cancer memory
From Whence I Came:
A few years ago, I moved to a new city, partly with a new life/career/city/school plan, partly with the intent to escape the trap of an oncology clinic I was in; I desperately needed follow up care for the chronic late-effect monkey on my back that no one in the adult oncology unit would acknowledge.
The first oncologist I met with at the new clinic looked over my protocol and promptly dismissed my late effects concerns, saying that I should have 'no side effects'" based on the gallizion drugs that were pumped through my veins - absolute rubbish. Back on the merry-go-round to demoralization I was. It's sad to say that so goes most of my encounters with anyone who I try to tell about late effects.
To Where I Landed:
Last week I gave a 3rd try at finding a decent disability counsellor at the institution of higher learning that attend. I show up at the appointment with the feeling of dread that accompanies these kind of prior negative experiences - the one where there is a firewall between the truth of your experience and the person who is listening to you.
The first two counsellors lived on that planet of neverneverland - no doubt they are neighbours of my former oncologist who, as his first act as the planetary government leader, deemed self-delusion an acceptable professionl practice.
And Now I Am Here:
So there I am, checked in at the appointment desk, feeling anxious and jumpy, easily threatened and irked, my injustice red-flag-o-meter on high alert. I'm delayed because the counsellor is on the phone. Argh. Next, a woman comes along and buts in front of me and into the counsellor's office. Grrrrr. (now you're expecting me to find a moment of zen, right). So I do - I get up and walk out.
I go for some cheap but flavoured coffee, and seriously consider blowing the appointment off - until I remember that the psychiatrist who did my ADHD evaluation thought that a "referral summary" consisted of revealing all the nitty-gritty of my life history on paper (I made this discovery while getting documentation for my tax write-offs - ADHD is the closest legitimate dx I can land on in order to get services and write off my hefty out of pocket expenses).
So back I go to at least retrieve the offensive document. Now I'm 20 minutes late and I've been rude to the nice library technician who tried to embargo my coffee. (Why would I get coffee when I'm jumpy you ask ... that's another chapter for the section on "cancer and you: your guide to the effective use of addictive substances").
Despite my immature and spiteful lateness, the counsellor sees me. And I have one of those moments that I've been having more and more often as of late.
And Here I'll Stay:
She's fabulous.
She's respectful, sharp, knowledgeable, not the least bit bloated with 'power-over'. Instantly she knew that chemotherapy's effect on memory, concentration and focus is well documented.
Phew. The usual helping professional induced panic attack averted - an actual possibility for rehabilitative progress arrives. Order is restored to the universe for a fleeting moment.
A few years ago, I moved to a new city, partly with a new life/career/city/school plan, partly with the intent to escape the trap of an oncology clinic I was in; I desperately needed follow up care for the chronic late-effect monkey on my back that no one in the adult oncology unit would acknowledge.
The first oncologist I met with at the new clinic looked over my protocol and promptly dismissed my late effects concerns, saying that I should have 'no side effects'" based on the gallizion drugs that were pumped through my veins - absolute rubbish. Back on the merry-go-round to demoralization I was. It's sad to say that so goes most of my encounters with anyone who I try to tell about late effects.
To Where I Landed:
Last week I gave a 3rd try at finding a decent disability counsellor at the institution of higher learning that attend. I show up at the appointment with the feeling of dread that accompanies these kind of prior negative experiences - the one where there is a firewall between the truth of your experience and the person who is listening to you.
The first two counsellors lived on that planet of neverneverland - no doubt they are neighbours of my former oncologist who, as his first act as the planetary government leader, deemed self-delusion an acceptable professionl practice.
And Now I Am Here:
So there I am, checked in at the appointment desk, feeling anxious and jumpy, easily threatened and irked, my injustice red-flag-o-meter on high alert. I'm delayed because the counsellor is on the phone. Argh. Next, a woman comes along and buts in front of me and into the counsellor's office. Grrrrr. (now you're expecting me to find a moment of zen, right). So I do - I get up and walk out.
I go for some cheap but flavoured coffee, and seriously consider blowing the appointment off - until I remember that the psychiatrist who did my ADHD evaluation thought that a "referral summary" consisted of revealing all the nitty-gritty of my life history on paper (I made this discovery while getting documentation for my tax write-offs - ADHD is the closest legitimate dx I can land on in order to get services and write off my hefty out of pocket expenses).
So back I go to at least retrieve the offensive document. Now I'm 20 minutes late and I've been rude to the nice library technician who tried to embargo my coffee. (Why would I get coffee when I'm jumpy you ask ... that's another chapter for the section on "cancer and you: your guide to the effective use of addictive substances").
Despite my immature and spiteful lateness, the counsellor sees me. And I have one of those moments that I've been having more and more often as of late.
And Here I'll Stay:
She's fabulous.
She's respectful, sharp, knowledgeable, not the least bit bloated with 'power-over'. Instantly she knew that chemotherapy's effect on memory, concentration and focus is well documented.
Phew. The usual helping professional induced panic attack averted - an actual possibility for rehabilitative progress arrives. Order is restored to the universe for a fleeting moment.
posted by nancy at 3:16 PM
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