The New Regime

Since when do you need a Plan B for chemotherapy! I wish I could muster up some statistics as to how often this happens, but given how varied the world of chemotherapy is, I wouldn’t even know where to start.

I would be extremely grateful if Plan B was completely out of my hands and I could sit back and let the specialists make all the important decisions. I am not ashamed to admit: I hate making decisions. Big or small, I cringe when faced with options. My decision-making skills have been put to the test in the past few months: where to have treatment, what type of surgery to have, and how to live life during treatment. Every day I wake up and have to decide how I wish to live the day: couch potato, or the naughty-girl-pushing-limits. I will be honest and say that couch potato has won more often than not lately, I’m learning to be ok with this.

It’s not only major life-changing decisions that can unrattle me: a simple meal can cause sweaty palms. Ordering a meal with friends proceeds in one of three ways: someone orders for me and I am pleasantly, or not so pleasantly surprised with the meal presented, we pick a few options with the intent to share (I have friends who were not comfortable sharing in the past. We’re still friends, they now share.), or I need to know exactly what everyone else has selected before I make my executive decision. “Food Envy” is a an issue not to be taken lightly.

I think you can grasp how I feel about decision-making.

So back to treatment…

I have tried my best to be the good patient. I was happy to sit there quietly, for 4 rounds, every 3 weeks…but alas…it’s wasn’t to be. Just when I thought I had all my ducks aligned in perfect formation, with one sweeping hand-bomb-dive, the naughty big brother, Life has pushed them back into the bathtub. A little dramatic?

So what now…

Fast-forward to today. I have just received news about my new treatment regime. My oncologist has kindly taken time out, in Paris, to review my situation.

Her recommendation: 9 weeks of Taxol (the gentler of the T’s). It has the same properties as the drug I was reacting to previously, but smaller doses, weekly, should eliminate the issue of my blushing *laughs*. Let’s see…

The only forseable problem, for me, is my oncologist doesn’t feel it necessary to have a port implanted. As the port may not be implanted until next week, it wouldn’t be usable until the following week. She feels it’s a ‘big’ commitment to have surgery, and a possible scar for only 6-7 weeks of usage.

How do I feel about this? My veins are silently crying at the thought of 9 weeks of needles, twice a week – at least (if they get it first go!). I have an appointment today with the surgeon who would implant the port. I will see what magical advice he can enlighten me with. A good friend once told me, if you are struggling with a decision, you need more information. Let the research begin.

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