My visits with the oncologist are always somewhat depressing for me. Like, is there ever going to be an end to this?
Every time I go in I have to have my blood checked to see if my liver is holding up under the onslaught of the Femara (the estrogen blocking drug). And she always wants more tests – a bone scan, a lung x-ray, a colonoscopy. Will I ever be considered “cured” of cancer? All this looking is nerve-wracking. One of my computer clients says that they will look until they find something.
When my oncologist saw my reconstructed breast, she said “oh no, no, who did this to you? Why do they always insist on cleavage rather than softness? You must get this fixed!”
So … just when I think I’m getting to the end of this saga, it seems I’m still somewhere deep within it.
I still haven't started the antidepressant that she says will make me "feel better". I have yet to determine just what it is that I'm trying to make my way through here.