I Am Patient, Just Not A Patient

I have never really been a patient. Aside from annual reproductive exams, a couple sutures here and there, and that one take-over by poison ivy that nearly killed me—I have been lucky enough to avoid doctors. I’ve never suffered a broken bone, been hospitalized, or contracted any kind of disease/virus/condition that required long-term care. Hell, I’ve never even had an IV.

Sure, I’ve spent lots of time in hospitals and with doctors in offices. But, I was always on the giving side, not the receiving side. As a Hospital Corpsman in the Navy while on active duty and reservist duty, I worked full time in hospitals and doctors’ offices—providing care to sick and injured Navy and Marine members. Then after I fulfilled my contract, I worked in the medical community for 6 more years on the “outside” as a Medical Assistant alongside 3 different specialists. I learned a ton about human anatomy, medical science, the inside of our healthcare system, and medical billing. I got really good at performing sutures and placing IV’s.   

Now, I’m suddenly a patient—like the many I cared for—I’m on the receiving end of the medical questions and needles. And so far, I don’t like it one bit.

Along with becoming a patient, my priorities have abruptly switched gears without my approval. Just a couple weeks ago, student loan payments, scheduling my next tattoo session, and designing my Halloween costume for trick-or-treating with my nephew, were my top priorities. Instead however, I canceled my tattoo appointment (to not add to my body’s inventory of wounds to heal) and completely missed Halloween to make way for my first 2-hour oncology consultation. This is not what I want, not at all. I want to go back to worrying about our broken oven, debating my uncle about hunting on Facebook, celebrating the small steps in progress my new shy cat takes, pushing myself to go to the gym, protesting animal testing labs with strong friends, and planning a vacation with my husband. Now, that’s all on the back burner when I so badly want it on the front again.

Stupid cancer literature is now taking priority over my usual reading.

With this dreaded diagnosis, comes a mountain of reading and research. The animal rights magazines and earth-loving books I love now take a back seat to informational pamphlets and breast cancer guides. Quiet evenings with my husband drinking wine and watching movies, now give way for serious, brow-dropping cancer treatment strategy meetings. It’s true, facing a disease like this is like having a second job. A full time second job that doesn’t pay, renders you less attentive and sometimes absent as a friend, consumes most of your thoughts, and delivers you to cheerless places where every new encounter greets you with weight measurements and blood pressure readings.