Turbo Cancer: Day 152 - November 10, 2022
Talking Points
On this day, last year, my mom wrote:
“Well, yesterday went to Doctor A, radiation oncologist. Will start radiation on back next week. Only 1-2 weeks all together.
Today, had staples removed by Doctor S. I look forward to left leg pain ending. Short tube now as I accidentally cut the long tube. He wants to see me in a few weeks.
Gratitude for good friends and family. ❤️
When we went to see Doctor A, the radiation oncologist, I asked all of my questions:
“It turns out there was cancer in my mom’s groin. If radiation had been administered the first time we came to see you, would that have shrunk the tumor and provided pain relief?”
“Did my mom have tumors in her spine in July, when the PET scan was performed, or did they appear more recently?”
“Why have all of the scans and tests indicated that the chemo has been working? It doesn’t seem to me that it was working. It seems to me that the cancer was spreading.”
“Do tumors normally grow at this rate? We could see my mom’s groin tumor growing. It was bigger every day. Are the bone tumors growing in the same way?”
“How long does it typically take for cancer to spread to the bone?”
“This doesn’t really make sense to me. Is this what cancer is like? I’ve never heard of it being like this. This doesn’t seem normal.”
“My mom was healthy. She was completely healthy. How could this have happened? What caused this to happen?”
“How is any of this possible?”
He didn’t have any answers for me. None of the doctors had any answers for me. It was as if they all had been reading from the same script. It was as if they had been given “talking points.” When I asked my questions, every doctor gave the same answer: “Cancer acts differently in different people. It is very difficult to predict or to understand.”
Billions of tax dollars are spent every year on cancer research, yet it remains “very difficult to predict or to understand.” That doesn’t make sense.
Doctor A looked at my mom’s MRI results and determined that she was, indeed, a candidate for radiation. He would have his team set up an appointment for scanning , mapping and blocking. The scan would show them the exact location and dimension of each tumor. They would put marks on my mom’s torso, so that they would always know exactly where to eradiate. They would set up a series of blocks, specific to my mom’s body, so that she would lie in the exact same position for each treatment.
At Doctor S’ office, the remaining staples were removed. He said that the incision looked good. There was still fluid draining from the blowhole. He left the drain in place, and planned to reevaluate in two weeks.
While Doctor S was checking his work, I noticed a small amount of green puss where the drain tube entered my mom’s leg. I pointed it out. He said that it was normal. He said that it was nothing to worry about.
I should have worried about it. My mom had no immune system. The only way for multiple cancers to be growing and spreading at an accelerated rate would be if the body’s immune response had been compromised. I knew that.
Doctor S knew that.
Without a functioning immune system, the tiniest bit of infection can spread like wildfire. Without an immune system, every virus, bacterium or mutated cell becomes turbo charged.
My mom and I were both exhausted. With so many other things to worry about, I allowed the words of Doctor S to convince me that the pea-size glob of green puss was normal. I allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of security. He wiped the puss away with gauze, and I wiped it from my brain.
I took my mom back home, so that she could rest. She would need her strength.
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As you said, billions spent for… this. A breathtaking level of bad, ineffective care.
I weep for your sweet mom, and you, and all of us.
Don't worry about that. Just like we doctors didn't worry about any of it, not as long as the checks kept rolling in!