I met with Dr Specht today (after seeing my eye doc this morning and spending the next several hours with one eye dilated), and did not receive any new results from any tests from her, aside from the usual blood counts which were normal (not including tumor markers, which won't be available until next week, although the last ones from a month ago were, I think, 32, which is still within normal range, but higher than they were before). She was expecting me to tell her which of the three options for changed care I was interested in; at the close of my appt with Dr Jason on Tuesday, that's what I was expecting to talk about today, too.
But, yesterday at Taya's, I had a spectacular emotional breakdown about going back on chemotherapy because, it turned out, what I really wanted to do was have my next set of diagnostic tests (PET/CT, specifically) BEFORE anything else, because I really want to see if the MMS and Oleander that I've been taking since mid-March have done any good at all. Taya is a great person to have emotional breakdowns around, because she's seen them, and she's had them, and she's pretty calm about this whole life thing most of the time. And so, while I'm lying on her heated massage table, sobs wracking my body, my arms and legs and abdomen and face buzzing with 10,000 volts of energy just like in my panic attack, but not freaky because I knew why it was happening (more to investigate about this, I think), she sat there and chuckled and said "Good. Good! You're in a really good place now! Good for you! This is how you get more familiar with your intuition—break all these barriers away!"
Anyway, I felt quite calm and resolute going into my appointment today. I knew what I wanted to do and why; I'd done my research on the next steps and knew what those meant, so I could talk to Dr Specht about changing my treatment; but I was clear on what my intuition was telling me, and—even though it is scary to trust myself, and not just capitulate and start a new chemo immediately—I held strong for updated diagnosis before updated drugs.
Dr Specht was reluctant, but ultimately agreed, cautioning that she was getting more and more worried as time went by. I know she cares very much for me, and wants me to live as long as possible, and wants to do her best to help that happen, and doesn't really believe in a lot of the things I believe in, but she does, I think, trust me and what I need to do for myself. I know, also, that she thinks things will look worse on my next scans. But I don't think that—but, nor do I think things will look better—I can't keep an opinion on the matter at all. I just want to see what they say. I explained that I was not trying to put her off indefinitely; that I know that my situation is serious, if not at the moment presenting as acute. But that, if what I've been doing has, in fact, been clearing cancer from my body, I want to know that. She should want to know that.
I didn't put on an exam gown today, and so my sleeves covered my arms. There didn't seem to be any need to make a point of my tattoo, so I let it stay hidden. I think Dr Specht was worried enough about me today, without me essentially thumbing my nose at her.
And then I went and had my Herceptin infusion.
And now I am exhausted.