Learning to Roll with the Punches

I got a phone call this week from some random guy named Roy or Ray. (I have trouble with other people's enunciation)  He left me a message "regarding your upcoming appointment."  Sometimes such a phone call means that a surgery has been scheduled or the doctor will be out of town.  A couple of years ago, it meant more bad news about my cancer, but those days were over.  When I finally had a moment to call back, Roy/Ray/whatever had bad news.  My oncologist had decided that he was done working with actual patients.  He was heading back to research, and leaving me, and many other patients, behind.  Too bad, too sad.  Pick up your chart and go home. Thank you and goodbye. 

This was a complete shock.

My oncologist, who I'd been seeing since December of 2014, was dumping me.  I was angry, stunned, and hurt. All that time and effort that I'd put into training that man so he understood my crazy, and he was leaving me.  As an Army brat, I got dumped often, the cost of moving so often.  It wasn't anyone's fault, but once you were no longer around, kids forgot about you.   They just stopped writing, or answering my calls, or being around when I visited.  As someone who had trouble making friends in the first place, this hurt.  I didn't understand. 

But a doctor is different, one might say.  A relationship with a doctor is a business relationship.  Surely those don't count?  Such silliness.  Patient-doctor relationships have a monetary component, true.  However, there is very definitely a relationship, at least to me.  I've had the same dentist since I was twelve. I have been seeing the same Ob-Gyn since 1987. I've been seeing my Primary Care doctor since the 90s.  He gets a copy of every report generated by all of my other doctors, and he actually reads them.  I certainly wouldn't get such attention from a Doc-in-the-Box, and that is why I call it a relationship.   I panicked, but then I handled it.  This wasn't my first rodeo, after all.  I called my Primary Care Doctor's office, and left a message.  He called me later that day.

"I'm freaking out," I told him about the phone call.

"Oh no!" my doctor said, in his usual cheerful voice. "No wonder you're freaking out."  

"Do you know any oncologists?"

In my mind was a completely ridiculous idea that all physicians knew each other, but I was freaking out, remember?  Fortunately, my doctor did indeed know an oncologist.  He gave me the number.   I told him that I felt better, which made him feel better.  Good relationships are like that. 

Time to roll with the punches.  I called and made an appointment with the new oncologist the very next day.  Next week I will continue my cancer journey with someone new.  I will attempt to be patient with him, since he won't have any idea about my general crazy. 

Wish me luck!

Dumped

Mamakat's Totally Awesome Prompt:  3.) A Valentine’s Day you remember.


Way back before I got lucky and found my husband, I wasn't really all that good at dating, so most of my Valentine's Days were spent parked on my couch, eating chocolate and watching previously recorded Buffy the Vampire Slayer episodes.  I was okay with that, because at least I had chocolate.  Besides, I lived in San Antonio, and worked in New Braunfels; I was on the road more than I was at home, at least during the week. When I was in high school, Valentines were a big deal. You were practically a social pariah if you didn't get at least one goofy red heart. Such things as this dictated your step on the ladder of popularity. Then, in college, there was the Grand Romantic Gesture, where your date went into debt so he could show up with a mariachi band and a limo to spirit you off to some romantic weekend. Even if you didn't like such things, you were expected to act as if you were. That's a lot of pressure.

One year, however, I happened to be dating a guy named Gregg, who was apparently so awesome that he had to have not two, but THREE Gs in his name.  The day before this particular Valentine's Day, he came over to visit me after work.  He was waiting for me when I got home, and while I was generally happy to see him, I had hoped for decompression time to myself before I saw him. I was kind of tired. But I invited Gregg-with-the-three-Gs in, dropping my purse and briefcase and rummaging in the kitchen for a bud vase.    

One of the special education teachers had given me a carnation; the student council had sold carnations for some valentine fundraiser.  Allison didn't want to throw the leftover flowers away.  It was a raggedy looking flower, with a bent stem and blackening petals. I felt sorry for the poor wilted thing.  I filled the vase with water and put the carnation in there, and hoped that it would perk up a bit. 

"Where did you get that flower?"  Gregg asked me as I set the flower on the counter, where it drooped miserably.

"A teacher gave it to me," I said, distracted by the realization that I had driven for forty-five minutes after drinking a huge glass of iced tea. "I'll be right back."

When I came out of the bathroom, I planned to ask Gregg-with-the-three-Gs if he wanted to pop some microwave popcorn and watch a movie.  Except Gregg-with-the-three-Gs was not there to ask.  He was gone. 

No note, no argument, no yelling...nothing.  I hadn't even heard him leave, so quietly had he exited.

I stood there, feeling a little confused. Not angry. Not hurt. Confused. What the heck had just happened?  Had I said something wrong?  Did I do something that I wasn't supposed to do?  Did I not do something that I was supposed to do?

Had I just been dumped the day before Valentine's day? 

Mentally, I retraced everything that had happened, and the only thing that I could come up with was the wilted carnation staring at me.  Three-G-Gregg had jumped to the conclusion that I had received a flower from an admirer, and instead of actually asking me about it, he left in what I suppose he thought was a dramatic huff.  Mystery solved.  I looked at the flower again, trying to see things from Gregg's eyes, and it seemed to droop even more.  Someone who hated me might consider giving me that flower.  Then again, it might be considered stooping too low.

Was I supposed to run after him, to apologize?  I didn't think that I had anything to apologize for, and my first impulse when dealing with any sort of tantrum is to ignore it.  I really didn't feel like dealing with drama, but I did step out onto my balcony to see if the guy was pouting in his car. No car, and I was happy about that. 

The phone rang.   It was my friend Bill.  Bill and his group of friends would meet up on most Fridays with my group of friends at a country western bar, and we would all hang out together until the drink specials ran out. Occasionally we would dance a two-step.

"Is there something wrong? You sound weird."

"I'm not sure, but I think that I just got dumped." I explained what I thought had happened, and Bill concurred that my hypothesis was probably correct.  I had indeed been dumped.  Then he ribbed me a little about being dumped before Valentine's Day. 

"He was obviously trying to get out of buying you a valentine,"  Bill snickered, and I had to agree. I wasn't in high school, and this was not the end of my world. I wasn't the least bit upset about being dumped.  I didn't really feel one way or the other about it. I think that I felt relieved that I wouldn't have to deal with Gregg-with-the-three-Gs.  After all, anyone who jumped that fast to the wrong conclusion likely had more trust issues than me. I wasn't a big fan of relationship dramas, so I was just fine with how events played out.

"I was calling to see if you wanted to go to a Spurs game tomorrow."  Bill's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

A Spurs game with a friend on a no pressure Valentine's Day?  I would love to go, I told Bill.  After all, my social calendar had suddenly opened up. 

Any of you have exciting Valentine's Day stories?