We were a little early because it was a new office and I never know if I'm going to be able to find new offices.
Turns out he was ahead of schedule, too, so we were ushered right in.
I felt a bit like a bug under a microscope.
When my nurse midwife sent me that note, she also sent my oncologists notes from my last visit.
You know your doctor is trained to observe you for symptoms, but I never realized how much.
Example: "Examination today reveals a pleasant lady who is alert and oriented times three, and in no acute distress."
First, I've never been called lady - hummmm.... or pleasant. Makes you wonder what kind of patients he sees.
Second, what does times three mean? Is there a times one or two? Do those people wander the halls looking for their doctor, disoriented, wondering why they are there?Although I'll admit, I feel that way sometimes. Glad it doesn't show through. Or maybe times three is worse that times one or two..... Oh dear.
Third, if he was observing me that closely I probably wasn't going to be able to hide the raspberry stain that had landed on my sweatshirt that day.
You see, the berry jumped off my spoon, landed on my hoodie string, the actual sweatshirt, and my jeans.
Little bugger.
I couldn't go home and change, either.
Now that I know he observes his patients like a hawk, he probably wrote that eating coordination skills of his patient are slipping. :-)
But... on to the real reason I'm writing this.
What are my options.
I'm going to take this moment to remind you and myself that my doctor is co-chair to some kind of fancy cancer board, he is in contact with all the "experts" across the nation, if he wants, he consults with Mayo, he combs the research papers for new developments. He's good. He's thorough. Looking for another oncologist isn't going to change anything.
What did he think of the options he had to give me?
He's frustrated.
He told me that.
I respect him for it.
It doesn't make the news any easier to take, but at least he is honest and isn't pushing a bunch of treatments on me just to have me do something.
The highest percent of anything that may help is 18-20%.
Even that doesn't do anything to get rid of it, just may stop the growth.
I have enough little lesions on my liver to prevent surgery. A transplant would be needed, but because it is also in my lung a transplant isn't an option.
May I take another moment to mention that I never thought I'd have to talk about transplants of my liver. It's a little weird, I must say. I feel like I'm on E.R. or Greys Anatomy.
But back to my options.
They are doing experiments, but nothing is having much success.
As I said, he is frustrated.
In his words, "It's hard to see anyone sick, but it is really hard with the younger patients and not be able to offer much help."
So what are Dustin and I going to do?
Do you try a treatment that may or may not be successful, actually has less of a chance of being successful, and doesn't shrink the tumors in any way. Or...????
Oh how I wish we were deciding which leather couch to get. Or if we like the color of the counter tops, the wood floor, the paint.
Those decisions are so much more fun.
Can you please pray that we would be wise in what we do.
My oncologist will continually search, but right now we are wondering if throwing our energies into other options will serve us better.
Wisdom, wisdom, wisdom.....
I read Psalm 119:169-175 and was so comforted by the fact that He does hear us and promises to give us understanding.
That is a wonderful thing to know, and a peaceful place to rest.
And that's it. No earth shaking news.
Love you guys, and I just want you to know that today is a good day! I feel great. We are going to take the kids to the apple orchard and enjoy being a family.
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