A Second Opinion Changes Everything
For the past few weeks I have been coming to terms with the fact that I have cancer. Weird, rare, no one’s ever heard of it cancer. I still don’t feel sick. Somedays I am aware of my lymph nodes, especially the ones up under my collar bone. But aware in the way you are aware of them if you are getting a cold or the flu. Not like “oh that’s cancer” awareness. It’s not like finding a lump in your breast or having a mole that’s gone crazy. Not that I’d want those things either. Without the miracle of modern medicine you’d never know I was “sick.”
Also, for the past few weeks I thought I knew what the plan was. I would be spending my summer having chemotherapy once every three weeks. And then, if everything went according to plan I would be having some pretty major surgery in the fall. I wasn’t looking forward to any of it, but it seemed reasonable, manageable. I probably still wouldn’t be going to see Jack Johnson in September, because I would be recovering from having my breastbone cracked open and then wired shut, but I would still be able to do some stuff this summer. Maybe, if things were going well a short camping trip or two.
I was unhappy with the hospital I originally was going to. The one where I had my PET scan and my biopsy. It would have been comical if it was a primetime TV show, but the utter lack of care, concern or communication was frustrating and anxiety inducing. Even if I wasn’t going to seek out a second opinion (and everyone said, ‘get a second opinion,’) I would have sought out a different care team.
I’m fortunate to have access to some of the best medical care in the country. And even more fortunate to have really good health insurance. From the initial call to schedule my first appointment, everything was easier.
But I think that’s going to be the last thing that is easy for a long time. My new oncologist is great, but the news she gave me wasn’t.
After taking my case to the thoracic tumor board, no one thinks surgery is an option. Probably not ever. There’s too much involved, the lymph nodes are too spread out and even with my chest cracked wide open, they still couldn’t get to everything.
So now we have a new plan.
First we do another CT scan. Hopefully, it’s the same as all the others and the cancer hasn’t spread even more. Then? Then the fun starts. Chemotherapy, once a week, every week for six weeks. Radiation, five times a week! For six weeks. And then we re-do all the scans.
I honestly don’t even know how to process that. Right now, I’m just thinking of it as a job. People do this every day, get up in the morning, sit in traffic for an hour, go to work, sit in traffic for an hour to come home. Five days a week. People do this.
And like a real job…I don’t want to go.
