I had a shiny moment with my onc this week. Dr. A felt me up one last time, told me she was going on sabbatical in February for six months (did I break her?) and then said, "We'll call you in 2016."
I think I peed a little from my schoolgirl excitement and then I stood up, thanked her, shook her hand, thanked her again and hugged the hell out of her. She grinned, I grinned and then we parted for four years.
Before I left, though, I asked her a stoopid question that's been floating around my bean for awhile.
"Does having chemo also kill all the run of the mill cold and flu viruses for awhile? Cuz I have not been sick for over a year."
"No, you're likely just washing your hands more since having chemo."
Part of me thought, fuck you, I'm doing more than washing my paws. The other part thought, holy shit, my onc knows nothing about the lengths I've gone to to transform myself and give cancer the swift kick to the ballz it needed. And she doesn't really care.
I still love her, but it made me realize that I was experiencing another ending and a little beginning.
So I'm working on starting a new blog and will let you all know about the unicorns and narwhals I plan to post about when I get it all sewed up and running.
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