Mark and I have often observed at the oncologist’s office that the right hand doesn’t always know what the left hand is doing. The place is always hoppin’ and the doctors are always running late (a 1 1/2 hour wait this morning–it only has taken us two years to remember to bring books!). There are some folks there who run the place beautifully (like my cousin‘s lovely mother-in-law) and others who gum up the works and ask us questions we think they should already know the answer to. Last time, someone asked me why I needed a CAT scan. Um, I have cancer and the doctor said so?
Today, I was chit-chatting with the injectionist who was readying my $1,500 shot of Faslodex. Here is our conversation…
She asks me how many kids I have.
“Just one. My initial cancer was when she was 18 months old, so that was the end of kids for us. I found out about my mets on her fourth birthday. She’s turning six on Saturday.”
“Oh”, she says, “you have metastatic breast cancer!?”
“Yep,” I answer, “it’s in my lungs.”
“Wow,” she says, as she depresses the plunger into my gluteus maximus…”are you getting treatment for that?”
Now there may have been other chit-chatty lines in there, but I swear that last line is exactly what she said.
Perhaps her left brain wasn’t aware of what her right hand was doing.