[1-29-08] Oncologist

[Transcribed directly from my journal. I don't care about grammar in my journal, so please allow me to apologize beforehand.]

     Today I get to hear from the oncologist. Maybe he can give me a clue about the x-ray.
     I went to class, checked on financial aid (still no money), and turned in a UC loan deferrment form to have them stop billing me while I am in school. I also got permission for an emergency loan, but I decided against it because I was supposed to get the money "any day now."

[3:00pm]
     I went to the health center to find out why I haven't yet received a call from my doctor. I find out that the oncologist has not returned his call yet.

     My doctor looks at me and asks me how I am doing. I say, "Actually quite well. I don't really understand why, but I am doing quite good. Part of it is because the threat to my life makes me appreciate it more, you know? The other part is that, with a threat like this, I really don't care about what people think. I'm not sweating the small stuff. I can smile at a girl: no problem... chat with classmates: piece of cake."

     He tell me that I should consult with one of the counselors, and to tell them that I've received a "very bad diagnosis." I thought it was silly, but I agreed to it.

     So I walked upstairs, feeling fine. Then I entered the counseling center and got a knot in my stomach. "Can I help you?", the receptionist says.
     "Yeah, my doctor told me to come up here to see a counselor, and that it was a good idea because I just recei..." My voice trailed up...my eyes were trying to shed tears, and it felt like there was something lodged in my throat. I couldn't speak! I looked down at the table, trying to compose myself and finish my sentence.
     Talking to the furniture, I said, "I just received a..." It was even worse this time. Actual tears were shed -- a rare occurrence -- and I had to say "excuse me." I walk away for a few steps and compose myself.
"I just..." (At this point, the tears started up again, but I persisted.) "...received a really bad diagnosis."

     Her face was wide eyed and startled. "Uh, yes. We'll set you up with someone today, if we can. Do you have your insurance card?"
     I guess that was when it really hit me: I have cancer. Afterwards, when I talked with the counselor, I felt a bit better. A burden that I didn't know I had was lifted. This world felt a little more real, but that was OK -- I was going to be fine.

     In class my phone rang (on vibrate, but to hell with the professor -- I answer all my calls now.). It was the secretary of the oncologist. She wanted to make an appointment in a few days. On the 31st, my oncologist will see me. Two days from now, not a week or two weeks. If there's one thing I've learned, it is that quick appointments is a BAD thing.

     When I got home, I really wanted to tell someone. Then I started to get all teary-eyed again -- whenever I think of telling my family, I feel terrible and afraid.
     As it so happens, my friend Heather just happened to call. She was like, "I've had a bad day." I say, "Me too. Well, I don't know, more crazy than bad. So tell me about your day."
     "You first," she says.
     "Uhm, mine is pretty long and complicated." She insisted, so I told her.

     She was shocked and terribly afraid for me. Then I started to feel bad -- I shouldn't have told her. I mean, I basically just made her feel terrible worried about me because I needed to talk to someone. Isn't that selfish? How mean is that?

     I definitely can't tell my family. I'll just work through this and succeed -- then no one gets hurt.
     Still, I really needed to tell someone, and I am thankful for her ear, and kind words.