Fingers crossed

So… I’ve been thinking a lot about this journey, about the way cancer is a series of big and small events followed by periods of lull. How one minute you are secure in your choices, your treatment plan, and then something shifts and you are tossed into the swirling sea.

Bits of conversation float back to me, slowly at first, and then as the waves of memory build, I find myself whispering, “aha… now I understand.” I hope all the delays, the weeks of waiting, will not become my cautionary tale. I know it’s pointless to look behind me. I’m trying now to focus on letting go and moving forward. That said, I can’t seem to shake how adamant my breast surgeon was about getting my adjuvant therapy started. And how quick my former oncologist was to put everything on an indefinite hold when it was clear Tamoxifen wasn’t going to work.

I ended up rebooking our return flight, shaving about 10 days off the tail end of our trip. It’s not much, but it’s enough to ease my mind and get me back to my new oncologist in a time frame I am much more comfortable with. I know Dr. D is concerned that so many weeks have passed since my surgery. His approach is definitely more aggressive than my former oncologist’s and I’m right there with him. I’m ultimately more comfortable with aggressive, even though it brings an added layer of anxiety along with it.

I spent much of yesterday afternoon trying to unravel what happened to the Lupron Rx after my gynecologist sent the prescription to our local CVS. After roughly two hours of phone calls, I found out that the prescription can only be filled by Cigna’s home delivery pharmacy. It was a bit of a scramble to get a new Rx sent to the right place, but Cigna was really great about helping me navigate all of it.

Fingers crossed that the Rx (a sub-cutaneous shot that will shut down my ovaries for three months) sails through the approval process and arrives in time to be administered before I leave. It’s an important first step in getting me on the right track, and Dr. D feels pretty strongly that it needs to happen yesterday.

I texted a friend and said, “I suppose this is when you are supposed to give it up to God?” The things beyond our control, the stuff we have to simply believe will happen when it needs to happen. I’ve done what I can, the only thing left for me is the waiting.

I don’t think I need to worry about my cancer coming back, but I feel pretty bad about ending up here. This weird and winding path, the Tamoxifen fail, the hesitation over switching to a new doctor. I keep telling myself that it’s going to be okay in the end. But the truth is, I don’t really know.

I am hopeful that this will be my last hurry up and wait challenge, that from here on out there are no more bumps in the road, no more delays, no more things that aren’t supposed to happen.

Fingers crossed, right?

 

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3 thoughts on “Fingers crossed

  1. Kristen, your feelings are totally normal after taking such a hit. I would have the same doubts and fears because nothing can ever be the same again. That is not to say that life needs to be full of fear and dred. On the contrary, it is a wake-up call to live each day with joy and purpose. We do not no how long we have on this earth, so everyday is precious and a new opportunity to make a difference.

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