Of Blood Clots and Financial Haemorhage

I saw the doctor last week. She said I'm so young, my chances of either blood clots or uterine cancer are practically nil. I didn't even have to look like a hypochondriac by asking about them . . . she offered this information of her own volition. That was nice . . .

So . . . I've been on Tamoxifen for six days. Six days out of five years? Okay--I'd better not start thinking like that.

I found out in the same week that my insurance has decided against covering my Oncotype-DX test. Which is disappointing. I'm glad that the test (and some prodding from the Milk Guy, my mother, and Pastor Val) enabled me to decide not to have chemo. I'm less glad that the people conducting it seemed to have told me my insurance would pay for it when it was evidently not a foregone conclusion.

Still, it was all put in perspective when the insurance statement came in for my radiation treatments. Having met and exceeded my out-of-pocket expenses, my insurance is covering these. The December treatments alone (not even a full month) exceeded $18,000. Good grief! If I had to pay that, I'd be taking out a mortgage on my life right now . . . !

The Last Day

I feel that I should follow up this post with one that tells how it actually turned out:

I did not get a convenient parking space. BUT . . . I did get my favourite dressing room and some not-too-faded gowns and a warm blanket without asking. I also got a little computer-printed "diploma" to certify that I had completed my prescribed radiation treatment, with the names of all the technicians on it, and tied with a little blue bow. That was better than a bouquet of hazardous toiletries, by a long shot. Also--takes up less space.

One Day More

Today was supposed to be my last day of radiation, but last Friday the Other Machine (which, for the last seven sessions, has become "my" machine) was broken, so I effectively had to make up a day the way all the school kids in the Northeast are going to have to make up the rest of their lives because of all the school they've missed this winter.

So anyway, tomorrow is my last day of radiation. Did you hear that?! It's my last day of radiation!

Radiation wasn't even that bad. I got tired, but that was because last Saturday we had a lock-in with the teens at New Church, not because of radiation. Still, in spite of its being Not That Bad, I feel that some sort of celebration is in order. I think they should make "Congratulations on your weird sunburn and not having to get it anymore" cards, and maybe bouquets of hazardous aluminum-filled deodorant and bubble baths and ladies' razors and stuff. I think, though, that getting appetizers and beverages on Thursday with 409-Caitlin and various other friends is going to be just the thing in lieu of that nonsense.

However, I also think that for my last day, I should get a parking space right next to the exit door of the parking garage, and I should get to change in my favourite dressing room, and I should get "gowns" that are not faded, and I should get a warm blanket without having to ask for it.

Why do I want to be spoiled when this wasn't even hard?