I Wanted to Hug My Oncologist
Thanks to Covid-19 and Donald Trump, I hugged my phone instead.
Let me put this out there: I am not feeling sorry for myself right now. Not in the slightest. In fact, I feel blessed.
But I wanted to write this as an illustration of how adaptable we all must be during this time. How we have to temporarily disable our dreams of what we thought would be.
For example, I’d been dreaming of yesterday. Allow me to explain. I had an appointment scheduled with my oncologist to discuss moving forward after being breast cancer-free for five years!
Anyone who’s had this disease understands that this is a landmark…a watershed moment.
Throughout this time, my oncologist has been a beacon for me. I went from someone immobile with terror to a kickass survivor. I love the guy.
From Day One, my once has been upbeat and supportive. He kept me from chemo and cut my radiation down to four weeks instead of the usual six, as my breast cancer had been, thankfully, caught early.
Over the years, my three-month followups extended to six months. And, as I continued to do well, during our meetings, we’d spend about five minutes on lab work and other test results and then…
