After a visit with my doctor, this time to check that the brochitis has come to an end, but now the asthma has flared up (more drugs), I stopped by the Customer Relations office today to speak with Marylon (correct spelling) about something that has bothered me since that lovely day I found out about the cancer.
That particular morning, I was sitting in my dermatologist's examining room, my "vitals" having been taken by a young man. He had a copy of my lab report in his hand, and leaned forward and asked "Are you going to cry when you find out your diagnosis?" A creeping flush began at the back of my neck, confirming what Dave and I had talked about this morning--that whatever the news was, it was bad--but I'd be hanged if I was going to give this young man any indication of my emotions.
"Depends on what my diagnosis is," I answered calmly.
He did not leave well enough alone, but instead went back to reading my lab report.
"I guess I'll let the doctor tell you the news," he said.
"That would probably be wise," I answered, wishing that a hole would open up in the floor and swallow him. Couple this experience with an incident later that hour when the botox-ed blonde young woman (office assistant) counseled me to "Ask more nicely," when I requested a copy of the pathology report. At that point, I was struggling to stay on top of the inner storm surge, so could not even answer. I simply stared and wished that same hole would get her too. I did get the report, got out of the office before I broke down while talking to Dave, sitting in the parking lot outside the office. That whole day was strange, but these two comments left me wondering if I should say something to someone. And who? I didn't want them fired, but I certainly didn't want to let their unprofessionalism go unchecked.
So I guess this means I'm getting better. Better, as in the surgery is now two weeks in the past. Better, as in now I don't have bronchitis and a double ear infection, but instead, asthma. Better, as I don't randomly tear up every twenty minutes, but instead every afternoon or so. Better, as in I didn't climb once on the bed today, but am on track to wait until after dinner to do that, where I will curl up with my laptop and stream Downton Abbey, Season Two, Episode One.
Better, as in now I am now technically someone who once had cancer, but now does not.