I called a friend who has cancer today. Sometimes months will pass between conversations. I’m afraid when I call, because I might hear bad news. She didn’t sound very good. I want to visit as soon as I can.
I’ve been very fortunate so far. My cancer hasn’t been very aggressive, and I’ve been able to skate by on what one doctor called minimal treatment. When I first found out I had MM and went for my very first visit to an oncologist, I was afraid. I asked him if I was going to get old, and he said, “I think so, but it isn’t going to be easy.” I felt a weird combination of hope and fear. I forgot to ask him what his definition of old is. Later, when I went to see Dr. Richardson at Dana-Farber, he said, “We hope to get you to your 50th birthday and beyond.” Another doctor said he thought I could be a long term survivor. Maybe a dozen years. Twelve years seems like a long time now that I’ve known more people who didn’t get that much. So, I feel lucky.
It’s my night to take dex. I dread Fridays.