In less than 48 hours, I made a total of three trips to the General Hospital last week for tests and an appointment with my oncologist (I toyed with the idea of staying at the hospital all day one day but, with 4 and half hours between appointments, I chose to come home. This meant an extra bike ride up the really big hill that is Smythe Rd but I chose that as the lesser of two evils. Also, it’s reassures me enormously that I can meet that kind of physical challenge).
These appointments will probably never stop making me anxious but I this week they really stressed me out, perhaps because the timing was so compressed.
On Thursday morning, I had an echo-cardiogram.
That afternoon, I saw the oncologist (My appointment was set a week earlier than it usually is in the cycle and his nurse insisted that I come in for the appointment, as opposed to calling in. I had no evidence to back this up, but I became irrationally convinced that I was being called in to hear bad news of some kind – perhaps that my oncologist was breaking up with me or quitting medicine. Or moving to Florida. Or something).
And Friday morning, I had a CT scan.
All of these things are just a routine part of my life. But I don’t think they will ever feel routine to me.
Cross-posted (sort of) from Not Just About Cancer.