Can't They Feign Interest?

This photo is of the only thing that really put a smile on my face today. I'm down. It's been a long time since I've felt this sad.

Truth be told, in my doctor appointments yesterday, I didn't even whisper a word of my "alternative" protocol. I didn't argue, or give off any sort of attitude. I listened to what they had to say, and asked a few questions. They did not care that I haven't had a seizure in over 5.5 months, they want me on medication. They did not care that my brain tumor had scanned as "stable." They did not smile, they did not encourage. I'm now sure that it must say, "stubborn cuss" in my file because I have refused seizure medicine, and I have refused radiation. In my main meeting I told the oncologist that I'm not necessarily against seizure medicine, or radiation, I just don't feel like it's necessary at this time. He was not amused, and strongly disagreed with my opinion. The doctors do not believe in little successes in my situation. They didn't care that I had been seizure free for almost half a year, or that my tumor has not grown in the past three months. How is that? How can they not care? Or even feign interest? How can they look at me, and handle me in such a way? They see me as a terminally patient that is going to die. How can they not throw me a bone and smile at the little victories?! They look at me and they see a dying girl, when no one else in the world sees me that way. They're looking at statistics, not at me, and that makes me frustrated. They need to look at ME, at my specific situation. I feel like the kid in class that causes too much trouble, so the teacher is seating me in the back and doesn't even care if I learn anything - I'll just be bumped up to the next grade for the next teacher to deal with it, or I'll "graduate" to death.

Crushing Dreams

The most frustrating thing about my doctors, is that they are truly waiting for me to die. They don't believe that there's anything that can be done to extend my life (and yet they stiiiiill want to radiate). When we discussed the lack of change in tumor size from October 25th, and January 13th, the doctors said it didn't matter. They care about the big picture. I understand that they're trained to compile the chronological MRI scans to review and observe changes, but when I held the tumor at bay for three months I didn't get a "Woop woop!" Nor did I get a, "Huh. Interesting!" Nothing. They said it didn't matter. Really? I would have appreciated a small smile, or a, "That's great! Not what we typically see here, and you can't extrapolate that to anything one way or another, but heck it's better than the opposite." It's all always so negative. They don't believe in me, they don't believe in us collectively as brain cancer fighters. I've shopped for oncologists, trying to find a better fit, but to no avail. The truth is that according to modern medicine, I'm supposed to continuously get worse as the tumor grows. I'm supposed to progressively lose my speech, my cognitive skills, my independence, my motor skills, my dexterity, my body will start falling apart, echk...everything. I'm supposed to be a good girl, a model patient, and to just give in to whatever my doctors recommend, and succumb to this cancer, and I can see how people do. When you're surrounded by professionals who handle your care, and they don't believe in you, it's hard to believe in yourself.

It is true, the brain tumor did not grow in the time period from October 25 to January 13, the doctors verified that fact today in our appointment. It's amazing how Danny, my parents and I, find this astounding fact to be something to rejoice in, and yet the doctors completely blow it off. It's sad, really. We should be jumping up and down, using this momentum to catapult us to the next phase of our Adios Hermie mission. But somehow, instead, I just feel defeated, and wiped out. I don't cry very often, probably only once every three months, but I can feel a swelling of emotion.

It was a long day of appointments, and there was a lot of information. The main point is that my oncologists, and all of my doctors for that matter, are in the business of crushing dreams. They all expect me to die, it's in their words, and worst of all in their eyes. My dream is to live, and today they just peed on that.