Saturday, January 29, 2011

Unless I Need Her

I've been thinking about this since my appointment yesterday, the new routine with The Good Witch.  I'll be seeing her every three months now, unless I need her sooner.  When I was talking to Husband about it tonight, I realized this was something I needed to tell you.  This was another important something to let you know about, another surprise on this path of surprises.  It's something I didn't expect, and nobody warned me about it at Cancer Camp.  I wasn't prepared for it.  It sneaks up on you, but I'm sure is common among cancer patients.

Letting go of your attachment to your oncologist.

She isn't family.
We aren't friends.
She is though as important to me and held in the same high esteem as I imagine the passengers of Flight 1549, the plane that landed on the Hudson, feel about Captain Sully.

I know from interviews I saw, he does not consider himself a hero, just a pilot doing his job.  I believe this is probably how The Good Witch sees herself, that there was nothing heroic or exemplary about what she did for me.  It was all part of her doing her job, the way she does for all her patients.  I don't know what it's like for her when a patient finishes treatment.  She must feel satisfied she did a good job but doesn't spend much time thinking about it given she still has so many other patients needing her care.  I can only tell you how it feels as the patient.

It's hard to let her go.

I am thrilled to be done with treatment, but I feel a little lost without my team, and mostly her.  I know I'll be ok, I have so much support, and if anything comes up, I can just phone in and make an appointment.

I will miss her presence, seeing her fly through the halls, juggling all of us in high heels no less.  I will miss her silence and attention, waiting for me to talk about what was on my mind.  I will miss making her laugh at my cancer material.

I know where she is if I need her.  It's a good thing when I don't need her, she is an oncologist after all.

It's just that

I'm going to miss her.

I already do.

I am her patient.

In my life she is my Captain Sully, and I am only one of her many grateful passengers.

This is what it's like to be a cancer patient in her care.

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