Day 121 - Ah, much better!

Last week I got a call from the hospital saying that my doctor wouldn't be able to see me for a couple of months. So I went in to see another doctor, a woman. She's much nicer than the old doctor and sure seemed interested on what I had to say. I complained a little bit about how uncomfortable I felt during my chemo sessions and she suggested I went to a private clinic in town, which has better structure than the public hospital.

Fair enough, right? So I went in the clinic to see the doctor there (who is an oncologist, not a hematologist like the others). After some half-hour of conversation, I told her I went there because I wanted a more comfortable bed for my chemo sessions... spending the whole day on a hard bed wasn't specially nice on my back. Her answer was pretty surprising, "why would you spend the whole day doing a chemo session? I honestly do not understand why hematologists insist on doing chemo that way! I promise you won't be here for more than 3 hours".

So I was thinking, this lady is either nuts or my savior. In any case, I decided to give it a shot and have my chemo session done there. Yesterday I went in at 2pm and the treatment started right away. A couple of hours later, the session was all done and I was feeling relatively well, as I only vomited once, on the way out. I wouldn't say that I felt like a million dollars for the rest of the day, but the aftermath was the best, certainly.

After a good share of googling and reading, I have come to accept that my treatment (ABVD) should indeed take no longer than three hours. I found a couple of blogs from patients stating that and, more importantly, institutions like the BC Cancer Agency mention that on official documents. I guess my new doctor is indeed my savior, and my old doctor is like the anti-christ. Ok, maybe that was too strong. After all, the wrong method did get me cured. The path could have been easier indeed. But in this case exceptionally, the destination matters more than the journey.

In my last post I said that the glass was half-full, but it was a damn huge glass. Until a couple of days ago, I told my friends that I felt like I was half-way done climbing the everest wearing nothing but a speedo. Things have changed with this new chemo, though. Not only I fell closer to the summit, but also I have the appropriate gear. Or, if you prefer the glass analogy, let's just say I was given a massive beer bong for that glass...

I won't bend. I won't break.