Irony, Anger, and Pizza

The last two nights in my own bed have been bliss. A kitty curled up between us, no one waking me up to take my blood pressure; no IV pole to drag to the bathroom. And skipping chemo this week feels like a forbidden pleasure. But then, of course, there’s the Cipro. Without it, I’d feel normal, but it’s giving me diarrhea, a headache, and a generally unwell feeling. But not bad enough to skip pizza. Jerry made a delicious pizza with red onions and mushrooms last night. Had wine been open I might have even had an ounce or two. But I had a big glass of water which I know is far better for me. It’s raining today so I am staying home. Another day to think about things. I got a call yesterday from my primary care physician’s office, asking me how I was. Weird. And it brought up, once again, my feelings about her. When I first met Dr. A I was so impressed. She would call me to check in. She was thorough. But perhaps her practice has grown, or, I don’t know what because my last appointment with her was a game changer. I went in complaining of unexplained weight gain and bloating. She did not bother to touch my belly. If she had, my cancer would have likely been caught months earlier. It likely would have not spread. So yes, I’m angry. I vacillate between never wanting to see her again to wanting to tell her she needs to touch patients; she needs to really listen to them. I know ovarian cancer is not common, but when a woman my age has my complaints, they need to be taken seriously. I can’t turn back time, so this is my life. I need to figure out a way to let go of the anger. It’s not helping anyone.