DermerDays

I have been awaiting the results of my last cancer check-up for over two weeks. The last time I met with my oncologist, I asked for clarification about the method of communication. Thus far, I have received letters within one to two weeks after an exam stating that the results are "negative." Negative is positive here -- that is, it means that there are no detectable cancer cells. At this appointment I inquired as to how I would be notified should any cancer cells show up and Dr. V. assured me that the discovery of cancer cells would warrant a telephone call rather than a letter.

My last appointment was on Wednesday, October 20th. I always have elevated anxiety for at least a week leading up to the appointment and then I'm usually able to put it out of my mind until I receive the letter. For some reason, after this appointment I was not able to put it out of my mind.

Two days after my appointment, Dr. V.'s office called and left me a message. My heart stopped beating and my stomach dropped low in my abdomen as I listened to the message. The secretary was calling to schedule my next appointment, so my initial stab of fear was for naught, but it did not dissipate easily.

For some reason, this particular appointment was especially difficult and I have not been able to put it out of my mind. Somewhat superstitiously, or at least irrationally, I believed that this was a crucial appointment--that this would be the moment of my recurrence. Thus, I have been very anxious, checking the mail with great hope of discovering a letter from the Brigham. Every day I look and there is no letter. I entertain fantasies that my Doctor does not want to tell me the bad news because she has been so forceful in her assurance that I will not recur.

Finally, my dear partner, Milissa offered to call Dr. V.'s office today and check the status of my tests. She found out that the letter got lost somehow--they thought that they had sent it out at the end of October. The results are all negative. I remain, (detectable) cancer free. I cried when she told me the news. I do not have to be re-checked for three and a half months.

Statistical Probability that I will have a recurrence: 1% (reduced from 5% by undergoing brachytherapy) -- the problem is, someone has to comprise that 1%.

Cancer sucks.

Posted by at 1:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I just got back from a trip to Arizona. I was there for Halloween. I went to go 'trick-or-treating' with my niece and nephew. That's big stuff when you are six and three. Anyway, I took my beautiful bike, of course. I love AZ mountain biking. But, as always, there's a hassle when traveling with a bike.

I have this blue hard case that holds my bike (partially disassembled). Here's the annoying part: airlines will charge an extra $100 when you travel with a bike. To me this seems grossly unfair given that golf clubs fly free. So, on my bike case, I wrote in black magic marker "Golf is Fun." I don't think it really fools anyone, though, because at every checkpoint, someone always asks, "that a bike?" as they nod toward the blue case. I wish I could lie. I want to lie. But, always I answer, "yes."

Of late, however, I have developed a system to avoid the charge. I am a member of the International Mountain Biking Association (IMBA). One of the membership benefits is 'bikes fly free' on America West airlines. Caveat: you have to book through a specific travel agent. I have attempted this and found that the fares when booking through this agent far exceed the fare that I can get online, even adding in the $100 bike fee.

So, the last time I flew with my bike, I checked in at the curb and mumbled when the guy asked if it was a bike. It worked. On the way back, a woman questioned me further and I admitted it was a bike but told her I had an IMBA card. It worked! The bike flew for free. So, I thought I had it down.

On this trip, I flew out on Friday evening. I arrived to the airport via Back Bay Coach. I went to check in curbside and the gentlemen at the counter informed me that I could not.

"That a bike?," he asked.

"Yeah," I admitted, "but I have a card."

"You gotta check in inside with the bike."

"But I always check in curbside with the bike," and by always I meant that I had successfully checked in curbside once before.

"Don't know who let you do that, but if you point them out, I will talk to them."

I sadly followed him into the terminal and faced a line of people waiting to check in. I again protested to the gentleman that I had indeed checked in curbside on another occasion. He refused, but said he'd inquire at the main desk. He did and the woman confirmed that I could have checked in out at the curb with my special IMBA card. I felt vindicated and it didn't take too long to get everything check in at the counter.

I found myself in the same situation when I was flying back to boston from Phoenix Sky Harbor. My dad dropped me and my bike off at the curb and the curb check-in guy refused to let me proceed with the outdoor check-in.

"That a bike?"

"Yes."

"You have to check it inside."

Oh, for christ sake. Again, I go through the arduous process of checking in at the counter. I had to wait in line for a kiosk and then make a special trip to the counter to get the bike tagged--sheesh. And, then, they said I could have checked in outside. Maybe they could update the outdoor staff on the situation.

Anyway, I avoided the extra $200 flying charge for my bike and thought I was home 'free.' Not so easy. I got in line for a taxi after claiming my bike and suitcase and the taxi wrangler looked at my big blue case and said, “that a bike?”

“Yes,” I reluctantly admitted.

“You’re gonna need a mini Van. Just stand right there and wait for one.”

I did not bother to argue because it was almost midnight and I was tired. The case fits in a trunk of a cab--I've done it, but so what, I thought--what does it matter. A mini Van cab pulls up and the cabby jumps out and starts loading my stuff. He looks at the case and then looks at me, “that a bike?”

After the cabby loads my bike he gets into the driver's seat and says, "the bike -- that will be an extra $5 for the bike."

Does anyone hassle golf club toting business men like they hassle bike riding women? What am I supposed to do, unload myself and the bike over $5? "Fine," I say. "I’ll just bend over now. Whatever."

By the time I got home, my cab fare was $38. I hate cabs and I hate Boston. The Back Bay Coach is $18 to the airport and they never say a word about the bike. Seriously, how can they charge me extra for a bike? It's the same damn ride, whether I have a bike or not. You know they don’t charge extra for those big, heavy golf club cases. And, my bike is light—lighter than golf clubs. Discrimination. I blame George W. Bush.

Posted by at 3:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)