Good news, bad news...

Well hi!

So the good news is that I saw my oncologist today and she told me the resistance assay she sent off on the badness she removed from my belly is not resistant many chemo regimens. That means there's a lot of chemo to choose from. The bad news is that she has picked one that I know and loathe. She wants me to go back on the original regimen I started with which I didn't enjoy much. I was also bald. Goddammit, I really like this haircut! I hate wigs. I will not wear one. Well, maybe I will. No sense freaking out my patients.

If we start this regimen as planned next week I will be admitted to Highland on Wed. for a desensitization protocol because I am allergic to the stuff and they have to trickle it in. It also means a crazy dose of steroids which Dr. Angel insists on even though I, the allergist, tell her it is unnecessary. There is no arguing with the lady. Hey, she's a surgeon. I wouldn't say she eats her young because she's really very nice but I'll bet she puts the heads of her defeated foes up on her spear.

To make a short story long (what can I say, I have a gift) Alain might need a casserole next week. If you are planning on dropping one off please leave a comment on this blog so we don't get inundated with mac & cheese (although that would make Sam very happy).

The only caveat to this whole scenario is that I am going to Sloan Kettering on Friday for a second opinion. I'll still need chemo no matter what but maybe they will suggest something different than taxol/carboplatin which make me sick like dog.

I'm going with my sister if you're curious and we're going to make a weekend of it. Originally we thought of going to a show. It turns out neither of us are really broadway babies. Katie finally had the bright idea to go to a spa. Bye bye Broadway! Ooh, I'm into this. I'm a little nervous though. Frankly I'm intimidated by Manhattanites. Hopefully we will be promptly put into lovely bathrobes so no one has to look at the tacky stretchy pants I have taken to wearing in my post-op phase. I know what you're thinking, screw them. Ok, everyone think that at once now. C'mon use the force. Here I go, I'm clicking my heels three times and saying "I will not be intimidated by fashionistas, I will not be intimidated by fashionistas..."

Shortly after I graduated from college (ah, here comes the story) I decided I hated the book publishing world. It hated me right back. My mother once again swept in to save the day with some sage advice. She said, have you ever thought about applying to medical school? That fit the bill. I not only hated my megalomaniacal bosses who wanted me to sell book club rights, do marketing, answer the phones and clean the warehouse but I grew increasingly aware that if I were to get struck by a bus on the way to work no one outside of my immediate family and friends would give a damn. Some days the only human beings I saw were my boss and the UPS guy. I needed to feel useful.

Ok, enough Mother Theresa stuff. So I was going to medical school. I had to study for the MCAT's and was doing so when my sister invited me to Long Island with her for a weekend at a timeshare she shared with some co-workers. I didn't really get the whole Hamptons thing. How stupid does it sound now for a young single woman to go the Hamptons for the weekend and bring her biochemistry to study, her knitting and a speedo?

Katie's friends were true Long Islanders. They had big hair, they wore little swim suits that never touched water and said things like "oh my gawd, I am not going out thay-er, there is a bee by the pool." Honest to god, that girl never set foot outside except to go get a really expensive dinner. What they must of thought of me.

All for now.

Dr. Bif