Buyer’s remorse

set in last week with a vengeance.  I can't remember the clicking point (generally involves trying to get to sleep) but at some point Thursday evening I came down with serious regrets about the way I have approached my entire health 'crisis'.  I freaked out and decided that I had rushed things too much, tried to get everything done too quickly in the name of getting back to normalcy and worried that I should have tried harder to ensure I wasn't going overboard, particularly on the surgery.

Oh, I remember…it was the planner.

I received a gift pack in the mail on Thursday.  It had a blanket, a bag, several scarves and a planner. The planner had forms for each doctor visit and approximately 18 second opinion sheets.  I also happened to read in a book (that very afternoon), about the importance of having "x" number of second opinions.  So, what if I had overdone it?  Too little, too late, right?  However, with the the drains, the weird bras, the constant pain and discomfort, the sensation issues, checking for swelling and scary arm problems, painful arm exercises, the way the right side of my chest still looks like…well, it looks awful, the way I can't shower without crying (because showering means scar massage…a painful, but necessary deed) and the way I still feel I have let everyone down….I just couldn't stop doubting the decision, thinking the surgery was too drastic.

Peter tried to comfort me and calm me down.  He tried to reassure me that I should not second-guess myself.  He said all of the evidence from all of the doctors indicated that I did exactly what I should do, but I couldn't agree that he was right.  I finally fell into a fitful sleep on the couch, and Peter, the saint that he is, slept next to me on the chair the entire night. (FYI: When one is in the midst of any sort of emotional turmoil, there is nothing on earth more comforting than waking up the next morning and finding your spouse still next to you on said chair…)

I also woke up to find that not only had he scheduled a massage/MLD for me at the Teal Center for that afternoon, but also an appointment with a new doctor.  She is a doctor of Functional Medicine, an MD that works with people who have chronic illnesses (guess I sort of qualify) and treats the whole person, not just the disease.  She won't prescribe chemo, radiation or hormonal therapy, but she will spend 2-3 hours just reviewing my records and getting to know my medical history. 

We had bandied the idea about for a bit, but Thursday night sealed the deal.  Peter explicitly forbade any further decisions on conventional treatments until after I met with her.  I know full well that despite her holistic background she may indicate in her opinion that it is best for me to go through with radiation and hormonal therapy.  In fact, I am not really expecting her to say either treatment is a bad idea. If I do go through them, I need to be in the best shape possible and supplement with the most ideal complementary therapies to get me through with the fewest side effects.  

I don't want to be guessing about which supplement will interefere and/or when is the best possible time to try acupuncture or how many sessions of manual lymph drainage I will need per week if I opt for radiation.  While my oncologists (medical and radiation) have been wonderful about answering questions regarding the actual treatments, the alternative portions are not their pieces of the puzzle. Having someone outside who can say "Yes, this is a good idea, but you should do x, y and z." may be exactly what I need.  Knowing that I have yet another support person to guide me through what could be a difficult time will undoubtedly help me make  a more confident decision.  Well, and then there is Dr. X.

We had a follow-up appointment with him today that was supposed to consist of discussion and then another fill.  Iffy news?  Lots of discussion!  Good news?  No fill!  Fills are supposed to be exciting, but for me they are just ridiculously painful.  I nearly kicked the poor guy last time (thank goodness he had a steady hand…) and I was not looking forward to this morning.  

We reviewed the surgical information and have come to the conclusion that the extra excision is not going to work.  It IS a good idea and should always be considered, but simply won't fly in my case. There is nothing left to excise on the medial margin, and he would end up having to take too much skin.  Taking any more would negate the "skin-sparing"ness of the surgery and I don't want to go there.  He knew we were still undecided on radiation and did share a few tid-bits regarding my RO's style with regard to radiation.  He let us know that the skin was generally in far better shape, there was virtually no risk of lymphadema and that (in his opinion) it couldn't hurt to have the extra safeguard against recurrence.

I get it completely.  I know the issue up, down and all around.  However, I am an unusual breed and fear over-treating more than under, especially when we are so clearly in a gray area.  Many of my frustrations with this illness have revolved around me not wanting to go overboard…but I couldn't figure out the reason behind my worries.  Part of it is the health issue:  I don't like possibly making myself sick in other respects in order to deal with this issue.  However, I am also simply not as afraid of the cancer as the doctors would like…and I couldn't understand why until recently.

I had a bit of an epiphany last week and finally traced the source of my discontent and my reticence about both radiation and Tamoxifen, and yes, even the surgery.  It's not something I'll blog about anytime soon, but just my own knowledge gives me comfort.   I realized that I just have to take that part of my thinking out of the equation for the moment.  It doesn't mean I am any more afraid of the cancer; I'm not, it will not be the end of me (ever).  It doesn't mean that I am any less afraid of treatments or their side effects, but between the new doctor and a better understanding of my fears, I think I am better able to make a decision that I (and my doctors) can live with for a very, very long time.