The difficulty of the same

Hopefully by August 2027, I will have more representative photos to include with my posts. This one kind of works for today.

I saw the oncologist earlier this week.

She’s a deeply kind, compassionate woman who for years has shared her life’s story with me and updates about her family and loved ones.

Still, I don’t particularly enjoy spending time with her.

I think it’s because we meet each year in the same room at the same clinic where more than 12 years ago another oncologist carefully talked with The Weed and me about treatment following my first breast cancer diagnosis.

Just down the hall is the same infusion center where I had round after round of toxic chemicals pumped through me to kill both cancer No. 1 and No. 2.

Across the parking lot is the radiation clinic where I received several small tattoos on my chest to pinpoint daily treatment locations for six weeks.

Across another parking lot is where I underwent the first surgery to rid me of cancer when we all thought the situation could be handled with a less invasive operation.

It didn’t pan out that way and the invasiveness continued.  

I understand the necessity for big clinics and hospitals to coexist on the same campuses for decades. The money involved with rebuilding or relocating must be staggering.

It still bothers me.

My father died in the same Northern Colorado hospital where my brother and I were born, just across the street from the high school where we graduated.

I guess it’s the difficulty of the same that really gnaws at me.

I hate going to that same clinic where treatment for cancer had such a disruptive role in my life.

I’m sure the circumstances play a part, as well. For example, the invasive questions the doctors are required to ask. Queries about hot flashes, vaginal dryness, bloody stools, etc.

They have a job to do, and I’m of a certain demographic where these questions are apt. Just not great conversation if you ask me.

In August 2027, if everything continues to be boring in my life regarding cancer, I will walk into that same room in that same clinic one last time.

I’m sure the questions will be the same. The unnerving exam of my reconstructed chest and lymph nodes will be the same.

But it will be the last time.

I’ve been close to this point with cancer in the past. Nearly putting it fully behind me.

I need to keep reminding myself I can stomach the same for one more year if it means my connection to cancer is different this time.