On Monday, I had my fourth chemotherapy session. Each one starts the same, with a blood test and a consultation with the oncologist. This one was nevertheless a bit different.
The blood test was ok. My numbers are good. My red blood cell count is towards the lower end of the physiological range, but that's not surprising. The only old blood test that I found in my documents showed virtually the same numbers. That was when I was living in Grenoble and cycling the Alps every weekend. It's a wonder I managed to get up the mountains at all.
The consultation with the doctor was also not different from before, except in one important detail. The doctor who had cared for me from the beginning, a trainee at the start of his career, had moved to a new position in a different city. I was sitting opposite a woman not quite as young as my previous doctor, but still pretty junior.
I don't mind young doctors too much. Experience obviously counts more than anything in medicine, but treating cancer patients, especially colon cancer, is no isolated craft. The initial diagnosis is discussed at an interdisciplinary tumor board where a wide range of specialists weigh in on the options and agree on a treatment plan. Once chemotherapy has commenced, it's just a question of making sure the patient can handle the chemicals and has no strange reactions. All the treating oncologist does is follow a previously agreed strategy
If everything goes according to plan, there are no more decisions to make. Every two weeks, the doctor does a quick physical to verify that the patient is still alive, checks the blood test, and calculates the amount of drugs based on the weight of the patient. I could do this myself. Having a trainee doctor do this does no harm and yet, I didn't like my doctor.
He did everything right and was correct and friendly, but I never warmed to him. He had a way that didn't work for me. He was too young to be genuinely confident and confidence-inspiring, very much the opposite of the surgeon who took my guts out. The new doctor is somewhere in between, more empathetic and warm. This gives me better vibes when I sit in her office, but it doesn’t change my therapy one bit.
The people that make a difference during therapy are the nurses. They are amazing for the most part. They care. As soon as a patient walks into the outpatient cancer clinic, they offer water and coffee and make the patient feel at home. The nurses attach the drips, draw blood, change the solutions, and rinse the port and lines. They run around from patient to patient, always with smiles on their faces. They remember names and personal details. It wouldn’t be the same without the nurses.
The therapy took just about three hours this time. As always, I took a balloon pump home with me for another 48 hours of goodness delivered into my circulation. Yesterday, I had the pump removed. Today I felt slightly nauseous but not so bad as to keep me from eating or cycling. I did the Rockabilly Race loop tonight at a pretty good pace - and this is the last you’re going to read from me for a while.
Tomorrow we’re all driving up to Germany to celebrate by dad’s 75th birthday, a family get-together in a town halfway between where my sister, my dad and I live. On Sunday, we’re back in Baden, but I’ll continue my travels by going to Singapore for a conference. The heat will do me good! When I’m back, it will be almost Christmas - and about time for the fifth chemo session, conveniently scheduled over the holidays.
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