The universe has a funny way…
Yesterday was my 6 week checkup at the cancer center. It’s funny how you can get equally accustomed to not going to the hospital for checkups as I did when there was so much frequency every week. There’s no worry or trepidation now that I’m feeling so much more normal and getting better every week/month.
This was a special visit though, not because of my health status but because this was the last time I would see my oncologist. She’s moving to Maine to oversee a department in Portland, a great step for her career. We talked about my status and how things are going, reflected back on the craziness of the start when I came in during the height of the pandemic and the hospital was bananas trying to figure out how to manage general care and operations with a scary overlay of protection and new procedure. For those of us that had tested positive for Covid, this was even more worrisome. My cancer was an aggressive form and they needed to move quickly on treatment but didn’t want to compromise my immune system if there was a chance of my getting symptoms of covid. What a mess!
It was important that I tell her how much her care and oversight of my treatment meant to me. There was a reassurance on the days when I saw her, when she told me things were going exactly as they should and not to worry. Any time I had side effects or a small set back, her response was to get me a specialist appointment quickly to treat the issue or to provide medicine that would alleviate symptoms. And when I as at the nadir (lowest point), she was careful to keep me out of the next round of treatment until I was feeling better and numbers were stronger.
We talked often about books and our dogs, what the plans were for the summer despite my inability to be outside gardening or biking. She always made a point of stopping by my room when she was in the main wing of the hospital regardless of whether she had rounds that week. And she would stop to say hello when I had treatments in the pods during my maintenance, or would call me if there was a chance she had to be out of the hospital that day to check on how I did with a procedure or the results of a test.
I asked a myriad of questions and being the kind of patient that has to read everything about my treatment and type of cancer, she was willing to share what she could about the process and methodology of my treatment so I was sure to understand.
Many people talk about not hearing from their doctors or getting a response when they reach out. This was never the case with my doctor. She took each of us with sincerity and interest and applied a hefty dose of knowledge and concern to our cases. I told her she was special in this way and how much this meant to Gene and I that she made us feel like things were going to be alright and we could reach out anytime.
The first Christmas following the really rough year of sessions, I wanted to give her something. Strange as it may sound, that ended up being a book I thought she’d enjoy, some chocolates, and socks from Bomba. They’re really exceptional socks! She normally walked around barefoot in her clogs and I thought these would keep her comfortable.. Gene wanted to buy her a house. I thought that was out of the question. So the last day we met, Gene baked her one of his wonderful pound cakes that had sustained me, and I brought it to her as a final thanks. She hugged me with tears in her eyes. She’s a doctor that needed to know how much she meant to her patients on a very human level. Special indeed.
Someone once said, “the universe has a funny way of putting you in the place where you need to be.” In my case, it was being in the right place with the right person who got me through the hardest moments of my life.
This feels like the bookend of my experience there. I’ll have another oncologist to manage my ongoing tests and check-ins for the next year, and hopefully nothing more than that. But Dr. Egan started with me at the lowest point and left me at the highest point, and I’ll always be grateful we came together when we did.
🌼🌼🌼
