Goodbyes
I got my stitches out on Monday (before-and-after photos to follow once I've healed a bit more). It occurred to me that I'd never see this particular surgeon again, which was both fantastic (I've had enough surgery to last a lifetime) and a little bit sad (he's a really nice guy).
Saying goodbye to him turned out to be good practice, though, because from his office I walked straight over to the cancer center to do the same thing. Since MOSWO gave up his practice, I have been trying to find myself a new oncologist, and the process has dragged out for more than six months.
In part that's because life had been too—let's call it hectic—between my dad and school and stolen computers and disintegrating cars. But the real reason, I think, is that I was in denial about MOSWO's departure and therefore unmotivated in the search for a new doctor.
And I had the luxury of being unmotivated because, unlike most people looking for an oncologist, I wasn't being propelled by the terrifying news of a cancer diagnosis. I could afford to take my time because I didn't need to run headlong into treatment.
So over the past six months I met with three different doctors and finally, a couple of weeks ago, made my decision. It so happens that the new doctor is affiliated with a different hospital, which means that I need to move my voluminous records from the cancer center where I've been treated for the past six years. I had already moved my much-less-voluminous records once before, because MOSWO moved to the cancer center from yet a different hospital just a few months after I became his patient, back in 2001.
It's going to be strange to start over with a new doctor at this particular juncture. With MOSWO, it was a treat to go in for routine check-ups. We had bonded so strongly during the intense experience of diagnosis and treatment—twice—that it was like catching up with an old friend: our shared history cemented the relationship. Working with a doctor who didn't see me through the really tough stuff won't be the same—she doesn't have any frame of reference for me, and she won't be seeing me often enough to develop the acute familiarity that expedited so much between MOSWO and me.
All of that is unavoidable, I realize. And I am very confident in the new doctor, who was independently recommended to me by two of my other, very trusted doctors. I'm sure we'll build a solid relationship.
It's just going to take time.
Saying goodbye to him turned out to be good practice, though, because from his office I walked straight over to the cancer center to do the same thing. Since MOSWO gave up his practice, I have been trying to find myself a new oncologist, and the process has dragged out for more than six months.
In part that's because life had been too—let's call it hectic—between my dad and school and stolen computers and disintegrating cars. But the real reason, I think, is that I was in denial about MOSWO's departure and therefore unmotivated in the search for a new doctor.
And I had the luxury of being unmotivated because, unlike most people looking for an oncologist, I wasn't being propelled by the terrifying news of a cancer diagnosis. I could afford to take my time because I didn't need to run headlong into treatment.
So over the past six months I met with three different doctors and finally, a couple of weeks ago, made my decision. It so happens that the new doctor is affiliated with a different hospital, which means that I need to move my voluminous records from the cancer center where I've been treated for the past six years. I had already moved my much-less-voluminous records once before, because MOSWO moved to the cancer center from yet a different hospital just a few months after I became his patient, back in 2001.
It's going to be strange to start over with a new doctor at this particular juncture. With MOSWO, it was a treat to go in for routine check-ups. We had bonded so strongly during the intense experience of diagnosis and treatment—twice—that it was like catching up with an old friend: our shared history cemented the relationship. Working with a doctor who didn't see me through the really tough stuff won't be the same—she doesn't have any frame of reference for me, and she won't be seeing me often enough to develop the acute familiarity that expedited so much between MOSWO and me.
All of that is unavoidable, I realize. And I am very confident in the new doctor, who was independently recommended to me by two of my other, very trusted doctors. I'm sure we'll build a solid relationship.
It's just going to take time.
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