In The Valley - Part 8

           I am meeting my Oncologist today, Dr G.  After healing from the surgery,  I am working on getting the full range of motion back in my right shoulder.  The surgeon has told me that if Lymphadema becomes an issue, then I will need Physical Therapy.  Dr. G and I discussed how my breast cancer was discovered.  After sharing my story, the doctor asks if  I had noticed any change in the breast itself.  There was abnormal growth that occurred within a few weeks, I gained over a cup size.  At the time, I remember attributing it to weight gain but it turns out that it was a result of the fast growing cancer.

        In order to stage my disease and design a treatment plan, the Oncologist required more testing.  I had a full body bone scan, a CT of chest, abdomen, and pelvis.  Later a PET scan was done because the other scans were inconclusive.  

      Finally,  with staging complete, my Oncologist reveals that I have metastatic Breast cancer which is treatable but cannot be cured.  I knew that meant advanced disease and that once it spreads beyond the breast, the cure rate is very low.     Yet, I know something the oncologist may not yet understand.  God is the ultimate Healer.  There is no problem too great, no disease he cannot heal. Man may not be able to cure me, but God can. 

    I am given my treatment plan which includes Trastuzumab because my cancer is also HER2 positive,  Dr. G  also tells me that due to the indication of metastasis in the bones, I will also receive a regimen of Zometa.  All I can think of is how expensive it is to fight this disease.  As anxiety starts to seep in, I take a deep breath and talk to Jesus.  A Scripture springs to mind, "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding".  I hear you Lord, I say as I resolve to move forward.

      As I sit through my first session of chemotherapy, which takes about 3 hours,  I look around at all the other patients. There are young, old, and everyone in between.  There is so much sickness.  I say a prayer for them.   I see the worried looks that my cousin tries to hide as she sits with me.  She watches every move that the nurses make.  I, constantly, tell her that I am fine, no discomfort, no pain, no nausea, nothing.  She smiles and says, "that's good".  After treatment is over, we return home and I immediately go to sleep, which the nurse had told us was to be expected.
    
  I am no longer surprised to find myself back in the dream again.  The Guardian Gemira continues to tell me  her story as though I never left.  Maybe in the dream world I never did.  Could a part of my subconscious remain here even after I wake??