Mammorgram

The see-your breath temperature is a pleasure after the too hot summer as I wait for the pre-dawn bus to take me into the city. When it comes it is filled with a few businessmen trying to beat colleagues into the office and high school kids on their way to the Lycée founded by Jean Calvin 500+ years ago.

The curriculum is modernized from the old Latin, Greek, Bible and Hebrew of Calvin’s time. One sun-bleached blond teenager sits in the aisle, her notebook on her lap finishing her math homework by copying answers from long exercises onto a single sheet. I’m always impressed by the notebook system of French schools and how neat the work is.

The lake is changing colour from dark gray to light gray as the bus passes it. The Jet d’Eau is not on yet.

I’ve allowed time to try a Pumpkin Spice Latté and pumpkin muffin at Starbucks before my appointment. I read the Tribune de Genève, finding the plans to substitute train service in some areas with buses and the story of a robber who dressed as a bank employee complete with badge allowing him code access, interesting.

“24 juillet 1942” I tell the receptionist at La Maternité. I know the drill. I’m a birthdate more than a patient.

“Follow the yellow line, first floor.” She hands me a sheet of labels coded with my medical history.

I don’t have long to wait. 

“Pourquoi six mois?” The technician asks after telling me to strip to the waist.

I tell her that I’m not taking the after-cancer medication, which is why I allow my breasts to be pressed into rectangles twice a year as a compromise. I don’t regret my decision. My joints no longer ache and morning sicknesses at my age was unwelcomed. The survival stats with my type of cancer, my stage, my treatment were not that different for those that followed the plan and those that did not.

The pressing over the doctor tells me I’m clean. Although I had a thermographie last month telling me the same thing, I’m relieved. A routine worry niggles at strange times.

On the way home I get off a couple of stops before mine to walk by the vineyards and watch the pickers with their metal baskets on their backs. The vendage is far from completed with many of the vines still heavy with grapes. A truck heaped to the brim with purple fruit is parked to the side and one of the pickers adds his bounty to the pile.

The lake is now in full colour. The leaves are yellowing, not the brilliant colours of my native New England but beautiful.

It is 10:45 and each moment of my morning has been filled with tiny delights and I’m so grateful for the Swiss medical system. I’m so grateful for being alive and able to be surrounded by so many sensations.

I made the decision as of February 1 not to take the medication they told me to take for five years. Early mornings were like being newly pregnant, my joints ached and I was losing my hair. Dr. Tran had shown me the stats for women with my type of cancer at my age with my treatment and the difference in survival rates were not huge. People in my age group are dying of all sorts of things including being in my age group. The alternative she said was Avastin. I wasn't sure. I have a great disregard for medicine in general and wish doctors would look more into the tests before prescribing including the parameters of the tests and who would pay for them. For new drugs it is impossible to know the long term effects, but at 69 and 3/4s I'm not worried about what the drug will do 30 years from now. I took the prescription and didn't fill it. It was great feeling normal again. I'm no fan of the FDA. Afterall they are funded by the companies whose products they test which is a major conflict of interest. Last November they stopped recommending Avastin for breast cancer.

The waiting room at la materinité

This is the waiting room at HUG, La Maternité where my oncologist is. She said I was doing well, gave me nine PT treatments, and said she'd see me in February. I then saw Dr. L. my radiologist who said I didn't need to see him again unless I needed him. I then went off to Zurich and my belly dancing lesson.

Breast brushings and other parts of my day

“Es it haf you eated or eaten?” The woman about to draw my blood wanted an English lesion along with the blood. She gave the best needle I’ve ever had… “Regardez-vous les montains. Take a breath, let it out.” I never felt the needle go in. When I told her how good she was, she pumped her arms and said “Oui.” Her brother-in-law is from “Breeten.” We both loved each others accents.

Back to the waiting room, where an elderly Greek woman, raised in Alexandria and now living in Geneva and I chatted.S he’d worked at the hospital for 36 years and was there to check her markers for ovarian cancer. We both agreed how lucky we were to be treated there.
Then Dr. Klug appeared. He was the one who had shocked me with and without my left hand in ice water for a pain test. He had a follow up survey and needed to do a brief exam which involved running first a tiny paint brush and the point of a safety pin over my cancer scar. Sounds kinda perverted doesn’t it. He was surprised I remembered his Van Gogh (and I made sure I said it Gawk no Go) poster and mouse pad.

I asked him how the study was going and he said the data was way off all the literature. The patients were experiencing very little pain and now they needed to know why.
Finally I got to see De El H, for the last time because she’s returning to Morocco. All was normal in all tests and the anti cancer pill has caused no side effects.

I’m doctor free inshallah until Nov. 7 for a control.

I've started

It has been a week that I've been taking the anti-hormone medication prescribed for the next five years to discourage any cells that might think a hormone is yummy and want to become a renegade.

I wasn't happy about taking another medication. I don't trust any pharmaceutical company, but my doctor did know the studies and did know that other countries has approved it beside the corrupt FDA. My gynie also liked it and he goes natural whenever he can. As he said, try it and see.

I can happily report my arms have not fallen off yet, I'm not hiding under my bed with depression. So far so good.

Celebration Day

My last nuking and not only did I get a ride, but in a Mercedes wit the top down.

I gave the chocolates to the team, along with a note in French thanking them for making a difficult time less difficult. It was true, there smiles, their short conversations, did make from nice memories. In a way I'll miss them, as one would miss people who come into your life for a short, intense time.

FH said to be sure and stop by when I have my controls.

When I stopped at the bank, I told my favourite teller, the one who has her nails done in exotic designs, that it was a Jour de Celebration and why. She immediately found a present, a black bag, with a silver pocketbook holder to attach to tables.

Then my driver, who was a friend of a friend really, but with a lovely sense of humour to a point we giggle coming and going, had a token gift for me.

It's over...27 nukings, six appointments with the radiologist. I get these precocious hours back to do other things.

The cancer?

Well just in case, I start with the golden globules, the pills I'm to take daily for five years? Why? The cost and once again I'm so grateful for the Swiss system.

Adding up my costs for all the surgeries,t h bills, the tests and the exams, they are so tiny in comparison what I would have been charged in the US.

Truly a celebration day.

DL

Good news

I met with the doctor about the Thermographie IN ENGLISH!

Among other things he gave me a copy of them. All but my right breast is shown in colours resembling the earth shot from space. My right breast adds hot lava to the picture.

"Not to worry," he says. "That is consistent with the radiotherapie. However, it gives us a good baseline when we redo it in the next six months and in the future.

This doctor was probably in his sixties, grey haired with a smile that went all the way from his chin into his hairline. He recommended certain diet and anti-cancer books. Then he said, "I see you are a writer." We talked about my books.

His family is multi-lingual: English, French, Italian.

I'm relieved that things are okay now and we've a plan to make sure they are okay in the future.