Yesterday, I had a meeting with one of the best gynecologic oncologists in my state. It took approximately six weeks for the appointment (after being told it would be "a week or two"). But, if he's the best, he's probably quite busy.
The hospital he's a part of is approximately two hours from my home by vehicle. My body aches after a couple of hours of sitting in any chair... and my wheelchair is treacherous. But, if he's the best, he's probably worth it.
When my husband and I met him, he told us he has questions. I suspected this, of course, this man is going to be doing my hysterectomy (surgical cures, for the win!) so he needs to know my history. He (instead) tells me my tumor was big enough to worry about the cancer spreading and I need a PET/CT scan done.
As of this moment, I'm not a good candidate for surgery. I travelled hours to find out I need another test... waited over a month with stress and anxiety and tentative fear thinking that this consultation was the first step back to zero cancer. The cancer had six weeks to grow.
He uttered words like "radiation" and "chemotherapy"... things I was told I probably wouldn't have to consider. Things my mother didn't have to entertain when she was diagnosed (and cured) six years ago.
Tomorrow, I have my scan, blood tests, and a meeting with another doctor at the far-off hospital. Friday, I have a meeting with the Nuclear Medicine specialist. If I have too many busy days I tend to get sick, but there is no choice.
There is a new, darker fission of fear, now. Treatments making me ill for a chance to make me well. Days of chronic pain and brain fog for the opportunity to weigh my options. My brain keeps whispering what if, what if.
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