We have a plan!

Well, at least we have a "Plan A".  "Plan B" will come when I go to the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance next Friday to get their opinion.  If Plan B equals Plan A then at least I know I'm headed down the right path.
I'm writing this post from a beautiful villa in Temecula, California... overlooking the vineyards of the Temecula Valley.  Neil and I stole away for a couple days of sunshine and wine tasting before Cancer Battle Michele begins.  This place is unbelievable and I can't wait to begin exploring tomorrow.  But first, a look back at the week...

Monday started with a visit to the Bellingham Cancer Center and a meet and greet with Dr. Taylor - a Radiation Oncologist.  Nice guy... very much into the technology of it all.  Reminded me of one of our attendees!  Treatment with him will be Monday thru Friday for 7 to 8 weeks.  Side effects are a nice sunburn if I tend to burn easily.  Dude -- I'm Irish.  Of course I burn easily!  But both he and all of the very nice nurses tell me... see you after chemo!  oh goodie.
Tuesday night was the Past Commodore's dinner at the yacht club.  An opportunity to don our blue blazers and wish a Merry Christmas to some fellow Past Commodores.  There are many 'how are you feeling?' and quite a few hugs.. all in all, a very nice night.
Wednesday morning was the dreaded meeting with 'Dr. Chemo' - a.k.a. Dr. Kominsky.  A guy that shares my same birthday, but I think I'm about 10 years OLDER than he is.  Good grief.  At least he's easy on the eyes (:-)) because what he's saying is stuff I really do not want to hear.  The 'good news' is that my case is pretty cut-and-dried. No scratching of the head - he's seen this a thousand times before and here's the prescribed plan. A + B + C and Presto!  You're all better.
The 'bad news' is that to get to the 'Presto!' part of the equation means 5 months of chemo followed by a bit of rest to let my white blood cells recover a bit and then back to Mr. Radiation for his 8 weeks of fun, followed by 5 years of hormone treatment (take a pill every day).  Jeez-us - are you serious?  Mr. Easy-on-the-Eyes then runs down the lovely list of side effects and possible life threatening situations and then leans back and says "any questions?". Um... 'why me?'
Probably looking like a deer staring down the sights of a rifle, Neil and I both mumble 'not right now' and we're handed off to a poor lady who has the wonderful job of scheduling a bunch of tests that Dr. Chemo wants before we begin the treatment.... and an 'infusion nurse' pops in to see when I'd like to start the treatments, what day is best, what time of day?  Um... never?
We leave the Cancer Center with a laundry list of appointments for next week - a 'MUGA' test on Tuesday (to test my heart function) followed by a 'Chemo 101' class taught by the Infusion Nurse.  Wednesday is the PET/CT scan.  Thursday I meet back up with my surgeon, Dr. Kaufman to go over the proposed treatment plan, and then Friday I spend the day with the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance folks.  Ai-yi-yi.  Here we go.
Neil and I enjoy a nice lunch and try to absorb all that has just happened.  It's hard.  The tears are close to the surface for both of us.  But we smile and say "we'll beat this".
I return to the office and I'm in a fog.  I put my head down and just concentrate on work.  Jeff takes me for a walk and asks about my morning.  My hands are stuffed into my pockets and they are  each clutching a wod of tissue... it is so hard to not stop walking and just cry.  The talking is good though and I even manage to laugh a bit.  That was what I needed.
I finally wrap up the day and head for home... Neil and the dogs are waiting for me and Michele and Bart are coming over.  It's easier now to relay the day's adventures and we enjoy a wonderful meal with dear friends.
Michele and Bart and Abby the Dog head for home and Neil and I clean up the kitchen.  At one point we stop what we're doing and just hug each other... and the tears and sobs begin.  For Neil, it's sadness over what I have to go thru and him wishing he could take my place.  For me, it's just fear and a 'dammit, why me?'.  The tears are cleansing though and we both head upstairs and fall into bed exhausted.