Bad news, Part II

Dr. McNicoll is arranging for me to meet with a pathologist and a chemo guy. I think that's what he said. I'm still in shock, I guess. I should be hearing from them by the end of the week for my appointment.

Romaine, my contact at social services, called while I was driving to my parents' house. We're supposed to set things up tomorrow. I decided that maybe a professional should help me better deal with my anger.

I suppose I'll be meeting more doctors, re-discussing my case with radiation specialists, and asking Dr. McNicoll a lot of questions. I'm still not clear on what "recurrence of the tumor" actually means. But the lump was on the left side, where the original tumor appeared.

So many questions.

I just got home from telling my parents. It was terrible the first time, it was just as terrible the second time. They had questions I couldn't answer, and there was nothing I could do to comfort them... again.

My mother asked again if I want her to go with me when I meet with the chemo doctors (doctors, doctors everywhere and not a one to marry). Again, I had to explain to her that the state of mind I need to be in to get through this requires that I not go with my mommy. And again, she's pissed off about that.

When I was crying on Leannah's shoulder earlier, I thought of my dad. I hate discussing my cancer with him. For whatever reason, his questions make me feel defensive. I know he just wants to know what's going on and what I'm doing about it, but instead it feels like he's talking to the nine-year-old he wishes I still was. You could see it as him being protective, but it makes me feel as though he has no faith in my ability to take care of myself... maybe he has a point.