Hello Fellow Travelers!
I hesitate to tell you about last week's visit UCSF but this is supposed to be an honest reporting about an everyday person's circuitous journey through the morass of cancer and Western medicine, wherever that journey takes me, so I am compelled to share.
I saw a "motion specialist". She was helpful, smart and kind. She seemed pleased by my physical and mental strength. She prescribed a very low dose (and I mean really low - 1mg) of valium that is supposed to relieve some of the dizziness which I identified as my number one problem. It is the key to everything else. If I can stop the earth from falling away I can begin to repair the vast damage I've been living with since 2011.
I also let the good (and heartbreakingly young!) doctor know how great I feel (Thank You, Dr. Aliabadi!) and how motivated I am (Thank You PS!). Dr. Motion (not her real name, but I haven't asked her permission to use her name) was thorough and blunt. The chances of me significantly improving at this point are somewhere between slim and none. My physical prowess and "take no prisoners" attitude persuaded her that I might be that rare patient who succeeds, who doesn't die (from cancer anyway, although I'd hate to think I've gone through all this to ultimately get flattened by a bus) My MRIs are "remarkably unremarkable", to quote my oncologist. I guess that's a good thing. Then why was I let down?
Of course, I'm taking the medication. Of course, it has no effect, I knew it wouldn't. We'll follow her instructions to the letter and I have absolutely no faith that any pill in any amount will have any beneficial effect whatsoever. My expectations were low, on the bright side, I got to meet another brainy brain professional, I'll see her again and I had a visit with my fabulous in-laws! Why was I disappointed? I've given this considerable consideration and you know what it is? I'm tired. PS is too. We're both exhausted. It's that simple. And that complicated. We're just "plum worn out". Just living is really hard work these days and the adventure is nowhere near over. The boys don't share in my 24/7 good feeling, my whole world is drenched in sunlight in a way I can't even describe let alone share.
My best friend might be right; maybe I am looking for a "big" solution that fixes everything, but I don't think so. For one thing, I don't think such a solution exists. But, when you are tired and everyone seems to answer every medical question with some form of "I dunno" any solution looks plausible. When the act of swallowing requires a five-step process by the end of the day you're beat!
PS wants to see "Maleficient", whatever, it's a rare opportunity for me to eat CANDY! But it has got me thinking about Oz and the W3 (Oh, you know the Wicked Witch of the West, the unforgettable Margaret Hamilton) she terrorized poor Dorothy with a few props. One of the scariest object d' art is the giant hourglass, it's the object that spurs me on and haunts my dreams. I think of it often, that giant hourglass with the sand running out. Time always wins I just need to utilize every minute I have! I believe in neuroplasticity but I still have hope at UCSF. Hope is good, right?
I hesitate to tell you about last week's visit UCSF but this is supposed to be an honest reporting about an everyday person's circuitous journey through the morass of cancer and Western medicine, wherever that journey takes me, so I am compelled to share.
I saw a "motion specialist". She was helpful, smart and kind. She seemed pleased by my physical and mental strength. She prescribed a very low dose (and I mean really low - 1mg) of valium that is supposed to relieve some of the dizziness which I identified as my number one problem. It is the key to everything else. If I can stop the earth from falling away I can begin to repair the vast damage I've been living with since 2011.
I also let the good (and heartbreakingly young!) doctor know how great I feel (Thank You, Dr. Aliabadi!) and how motivated I am (Thank You PS!). Dr. Motion (not her real name, but I haven't asked her permission to use her name) was thorough and blunt. The chances of me significantly improving at this point are somewhere between slim and none. My physical prowess and "take no prisoners" attitude persuaded her that I might be that rare patient who succeeds, who doesn't die (from cancer anyway, although I'd hate to think I've gone through all this to ultimately get flattened by a bus) My MRIs are "remarkably unremarkable", to quote my oncologist. I guess that's a good thing. Then why was I let down?
Of course, I'm taking the medication. Of course, it has no effect, I knew it wouldn't. We'll follow her instructions to the letter and I have absolutely no faith that any pill in any amount will have any beneficial effect whatsoever. My expectations were low, on the bright side, I got to meet another brainy brain professional, I'll see her again and I had a visit with my fabulous in-laws! Why was I disappointed? I've given this considerable consideration and you know what it is? I'm tired. PS is too. We're both exhausted. It's that simple. And that complicated. We're just "plum worn out". Just living is really hard work these days and the adventure is nowhere near over. The boys don't share in my 24/7 good feeling, my whole world is drenched in sunlight in a way I can't even describe let alone share.
My best friend might be right; maybe I am looking for a "big" solution that fixes everything, but I don't think so. For one thing, I don't think such a solution exists. But, when you are tired and everyone seems to answer every medical question with some form of "I dunno" any solution looks plausible. When the act of swallowing requires a five-step process by the end of the day you're beat!
PS wants to see "Maleficient", whatever, it's a rare opportunity for me to eat CANDY! But it has got me thinking about Oz and the W3 (Oh, you know the Wicked Witch of the West, the unforgettable Margaret Hamilton) she terrorized poor Dorothy with a few props. One of the scariest object d' art is the giant hourglass, it's the object that spurs me on and haunts my dreams. I think of it often, that giant hourglass with the sand running out. Time always wins I just need to utilize every minute I have! I believe in neuroplasticity but I still have hope at UCSF. Hope is good, right?
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