Cancer revisited

Back in June of1998, after 7 short months of marriage to the man of my dreams, I was given a diagnosis that shook me to the core and left me forever changed. I was diagnosed with Clark's Level IV malignant melanoma and told if I didn't undergo surgery and chemotherapy, I wouldn't live.

Today was my annual check-up, and since we recently moved, it was with a new oncologist at a new office. I wasn't sure what to expect and hoped that this one would be different from my last oncologist.

A little back history...When I was first diagnosed, my oncologist (an absolute angel sent from heaven) told me that I would need check-ups with an oncologist and dermatologist for the rest of my life, along with CT scans, blood work, full body examinations, etc. Like I said, this man was heaven-sent, and his word was and still is gospel to me.

When I was in South Carolina, my oncologist wasn't proactive at all and made me feel that since I had hit my 5-yr. mark with no recurrence, I was wasting his time by taking a few minutes of his time once a year. I had to be a complete witch to get him to do referrals for my scans b/c he "felt they were unnecessary at this point".

Fast forward to today. My new oncologist didn't even give me a chance to say, "I haven't had a CT scan in a year, and I need you to put in a referral for one." She asked me! "When was your last CT scan? When was your last female exam? Have you ever had a mammogram? When's the last time you saw a dermatologist?" Imagine the look of complete shock, amazement, and joy on my face at this point. She cares! She IS a good one! I walked out of that office with an appointment already made for my CT scan and mammogram, which will both take place THREE days from now.

But now I have to share the part of my day that reached in, grabbed my heart, and touched my soul. Before I saw the doctor, the nurse called me back to do the whole weight, blood pressure, temp. thing. When I sat down in the chair for her to draw blood, I looked at the room I was in. It was the treatment room. "Dear God, give me strength. I *can't* be in here." So many feelings and emotions came rushing back to me that I had to fight back the tears. This was the first time I'd been IN a treatment room since I went thru chemo. In the center of the room was a half-circle of recliners, each with a little table beside it. In the corner was a refrigerator with juices and sodas. Next to it was a shelf with snacks and soups. There was a TV, but for the life of me, I don't know what was on it. There were several pale, frail-looking, bald people sitting in these recliners, covered with blankets with IVs hooked to them. Although they were complete strangers to me, I felt a kinship and a bond with them. I was there, in one of those recliners, having that poison pumped into my veins just a few years ago. Although much of that year of my chemo is a blur, I remember my oncology nurses and my husband begging me to eat *something*...just a little soup, maybe some crackers, *anything*. My heart was breaking for these patients, knowing what they're experiencing and knowing that some of them may not see the other side of this mountain they're climbing. At the same time, though, my chest swelled with pride for them because despite everything, they're still fighting that fight and still have their sense of humor. They're not letting it beat them.

It was a moving experience for me, to say the least. These people, although still strangers to me, will remain in my thoughts and prayers. My greatest hope and wish is that there will come a day when each of them can look back and say, "I beat that horrible monster called cancer."