This afternoon I saw my third oncologist (is there a collective noun for oncologists? A cancer of oncologists?). Another very lovely man, he didn’t treat me like an idiot but talked to me like a grown-up. And at last I have my Plan. To cut a long story short – after chemo will come the surgery and reconstruction and after that will come the radiotherapy and after that will be the end (at least I bloody well hope it will be). So the order of events is now clear at last and the control freak in me is happy.
Frankly, it’s a bloody good job. It’s been a bit of a shitty week. I was just getting over the side effects of the last chemo and I got hit by a horrid snotty cold. I have been blowing green stuff out of my nose for days now and bluntly it’s disgusting. This has meant that I haven’t had the energy to go into the office so I have been sitting at home brooding. The weather and the lack of light certainly don’t help. To add insult to injury the last 24 hours have involved a small boy, lots of vomit and a special talent of mine – catching puke. Number two child has had a tummy bug and no one except his sister got very much sleep last night. Getting out of the house today was certainly an effort.
This week has made me realise how grateful I am to be able to keep working throughout this whole rubbishy period. Staying at home has just meant that I have watched a load of TV and have been thinking too much about having to deal with Genghis. I feel like I have been reading a lot of negative posts on my online fora which haven’t done my mental state much good. So I need to knock the cold on its head and get back to the office soon as possible.
Having a Plan certainly makes me feel a bit more chipper. I also took great heart from the fact that he seemed quite positive about the spread into my lymph node. He didn’t think that the spread was particularly significant and said he didn’t think that many more nodes would be affected. All of this is good because, if he is right, this means that my cancer is only stage 2 and not stage 3. The terminology doesn’t mean all that much but survival rates are pegged to it and the bigger the number, the scarier the possible outcome. In general, he seemed relatively positive about the whole thing which was certainly good after the week that I have had.
So I feel like I am back on track and back to the normal, more positive me. Hooray.