Testing 1, 2, 3

Today Gilles and I went to the Cancer clinic in London. It was time for my six month check-up. Time sure has a way of marching on, although when I stepped inside the clinic it felt like it was just yesterday that I was being poked and prodded and receiving my lion's share of the chemotherapy bittersweet poison.

I gazed at all the new faces and felt that old familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach. I supressed the urge to cry or fall victim to the 'why me' scenario.

Gilles wandered off to his old haunt at the clinic - the Tim Horton's coffee shop, as I punched my information into the new computer. I like the new terminals that have recently replaced the page after page of questions on the clipboards. Entering my information into the computer was a bit of a diversion from wondering what was going to take place this time around behind closed clinic doors.

After my check-up last time, I remember leaving the clinic feeling frustrated and sad. My own gyne/oncologist was not there then and although the Doc who filled in for him was nice, he did nothing to reassure me that all was well in my post chemo world. When I asked him about doing the CA125, he explained to me in lengthy medical jargon mixed in with some psychobabble, why he would not do it.

Today was different. I love my own Doc. There is something upfront and personal about the doc' who removed my uterus (and all the attachments) and I really do think he knows me better! So I proceeded to natter on about how I really would like to have the CA125 done for my own sanity. He discussed how the result might cause me stress if it is elevated and how they would not do further chemo so early after the last one, if it is up. Then I proceeded to tell him how stressed I would be if I walked out of his office without getting the test done! I convinced him. He has the most amazing, calming bedside manner but he did say that he would arrange for me to have the bloodwork. So I did. It's done and I await the results.

A couple of weeks ago, I found a wretched little lump in my rib area so I pointed this out to my nice doctor, too, today. He thinks it is a lipoma, which I tend to be prone to getting. But as is his way, he has ordered an ultrasound to check things out. More waiting. But at least I can get it done in Palmerston, which is about 15 minutes away, rather than having to travel the two hours to London again. I'm praying for that to be good news.

Having cancer has changed my entire outlook on life, and maybe this is a bit dramatic, but it never leaves me. Ovarian cancer winks and pinches me every hour of the day. I thought I was losing it when I found myself with such thoughts but after talking to other survivors I have learned this is a very natural way of thinking. Perhaps time will change things, but as it stands, cancer is in my pocket always (thank goodness I also have a little metallic cross in my pocket,too, that reminds me Who is stronger, though!) Sigh. We journey on. X