<p>Aibarr, thank you for the basement spandrel beams; and I also appreciate all of the wonderful posts from everyone else. I did read several of them before I left for my appointment this afternoon, and, I started to cry. </p>
<p>Having said that, either our health care system is even more goofed up than I could have imagined, or, I’m really, really bad at making choices. How we even got to today’s appointment is that the radiation oncologist’s office called me Friday, and asked to make the appointment for final staging for this week. </p>
<p>Since I had an appointment in the same building with my primary oncologist this afternoon, after confirming the staging would only take 15 minutes, I said sure, while I continue researching, let’s go ahead and make the appointment for final staging, that way it will be set. </p>
<p>My plan when I set the appointment was to (1) conclude my research over the weekend; (2) talk everything over with my primary oncologist today; (3) proceed with treatment, if that was the final decision. (2) was really important: even though I have consulted with his partner during an appointment last week, as well as two other doctors, I have not seen my primary oncologist since I was in the hospital. He has been on vacation, and the last time we spoke, his expectation was that I was getting cyberknife. He knew nothing about the change in plans, wbr, etc., because we have not had a chance to discuss it. And talking to him before proceeding is really, really important to me because I have no idea how wbr might impact a chemotherapy treatment plan, plus, I just stone cold want his opinion on the matter. </p>
<p>So, today, my daughter picked me up; we arrive at the appointment; the entire drive she is telling me about her new boss here in Washington (she transferred her job here and - different story - it’s not working out very well, but, oh well, career issues, I’m feeling bad for her - I feel like I need to export her back to Miami so her career does not implode) anyway, we arrive, they take me right away, and as they do, I confirm, thinking back to one of Calmom’s posts, we are doing staging only today. Everyone verbalizes that we are all on the same page. </p>
<p>I don’t know if anyone here has ever experienced wbr before, or supported someone who did, but, basically, a mask is made; it’s a rather hard plastic, and for the staging, as well as for the procedure itself, you lay on your back on a table, the mask is placed over your face and it fits very, very tightly, and then, it is bolted down to the table. You absolutely cannot move your head, and, it takes some effort to not panic. To give you an idea, the fit is so tight that it’s now seven hours later and I still have waffle marks all over my face from the mask. </p>
<p>In any case, they proceed with the staging, which doesn’t take too long and as long as I put my mind in another place (thanks CC), I’m o.k. </p>
<p>Then, just when it was over (I knew it was over because they mark the mask on both sides), one of the nurses came back in and said “o.k., the doctor said he’d like to go ahead with your first treatment, so, here we go…”</p>
<p>I wonder if you can imagine yelling “NO, STOP” through a hard plastic mask, while attached by your head to a table. No trauma though, they did stop immediately; they let me up and out of the mask without further discussion; the nurses said something like “well…since we were all here and already all set up…” however, my daughter later told me the doctor was very upset and told her that I just wasted his time (???). </p>
<p>In any case, my daughter tends to overstate things sometimes; I spoke to the radiation oncologist myself; I explained to him that I wanted to run the entire plan by my primary oncologist, that I had an appointment with him in the same building in just minutes, etc. The man was very nice; he assured me that the mets were very small and that I have “plenty of time”, and that I should not be rushed into making a decision. </p>
<p>I told him it wasn’t a matter of being rushed, but rather than I needed to talk to my oncologist (for the fourth time).</p>
<p>This doctor is listed as one of the top doctors in Washington and has an outstanding CV; in addition, I like him personally, and, I do trust him. I think. But this is a very weird situation - I didn’t even sign a consent form for treatment and they were ready to deliver my first treatment. </p>
<p>In any event, I set an appointment to begin the first treatment Wednesday (I’m in NYC tomorrow), and went to see my oncologist…</p>
<p>My oncologist said huh??? How come I don’t know this??? He’s looking through his paperwork and my chart like he expected to see a report on the matter. Bottom line, he thinks that the mets are small and that I can wait a few weeks, he also thinks that attacking the primary cancer is priority #1, and, he is going to call the physician who is the head of the department tomorrow, ask what in the world happened, and doubly confirm that cyberknife is not an option and that I really do need wbr, AND, if I do, he is going to have that doctor oversee things. </p>
<p>So, strange, strange afternoon; but it was gratifying to hear how encouraging my oncologist is about his assessment of me and how things are going… </p>
<p>I really, truly appreciate the prayers and kind words and support of everyone here…thank you all so much.</p>