Jessie and I made it to the park this morning as well as yesterday morning (yesterday being the 1st of my 5-day long weekend). Baby ducklings are thriving.
I am now getting ready to leave for the CT shore for my "retreat" and find myself nervous about it. I'm not sure why - perhaps I'm afraid I'll be disappointed. Perhaps I'm afraid of what I'll find I have to think about, to contemplate. I don't know. On the one hand, I'm excited and looking forward to it. On the other hand, low to mid-level anxiety. Oh well, that may just be the price of challenging oneself with trying something one hasn't tried before.
Wish me luck.
Peace.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Saturday morning
Jessie and I got to the park a little before 6:00 am today. Just before we arrived, on a city street next to the park, I saw a new creature (new for me) -- a fox. Beautiful. Longer than I expected, long low body, really long tail, unusual color - sort of grey-red-rust-brown. Beautiful. There are what seem to be a couple of acres of fairly dense woods across from the park, in the middle of the residential area that surrounds the park. The fox was trotting down the side of the street that borders that little area of woods. I assume he/she lives there.
No heron this morning, but I did see 2 mother Mallards with their new fledglings. One mother had 2 ducklings. They were on the grass next to the pond, learning to look for insect breakfasts I would wager. The second mother had 4 ducklings. They, too, were on the grass near the other side of the pond, and when Jessie and I were a little ways away, mother duck led the ducklings into the pond and they all swam out of harm's way (not knowing how undangerous a pair are Jessie and I). Those tiny ducklings can swim!
I must try to get up earlier tomorrow. Today I am hoping to install in front of my living room window the new pole I bought last week on which I will be hanging a new bird feeder I bought a couple weeks ago. I am hoping to be able to watch birds from home as well as when Jessie and I make it further afield.
Still tired. I spoke to a friend at work, a woman who herself had breast cancer and a mastectomy a few years ago, and she told me that the year AFTER the year in which she had 4 surgeries (she ended up not needing chemo or radiation, although she is on some sort of on-going chemo pill), the year AFTER she was more exhausted than the year she was going through it. She said the year after brought emotional exhaustion as well as physical exhaustion. I think that's exactly right. I expected when the "treatment" was over, to be able to bounce back - after all, it seemed as if I "handled" going through the diagnosis and the treatment pretty well. I was able to get back to work very soon, full time soon after, and life went on. Now that the "treatment" is done, emotionally I think I am feeling that I should be able to really get back to true "normal." Instead I feel just as tired every evening, some times more so, as I did during the treatment days. Then acknowledging that is frustrating and emotionally exhausting. I think I really do need rest - both physical and emotional. Next weekend when I take off 2 work days for a 5 day weekend should be a start towards the physical rest. The 2 night retreat may be able to be a start towards the emotional rest. We'll see.
Otherwise, the main post-chemo physical effect is the neuropathy in my feet, which has improved. Only my toes and the balls of my feet are in the main affected now. Dr. M did tell me that some of this effect may be permanent - may the words rot on his tongue, slide back down his esophagus, land in his stomach and give him indigestion. I hope not. While not painful, the sensation is so weird and disturbing, I would hate to think I will have to live with it. Of course, there are worse things, much worse things... okay, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to feel like the balls of my feet and my toes are wrapped in ever-so-slightly electrified cotton bunting for whatever the rest of my life turns out to be. I'll take it over the many alternatives.
I am more depressed every day at the story and pictures coming out of the Gulf. Where is that "We can do it" President of ours? Don't tell me you're appointing a "commission" to "study" how this happened. Get people down there - go down there yourself, take your wife, your kids, and invite college and high school kids to spend the summer there (end school early!) and get a wave of volunteers down there and stop that oil from destroying precious wetlands. Build sand bars, do whatever it takes. Mobilize people. And arrest and lock up the BP executives, and fire Salazar. We can do it -- what? Violate people's first amendment rights, keep Guantanamo in place after promising not to, let BP drill in the Gulf without the legally required permits and without the REQUIRED environmental impact study. I am a very disappointed citizen.
But still... peace .. an oil-free (and toxic-detergent dispersal agent-free) peace to all creatures, especially those in the Gulf.
No heron this morning, but I did see 2 mother Mallards with their new fledglings. One mother had 2 ducklings. They were on the grass next to the pond, learning to look for insect breakfasts I would wager. The second mother had 4 ducklings. They, too, were on the grass near the other side of the pond, and when Jessie and I were a little ways away, mother duck led the ducklings into the pond and they all swam out of harm's way (not knowing how undangerous a pair are Jessie and I). Those tiny ducklings can swim!
I must try to get up earlier tomorrow. Today I am hoping to install in front of my living room window the new pole I bought last week on which I will be hanging a new bird feeder I bought a couple weeks ago. I am hoping to be able to watch birds from home as well as when Jessie and I make it further afield.
Still tired. I spoke to a friend at work, a woman who herself had breast cancer and a mastectomy a few years ago, and she told me that the year AFTER the year in which she had 4 surgeries (she ended up not needing chemo or radiation, although she is on some sort of on-going chemo pill), the year AFTER she was more exhausted than the year she was going through it. She said the year after brought emotional exhaustion as well as physical exhaustion. I think that's exactly right. I expected when the "treatment" was over, to be able to bounce back - after all, it seemed as if I "handled" going through the diagnosis and the treatment pretty well. I was able to get back to work very soon, full time soon after, and life went on. Now that the "treatment" is done, emotionally I think I am feeling that I should be able to really get back to true "normal." Instead I feel just as tired every evening, some times more so, as I did during the treatment days. Then acknowledging that is frustrating and emotionally exhausting. I think I really do need rest - both physical and emotional. Next weekend when I take off 2 work days for a 5 day weekend should be a start towards the physical rest. The 2 night retreat may be able to be a start towards the emotional rest. We'll see.
Otherwise, the main post-chemo physical effect is the neuropathy in my feet, which has improved. Only my toes and the balls of my feet are in the main affected now. Dr. M did tell me that some of this effect may be permanent - may the words rot on his tongue, slide back down his esophagus, land in his stomach and give him indigestion. I hope not. While not painful, the sensation is so weird and disturbing, I would hate to think I will have to live with it. Of course, there are worse things, much worse things... okay, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to feel like the balls of my feet and my toes are wrapped in ever-so-slightly electrified cotton bunting for whatever the rest of my life turns out to be. I'll take it over the many alternatives.
I am more depressed every day at the story and pictures coming out of the Gulf. Where is that "We can do it" President of ours? Don't tell me you're appointing a "commission" to "study" how this happened. Get people down there - go down there yourself, take your wife, your kids, and invite college and high school kids to spend the summer there (end school early!) and get a wave of volunteers down there and stop that oil from destroying precious wetlands. Build sand bars, do whatever it takes. Mobilize people. And arrest and lock up the BP executives, and fire Salazar. We can do it -- what? Violate people's first amendment rights, keep Guantanamo in place after promising not to, let BP drill in the Gulf without the legally required permits and without the REQUIRED environmental impact study. I am a very disappointed citizen.
But still... peace .. an oil-free (and toxic-detergent dispersal agent-free) peace to all creatures, especially those in the Gulf.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Saturday morning
A week since I last posted - time does pass. I've been busy with work, as usual, but also fighting a cold - a fight I may have (knock on wood) won. Still a little strange to feel "sick" and have it be "normal." I also may have put off posting since I saw Dr. M on Monday because of some sort of weird news.
He said my exam was good (he does the "internal" exam), and pronounced me doing well, etc. etc. As far as my CT scan results - I told him that Dr. R said "Great scan." He said, "Really?" and went on to say it WAS a good scan, but... And the "but" related to something I can't recall now whether I posted about here months and months ago when I had the first CT scan way back before the surgery. But I don't think I did write about it here. When I had that CT scan back in mid-October and I went to see him for my "meet and greet" and initial exam before the surgery, he told me that besides showing "my" tumor, the CT scan showed a very tiny lesion in one of my lungs (I forget which one). He said the radiologist who "read" the CT scan did not believe it was malignant; he thought it likely was scarring from an infection or something like that. At any rate, the "lesion" was so small, nothing could be done about it (like a biopsy). So Dr. M said that while he agreed with the radiologist, he also thought it should be kept an eye on. In the meantime, since I had an actual visible and troublesome tumor freaking me out -- I decided to limit my "worrying" to that, and not deal with the tiny "lesion" that was too small to do anything about. Time for that later, I thought.
Months pass. Chemo. Radiation. More chemo Time comes for another CT scan. Back to see Dr. M.
Now comes the "weird" thing. He said this new CT scan no longer shows the lung lesion. The good news is - it no longer shows the lung lesion. The bad - or at least mysterious - news is - it no longer shows the lung lesion. Does that mean that the "chemo" caused it to shrink/disappear? If so, does that mean it was in fact cancerous? Dr. M said it is a mystery and since it is now gone, what it was will remain a mystery. He did say it could have disappeared for reasons other than having been cancer. (David - who worked with imaging equipment for decades in Mass hospitals - thinks that the first CT scan could have had an anomaly, given how "tiny" it was, maybe it was an artifact of the scan itself).
Thinking about it does freak me out a little bit. Any kind of cancer is freaky and fearsome enough, but lung cancer is - for me at least - the most fearsome of all. In the end, however, when it was visible, the lung lesion was too small to biopsy, so there was nothing to be "done" about it except to "watch" - so even then, it was a mystery. Now it is disappeared, vanished, gone. A mystery. But - my lungs are clear! I think it is better to be faced with "keeping an eye" on clear lungs than with "keeping an eye" on something - a tiny lesion of unknown origin - showing up in one of them, wondering what it is. At least, that's my story and I'm sticking to it!
That's all the cancer news, kids, except June 5th is approaching - and that's when I'm walking in the Connecticut Komen Race for the Cure for breast cancer. A number of my co-workers have pledged to support me - very generously I must say - another astounding piece of news to me. The fact that people would pledge at all is wonderful, but that they would do so in very generous amounts is just amazing.
Jessie and I made it to the park this morning, but it was 6:10 or so - late for us. The sun was up and gleaming. We had a lovely walk on the first sort of warm morning in a while. Nice to walk in just a sweater, no coat. Lots of birds. Although their jumbled songs still sound to me like an orchestra warming up - I can recognize different songs but have no idea which song is which bird for most of them - I am beginning to be able to pick out certain birds' melodies, as if from the jumble of musical instruments warming up, a flute's notes jumped out individually. At least I recognize now that the "jumble" is actually the songs of many individual species/birds and not just cacophony.
I have registered with the National Audubon Society to go to the coast to help them in any way they need in the Mississippi River delta area. I have vacation coming and I figure I could take at least a week to go down and volunteer. So far they are only calling on volunteers from the region. I hope they do ask me to come, although it would be better if they didn't do so because they didn't need me.
Peace. But may BP go down to the bottom of the deepest trench in the ocean and rot there.
He said my exam was good (he does the "internal" exam), and pronounced me doing well, etc. etc. As far as my CT scan results - I told him that Dr. R said "Great scan." He said, "Really?" and went on to say it WAS a good scan, but... And the "but" related to something I can't recall now whether I posted about here months and months ago when I had the first CT scan way back before the surgery. But I don't think I did write about it here. When I had that CT scan back in mid-October and I went to see him for my "meet and greet" and initial exam before the surgery, he told me that besides showing "my" tumor, the CT scan showed a very tiny lesion in one of my lungs (I forget which one). He said the radiologist who "read" the CT scan did not believe it was malignant; he thought it likely was scarring from an infection or something like that. At any rate, the "lesion" was so small, nothing could be done about it (like a biopsy). So Dr. M said that while he agreed with the radiologist, he also thought it should be kept an eye on. In the meantime, since I had an actual visible and troublesome tumor freaking me out -- I decided to limit my "worrying" to that, and not deal with the tiny "lesion" that was too small to do anything about. Time for that later, I thought.
Months pass. Chemo. Radiation. More chemo Time comes for another CT scan. Back to see Dr. M.
Now comes the "weird" thing. He said this new CT scan no longer shows the lung lesion. The good news is - it no longer shows the lung lesion. The bad - or at least mysterious - news is - it no longer shows the lung lesion. Does that mean that the "chemo" caused it to shrink/disappear? If so, does that mean it was in fact cancerous? Dr. M said it is a mystery and since it is now gone, what it was will remain a mystery. He did say it could have disappeared for reasons other than having been cancer. (David - who worked with imaging equipment for decades in Mass hospitals - thinks that the first CT scan could have had an anomaly, given how "tiny" it was, maybe it was an artifact of the scan itself).
Thinking about it does freak me out a little bit. Any kind of cancer is freaky and fearsome enough, but lung cancer is - for me at least - the most fearsome of all. In the end, however, when it was visible, the lung lesion was too small to biopsy, so there was nothing to be "done" about it except to "watch" - so even then, it was a mystery. Now it is disappeared, vanished, gone. A mystery. But - my lungs are clear! I think it is better to be faced with "keeping an eye" on clear lungs than with "keeping an eye" on something - a tiny lesion of unknown origin - showing up in one of them, wondering what it is. At least, that's my story and I'm sticking to it!
That's all the cancer news, kids, except June 5th is approaching - and that's when I'm walking in the Connecticut Komen Race for the Cure for breast cancer. A number of my co-workers have pledged to support me - very generously I must say - another astounding piece of news to me. The fact that people would pledge at all is wonderful, but that they would do so in very generous amounts is just amazing.
Jessie and I made it to the park this morning, but it was 6:10 or so - late for us. The sun was up and gleaming. We had a lovely walk on the first sort of warm morning in a while. Nice to walk in just a sweater, no coat. Lots of birds. Although their jumbled songs still sound to me like an orchestra warming up - I can recognize different songs but have no idea which song is which bird for most of them - I am beginning to be able to pick out certain birds' melodies, as if from the jumble of musical instruments warming up, a flute's notes jumped out individually. At least I recognize now that the "jumble" is actually the songs of many individual species/birds and not just cacophony.
I have registered with the National Audubon Society to go to the coast to help them in any way they need in the Mississippi River delta area. I have vacation coming and I figure I could take at least a week to go down and volunteer. So far they are only calling on volunteers from the region. I hope they do ask me to come, although it would be better if they didn't do so because they didn't need me.
Peace. But may BP go down to the bottom of the deepest trench in the ocean and rot there.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Saturday morning
I haven't written here in a while; I guess that is an indication of life turning towards normalcy like the tulips I saw in the park this morning, all their lovely long necks bending in the direction of the rising sun (although their blossoms were not in good shape). I had a pretty good week.
I met my new primary care physician, Dr. T, on Monday. I wasn't impressed with the overall practice in that when they took me to an exam room, the woman (nurse? nurse's aide?) who led me there took a paper "gown" and started to hand it to me, saying, "Just take everything off on the top." For the first time, I think, in my lifetime, I said no to someone in a doctor's office. I said, "No, I'm not taking anything off until I meet the doctor. I am a new patient. Dr. T may become my new physician, but I want to meet her before I take my clothes off." The nurse/aide was clearly taken aback. Shortly afterwards Dr. T came in. In the end, I liked her. She seemed down to earth. She was surprised to learn that I wasn't visiting her for a specific problem/issue. She didn't even realize my "sarcoma" was uterine cancer. I gave her a basic medical history. I discussed with her the fact that I am not really interested in undergoing any further "procedures" for some period of time. She gave me the name of a doctor to schedule a colonoscopy - when I am ready - and I promised to try to do so within a year. She asked if I was willing to have a bone density scan at the time I have my next regularly scheduled mammogram, and I agreed, so she made arrangements for that (likely to be in August). And that was it. I now have a new PCP if I get sick. Otherwise, for the immediate future, she's not asking me to do anything other than the bone density test.
This coming Monday I see Dr. M, for the final medical appointment until I see Dr. R in July.
The week at work was good, slower than usual in that I caught up on alot of current projects and completed many of them and new assignments seemed to have slowed down some. The work does sometimes happen in waves, so this may be the calm before a storm.
One thing I did was make a decision that I would like to go away for a few days by myself, to reflect back on the last year - leading up to my diagnosis (confront the fears that led me to delay somewhat going to my doctor when I knew I was having a problem) and everything since - surgery, chemo, radiation, chemo and completing treatment. I started looking for a place to go and got demoralized quickly. I hoped to go over Memorial Day weekend - and of course rates are higher then and it is fast approaching. It seemed like my choices were between Motel 6 type facilities (I even looked at one motel on the CT shore that had a minus one star rating - who knew you could get a minus star rating???) - on the one hand - and expensive Bed and Breakfast type places, all of which were costly and prone to advertise their "romantic" settings, neither of which - cost or romance - was a draw in my case. Then David had an inspired suggestion, which was to check retreat-type facilities. And specifically he looked up St. Edmund's, the church/retreat/former monastery on Ender's Island where David and I have visited (and about which I have written here - it's the place with the small public chapel that faces the Long Island Sound, where visitors leave notes to God asking for help or praying for lost ones).
And - Lo and Behold as they say - they DO offer retreat facilities, including for private retreats like I am seeking. So I made a 2-night reservation over Memorial Day weekend. Not expensive, price includes meals (by oneself "in silence" or "with community" - I chose the community). There are a church and a chapel available, a 12-acre site surrounded by the Sound on 3 sides, gardens, plenty of benches for sitting, meditating, reading, resting. Freedom to come and go. I think it will be wonderful. I'm going to take a few good books, a notebook to write in, music on my iPod, no computer, cell phone only for emergencies. One of the days I will drive up the shoreline a few miles to Barn Island and walk the wildlife preserve trails there. I'll take my binoculars to try to do a little bird watching. What a gift to myself.
Today Jessie and I went to the park. We were able to get there by around 5:45 am. Once again, the heron was back, a slim but distinctive silhouette in almost the same place on the same side of the pond. This time I chose not to try to approach; I stopped the car and watched her through the still dim light of the dawning for a bit, and then I parked far enough away I hoped not to disturb her. But by the time Jessie and I had walked our normal route and come back, she was gone - again. This time I have confidence she is close by. I am looking forward to my next sighting of her.
I'm not yet sure what I am going to do about this blog. I think I will give myself through my "retreat" over memorial day to think about it. There are so many individuals who have written to me to congratulate me on finishing treatment and just to update me on their lives and seek updates on my "life" (and not just my cancer journey) - and as soon as my exhaustion lifts a little more, I hope to answer each one. I hope you know that I love receiving your notes, with YOUR news of the goings on, ups and downs, of your daily journeys. Even if I haven't written back - don't give up on me, I will.
In the meantime, may the oil-drenched birds, turtles and sea mammals fill the dreams of every executive at BP, causing each of them to awake with a start, dreaming that dream of falling falling falling, drenched in sweat and hoarse with terror. (Not a very peaceful sentiment, I'm afraid.)
Other than that, may peace be with our planet and its creatures all.
I met my new primary care physician, Dr. T, on Monday. I wasn't impressed with the overall practice in that when they took me to an exam room, the woman (nurse? nurse's aide?) who led me there took a paper "gown" and started to hand it to me, saying, "Just take everything off on the top." For the first time, I think, in my lifetime, I said no to someone in a doctor's office. I said, "No, I'm not taking anything off until I meet the doctor. I am a new patient. Dr. T may become my new physician, but I want to meet her before I take my clothes off." The nurse/aide was clearly taken aback. Shortly afterwards Dr. T came in. In the end, I liked her. She seemed down to earth. She was surprised to learn that I wasn't visiting her for a specific problem/issue. She didn't even realize my "sarcoma" was uterine cancer. I gave her a basic medical history. I discussed with her the fact that I am not really interested in undergoing any further "procedures" for some period of time. She gave me the name of a doctor to schedule a colonoscopy - when I am ready - and I promised to try to do so within a year. She asked if I was willing to have a bone density scan at the time I have my next regularly scheduled mammogram, and I agreed, so she made arrangements for that (likely to be in August). And that was it. I now have a new PCP if I get sick. Otherwise, for the immediate future, she's not asking me to do anything other than the bone density test.
This coming Monday I see Dr. M, for the final medical appointment until I see Dr. R in July.
The week at work was good, slower than usual in that I caught up on alot of current projects and completed many of them and new assignments seemed to have slowed down some. The work does sometimes happen in waves, so this may be the calm before a storm.
One thing I did was make a decision that I would like to go away for a few days by myself, to reflect back on the last year - leading up to my diagnosis (confront the fears that led me to delay somewhat going to my doctor when I knew I was having a problem) and everything since - surgery, chemo, radiation, chemo and completing treatment. I started looking for a place to go and got demoralized quickly. I hoped to go over Memorial Day weekend - and of course rates are higher then and it is fast approaching. It seemed like my choices were between Motel 6 type facilities (I even looked at one motel on the CT shore that had a minus one star rating - who knew you could get a minus star rating???) - on the one hand - and expensive Bed and Breakfast type places, all of which were costly and prone to advertise their "romantic" settings, neither of which - cost or romance - was a draw in my case. Then David had an inspired suggestion, which was to check retreat-type facilities. And specifically he looked up St. Edmund's, the church/retreat/former monastery on Ender's Island where David and I have visited (and about which I have written here - it's the place with the small public chapel that faces the Long Island Sound, where visitors leave notes to God asking for help or praying for lost ones).
And - Lo and Behold as they say - they DO offer retreat facilities, including for private retreats like I am seeking. So I made a 2-night reservation over Memorial Day weekend. Not expensive, price includes meals (by oneself "in silence" or "with community" - I chose the community). There are a church and a chapel available, a 12-acre site surrounded by the Sound on 3 sides, gardens, plenty of benches for sitting, meditating, reading, resting. Freedom to come and go. I think it will be wonderful. I'm going to take a few good books, a notebook to write in, music on my iPod, no computer, cell phone only for emergencies. One of the days I will drive up the shoreline a few miles to Barn Island and walk the wildlife preserve trails there. I'll take my binoculars to try to do a little bird watching. What a gift to myself.
Today Jessie and I went to the park. We were able to get there by around 5:45 am. Once again, the heron was back, a slim but distinctive silhouette in almost the same place on the same side of the pond. This time I chose not to try to approach; I stopped the car and watched her through the still dim light of the dawning for a bit, and then I parked far enough away I hoped not to disturb her. But by the time Jessie and I had walked our normal route and come back, she was gone - again. This time I have confidence she is close by. I am looking forward to my next sighting of her.
I'm not yet sure what I am going to do about this blog. I think I will give myself through my "retreat" over memorial day to think about it. There are so many individuals who have written to me to congratulate me on finishing treatment and just to update me on their lives and seek updates on my "life" (and not just my cancer journey) - and as soon as my exhaustion lifts a little more, I hope to answer each one. I hope you know that I love receiving your notes, with YOUR news of the goings on, ups and downs, of your daily journeys. Even if I haven't written back - don't give up on me, I will.
In the meantime, may the oil-drenched birds, turtles and sea mammals fill the dreams of every executive at BP, causing each of them to awake with a start, dreaming that dream of falling falling falling, drenched in sweat and hoarse with terror. (Not a very peaceful sentiment, I'm afraid.)
Other than that, may peace be with our planet and its creatures all.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Monday morning
Jessie and I got to the park this morning just a little past 5:00 a.m. Guess who was there? The heron -- or a least - A heron. It actually looked different than "my" heron, slimmer. But I could very well be mis-remembering. He/she was right where I last saw him/her earlier this spring (was it the end of March?) Instead of going right into our walk around the smaller loop, Jessie and I circled the pond to get to the bench where we sometimes sit at the end of our walks, which is across the pond from where the heron stood. I could see him/her there. But because of the early hour, and glare from some lights on the Pond House (a catering place in the park, close to the pond), it was hard to see him/her. So we walked back toward him/her. We stood and watched the heron a while; he/she was in his/her most extended (tallest) position, turning his/her head, long beak standing out against the silvery water of the pond. I turned my back for a moment or two, and when I turned back toward the pond, the heron was gone.
I'm not sure where he/she went. I've begun to learn about birds, and have learned that most birds prefer to travel at night, apparently using the stars to guide themselves. I think this heron was nervous and Jessie and I made him/her more nervous. (Given the slim shape of his/her body, I wonder if it was a juvenile.) At any rate, I doubt the heron left entirely. He/she probably flew onto the little island in the middle of the pond or somewhere else nearby with more cover. It will be interesting to see if the heron is really BACK, or just passing through.
I have my first appointment with my new primary care doctor, Dr. T, this morning. My guess is most of my time will be spent filling out a medical history -- that after the last 6 months, is now quite a bit longer than it used to be -- and then talking to her about it. i've decided if she wants to do anything - like schedule a complete physical or anything else - I am going to ask that it be postponed for at least 6 months. I am just not ready to go through any more "procedures," let alone deal with any "results" from them. The reason I am seeing her now is at the advice of Nurse E, who said I should see my Primary Care Physician soon after completing treatment so that he/she can follow my care now. I told Nurse E that I'd been thinking of changing PCPs for some time, but didn't know who to go to (I don't dislike my former PCP, just never really connected with him). Nurse E - and then separately, Dr. R - both recommended Dr. T so here I am.
I'm giving some thought to Dr. R's "orders" to "go have some fun." The fact that I have to give the concept some "thought" probably indicates there hasn't been enough fun in my life. But what can I do? I am who I am, and "fun" for me is as likely to involve a book as anything else. (I did buy 3 bottles of wine last weekend, and I have had a glass of wine a couple of nights this week. First time since pre-diagnosis. Not that I ever was a real wine drinker, but being told NOT to do something sure makes it more appealing. At least for me.)
Peace.
I'm not sure where he/she went. I've begun to learn about birds, and have learned that most birds prefer to travel at night, apparently using the stars to guide themselves. I think this heron was nervous and Jessie and I made him/her more nervous. (Given the slim shape of his/her body, I wonder if it was a juvenile.) At any rate, I doubt the heron left entirely. He/she probably flew onto the little island in the middle of the pond or somewhere else nearby with more cover. It will be interesting to see if the heron is really BACK, or just passing through.
I have my first appointment with my new primary care doctor, Dr. T, this morning. My guess is most of my time will be spent filling out a medical history -- that after the last 6 months, is now quite a bit longer than it used to be -- and then talking to her about it. i've decided if she wants to do anything - like schedule a complete physical or anything else - I am going to ask that it be postponed for at least 6 months. I am just not ready to go through any more "procedures," let alone deal with any "results" from them. The reason I am seeing her now is at the advice of Nurse E, who said I should see my Primary Care Physician soon after completing treatment so that he/she can follow my care now. I told Nurse E that I'd been thinking of changing PCPs for some time, but didn't know who to go to (I don't dislike my former PCP, just never really connected with him). Nurse E - and then separately, Dr. R - both recommended Dr. T so here I am.
I'm giving some thought to Dr. R's "orders" to "go have some fun." The fact that I have to give the concept some "thought" probably indicates there hasn't been enough fun in my life. But what can I do? I am who I am, and "fun" for me is as likely to involve a book as anything else. (I did buy 3 bottles of wine last weekend, and I have had a glass of wine a couple of nights this week. First time since pre-diagnosis. Not that I ever was a real wine drinker, but being told NOT to do something sure makes it more appealing. At least for me.)
Peace.
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