Truthfully, I felt better leaving the oncologist's office yesterday than anticipating the visit.... Even though sitting in the waiting room of a practice called "hematology and oncology" was the
last place I pictured myself sitting, among many various people in different stages of sickness, I was ready to just get things rolling!  My husband Steve looked at me and said, "this is surreal, isn't it.  Feels a lot more real now."  I could only agree.  He's been such a great sport...

The girl who checked me in asked me where I teach, and when I said Norhwest Alternative, she mentioned a boy's name...I said he used to be my former student, and I just loved him.  She said that was her older brother, and was my name Kim?  "Oh, he just loved you.  He used to talk about you all of the time.  Your school saved him."  We spoke a little more about her brother, and the last time I saw him was at Yukon Jack's bar out in Hanover, watching his family's band perform.  That band happened to be her entire family, and she was pretty happy I remembered that detail...What a great reminder of why I love my job, but also of why I have been having work nightmares...worrying that the quality of education I'll be able to give my kids will suffer during my illness...I want to help "save" them all....

Anyway, I was checked in, weighed (I swear, don't they just keep that information on a master computer somewhere so every place you go you don't have to step on that stupid scale?) , measured, had my blood pressure and pulse taken, and had my finger pricked with a blood draw that I learn is to be my routine for every single  visit during chemotherapy.  I visited with the doctor's assistant, then waited for my doctor to arrive.  I was told I had an entire hour's block of time with my doctor, I might  not need it all, but it was mine if I wanted it.  I felt absolutely like there was no rush, exactly how I feel with my own family doctor, Dr. Legere.

He was a very kind and gentle man, foreign but easily understood.  I also got to meet Sharon, my patient navigator, as she stayed with me my entire visit.  She's the one I had many questions for on the phone, and it was great to meet her in person.  I was examined physically, and spent that hour learning about my cancer (triple negative...not caused by hormones), the possible stages (will learn more after my surgery on Monday where they do a procedure called sentinel lymph node...hope I said that right), talking about my chemotherapy regimen, and answering more of my questions.  Yes, I can swim in a lake.  Yes, I can go in my hot tub, as long as it's not too hot.  Yes, I can take a bath ("you must like water" he said).  Yes, I can ride a bike.  Yes, I can be with my pets, change the cat box, and even go to a casino.  Yes.  Yes.  Yes..I felt more hopeful than I had in a while, worrying about the things I COULDN'T do, now I had a minute to think about all the things I could do.

After my visit, I had to go to scheduling...I'm having an EKG to make sure my heart can withstand the chemo,  blood work, and an info visit for about an hour and a half before actually starting the chemo...any of my questions unasked will be answered then.  Finally, I got a tour of the "infusion" room, where people were actually undergoing chemotherapy while we walked through.  There were only a few people in the spacious room, and their backs were to me so they could overlook a magnificently landscaped area with a waterfall...it was actually quite beautiful, but it was explained to me that it was near the end of the day and most people had already finished their treatments....I digested the fact that on July 15, that would be me, sitting in that lazy boy, staring out the window at the beautiful waterfall, as that was the date chosen to begin my chemo.

I'm planning on getting a spectacular tattoo to commemorate my kicking cancer' s ass.... Maybe a waterfall should be part of that design?