Sometimes you just have a bad day, cancer or no cancer. Today was one of those days. I didn’t know it was going to be, but I should have suspected it because I woke up no feeling rested at all.
Then I went to work, after my regular day off yesterday. I thought my new boss would have had time to review the task I’d been given. She hadn’t, and it made me wonder whether it was a “make work” project for the cancer girl. I know, that was a negative thought creeping into my head from out of nowhere. But then a colleague mentioned that he’d been tasked with something related to what I was working on but didn’t have all the knowledge he needed to do it. And I wondered why I hadn’t been tasked. Oh well, it didn’t stop there.
I came home and had to make my follow up call to the ENT doc’s secretary to book my surgery. She had originally said he had an opening in November. But when I met with the doc on Monday, he said to wait until to day to call instead of calling her right away as she had suggested. You can see what’s coming next, right? The November date is gone. She told me it would be March or April at the earliest. Like WTF, cannot I not get my life back????
I tried to explain to her that I truly believe it’s the anesthetist who butchered my nose. I’d never had a nose bleed until I had that lumpectomy. After my last surgery, I learned that the protocol is to intubate, then nasal prongs, then mask. So I’m guessing that the anesthetist couldn’t intubate me, then tried the nasal prongs. The ENT doc said I have a very small nose. So my guess is that the nasal prongs did the damage. They didn’t want to document it so they just put what they ended up using. GRRRR. Lots of bad memories brought up at the end of the call.
So, I’ve made a decision. I’m not going to let this cancer bullshit, and the consequences of fucked up surgeries, hold me back. This Christmas I will enjoy myself with my Hubby on a ski slope and then zooming down the bobsled run together and then trying out the skeleton run. If my nosebleeds, so be it. When people tell me, I’ll just say that it’s my body getting rid of cancer.
Then I remembered I still hadn’t had a response to my letter from the WBHC. So despite being in a foul mood, I decided to call. At first the clinical manager wasn’t available. But then I explained that I was tired of waiting for a response and would consider my options to make this information available to a wider audience, like through the media. Suddenly she was available.
She did apologize for not responding sooner. And then she suggested we meet with a patient advocate. I replied that I wasn’t sure that would be a good idea because there were lots of other issues (e.g. lack of info on breast reconstruction, lack of coordination between WBHC and the rest of the hospital). We eventually settled on a written response that includes other avenues I could pursue. I’m not sure why this information wasn’t offered last November when I was living it or in September when I spoke to her, but I guess she gets some points for finally sharing.
By the time I was done that call, it was time to make red pepper soup from scratch. A nice diversion I thought to myself. And then the tears came. And I wished I could be on my Kona cycling as far as I could get from cancer and all the crap the system throws at you. But I chopped up the onion and peppers and left it to simmer on the stove.
Then the phone rang, twice. My mother was having hip surgery today. Yesterday she said she was too busy for me to drop by. And trust me I wasn’t planning on staying more than 5 minutes. But I suppose in her strange little world, visits are always hours because she’s so disorganized. But I digress.
Her surgery is taking place at the same hospital as where I had my lumpectomy. I’ve only been back there once: to see the radiation oncologist. And I told myself I’d never go back. Okay, maybe I’d go in once if Hubby was in there, but it would only be to have him transferred to a different hospital. The call was from my father saying what room she was in, no phone yet.
I had told her I’d call her. There’s no way I am going into the hospital. It’s not just because it’s the hospital that treated me like crap. I just don’t want to see my family. I can’t run the risk of being in the room with a bunch of hypocrites. And it’s not like my mother has been supportive of me during the past year and a half.
So I’ve had a pretty shitty day, and I’m going to cocoon and make myself feel better.
My cancer journey 