-hour while they analyze it and send it to the doctor.)  Here is the answer: "No...basically we do the labs to make certain that there is no systemic evidence of cancer, but when you have a localized cancer, like that of the breast, your labs would rarely come back as abnormal."  That is a fancy way of saying unless you have cancer somewhere else in your body, your labs are not going to show us any changes.  Which I then Kelly-interpret as, we are looking for Stage 4 (death sentence) cancer evidence in your body.  Thank God they didn't find it, but wouldn't that make you a little wary as well?

I mean, basically, they have eradicated, to the best of their abilities and so far as they know, all of the breast cancer from my body.  Now, it is a waiting game to see whether or not the cancer had somehow already unknowingly spread.  If it did, eventually it will show its ugly face.  If it didn't, then you just continue to sit and wait.  Twiddle your thumbs.  Wonder every time you have an ache in your hip or a pain in your head...

When I have done this for five years (from the date of my last treatment - July 14th, 2014), then they will pretty much declare me to be cancer-free, safe, and a graduate from the school of cancer.  (I think this may only be a Triple Negative thing, so does not hold true for all breast cancer patients.  Some may have to wait for the 10 or 15 year mark for this excellent news.)

How does this make me feel?  I feel like I have to fit in everything I possibly can in the next four years, so that just in case the next six-month appointment is the time the shoe falls (is that the saying?), I have made the best of that time that I felt decent and wasn't in treatments and could glory in the adventure of this life.  That in the time I am given, I have lived

So yeah, this totally sucks.  I mean, we have four children to raise.  College to attempt to pay for.  Retirements we want to plan for (and NOT assume we won't make it to).  We have daily expenses and pressures (including one currently incredibly asthmatic child - Hugo) and so to be clear, the whole concept of "living like you are dying" is an exhausting one.  Oddly romantic because it is completely idealized.  I would love to live like I was dying...if I was a billionaire.  Then I would have four nannies (yes, one for each kid) and a personal chef to cook me fantastic healthy and delicious food (that costs an arm and a leg and takes five hours of time and energy to prepare) and we would go to places like Greece, and Tahiti, and France, and the Galapagos Islands and I would have a personal trainer to keep me in shape and motivate me to exercise.

Instead, we are incredibly fortunate that Matt has an awesome job and we can do many amazing things...but not everything.  We have to pick and choose and prioritize.  Save for college accounts, spend money on a new (to us) minivan, and deal with basically the same everyday pressures that every one else has...while also living like I could be dying.  Ha!  Ridiculous (said in the voice of Vizzini - and if you don't know who that is, then you really haven't lived and you might want to fix that)!  Too much pressure!  It stinks.

But, I am happy to say that I have already crossed off several things on my bucket list.  The most exciting being the Disney Cruise.  (Hopefully, I can blog about that another day.)  And, I will soon cross off the second most exciting thing - a trip to the UK with my hubby and some wonderful friends.  A 15-year anniversary trip that is both much-needed and long-awaited.

So, although I was incredibly nervous that they would give me bad news at this appointment and therefore essentially cancel our trip to the UK, we have passed another hurdle and I can really focus on the excitement of an impending trip (and the dread of a daughter entering middle school...but that is also for another day).  Wahoo!!!!  For today, at least, I am alive and making the best of it.

Off to play a game of Pairs with this cutie-pa-toot, soon-to-be fourth grader.  My Lariska.