Good news and bad news. Or rather, good news and potentially more involved news. I spent several hours at the hospital today, first meeting the oncologist, then having lunch with Junior, back to the cancer center for lab work that I failed to get before I left, and then down to the breast surgeon for my post-surgery follow up. It was exhausting, but I feel like the barrage of information I received was helpful. Not all of it was promising, but nothing was super scary.
I had my pathology report read out to me through two very different interpretations. From the surgeon's perspective, she got it all and there was no lymph node involvement. The incisions are healing beautifully. Done and done. From the oncologist's point of view, it wasn't quite so black and white. By the time the tumor came out, it had grown slightly (by a millimeter) and combined with some of the other factors, it became a grade 2. There were a few other details, that I can't recall off the top of my head at the end of a long day, that sort of put me in a middle category between "super easy to eradicate cancer" and "hey, maybe this might take a little extra effort cancer." I had to approve them mailing my tumor (and surrounding tissue -- makes for a horrible mental picture of what that looks like, divorced from a female body) on for further testing. Once they have a more specific readout of what all of my markers are, then we will decide whether radiation will be enough, or would chemo offer enough benefit for extended survival to be worth it. (I'm not in danger of keeling over. I realize that sounds overly dramatic. I mean if there is a 15% chance of cancer coming back, and chemo would knock that to 10%, would I find it enough of a benefit. These are the choices I will be facing.)
Now, I want to end on an angry note. I usually try to be upbeat or goofy at the end of each post, but there is no way to do that here. I'm open about my health issues. Everyone knows I have lupus and all manner of other defects that I'm comfortable living with and discussing. I have seen a bazillion doctors, once I got over my hangups about not being able to afford them. (It took being a military dependent where there were no copays for years to feel comfortable about calling the doc when I needed one. It wasn't easy recovering from early adulthood, getting sent to collections over an ER visit we couldn't avoid.) I have filled out every sort of pre-office visit paperwork imaginable. Yes, they always ask who my insurance company is, and there's a page where I write in my husband's name as the policy holder, blah, blah. But that's usually one single page, sometimes only half a page. Then it's on to medical history and chief complaint questions. Apparently things are different at an American cancer clinic. There were three pages devoted to asking me how I was going to pay for this, including a scary looking one that listed copays, deductibles, catastrophic caps, and whether I'd had a financial counselor go over everything with me. It enraged me that this is where we still are in this country. What is wrong with Americans that cancer carries as much financial impact as a mortgage? Thank god I have some of the most reliable insurance there is, as the dependent of a military retiree. As my (now retired) primary care doc told me, Tricare doesn't always pay the most, but they always pay. Period. I am super careful with my referrals for that reason. Even so, I'm going to be looking at a barrage of copays, and I will most likely hit my yearly cap, especially if there is chemo. I've cut my discretionary spending way back, and I'm even starting to look around for things that would be worth something to someone on eBay. It's a hell of a place to find oneself, and it's no way to be feeling when one is entering a challenging medical battle.
Kid drawings all over the walls in the oncologist's office. This kid obviously really lives with a cat.
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