In All Things, Humor!

Early on in my cancer treatment, I started having some problems. What problems? You already have cancer, you say. Well, believe it or not, it's not bad enough that one has cancer. In fact, the very treatment that is supposed to cure you of cancer can cause innumerable problems, say, horrific zits, rashes, boils, and/or blisters. I know, it sounds like the plagues from biblical times. Well, by the time I had the "leprous"-like skin lesions, I was feeling quite biblical in sentiment...most like Job!


So, I went to my ex-oncologist. He's something like others may say, "My first husband." Not the dashing one, or the drooling one, but the first one. Get the picture?! Cancer patients often move from one oncologist to another because, hey, we're not married to them. So, if one turns out to be a complete jerk, then why the heck should I pay him?! Last time I checked I didn't suffer from sado-masochism, just breast cancer! Anyway, I went to my "ex-oncologist" to show him my most recent plague. Just to rewind a minute, the night before I called him on his cell phone. He sounded miffed because I probably woke him during some "doctorly" activity, like an intense chess tournament, ballet, opera or a moment in the sack with his wife. I don't know, but he sounded miffed! So, I say, "I'm having an allergice reaction to the medication you gave me today."


"You couldn't be having an allergic reaction," my ex-O says in a smug voice.


"I assure you I am and I have large, puss-filled blisters to prove it!" I declared emphatically.


So, we went back and forth like two five year olds for a moment until my husband raised his eyebrows at me and reminded me just how old I was. I made the doc promise to meet me at his office, see me right away and tell me what the heck was wrong with me. I think to get me off of the phone and get back to whatever it was he was doing, he reluctantly promised me.


Once at his office, I gingerly got out of the passenger seat of the car and my husband helps me out and walks me into the doctor's office. Upon entering, the sweet receptionist takes one look at me and says, "Geez, Jan. You look terrible!" I nod in ascent to her and tip-toe over to the chair outside of the doc's office.


The doc, in his rico suave manner, strolls over to me and says, "Well, now. You sure have a lot of bumps on your face and arms." "What caused that?" he questions.


"Funny you should ask. I was going to put that question to you?" I grumpily replied.


"It can't have been MY medicine!" he exclaimed.


It takes the power of God and a gentle nudge from my husband to keep me from wacking this guy across the face with my new Coach handbag. I like my Coach bag to much, really, to get it bloodied. So, I take a deep breath and remind the doctor (and I use the term very loosely) that I'm allergic to all antibiotics except one. And the one he gave me was not that one!


Well, he was my first oncologist. I now have a new, female one! Fellow cancer divas--and divos--should not feel tied to a doctor any more than we feel tied to a hair stylist. If the first one does not work for you, you have the freedom to move on. As Americans, taxpayers and very high insurance premium payers, we have so much freedom to choose. I say, express your rights and find the doctors who are partners!