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Seidman Cancer Center\ Orange Village, Ohio |
On April 8 I had an appointment up at Seidman Cancer Center for a bone scan—and for some blood draws. My oncologist checks my PSA every month, and I’ve been getting bone scans a couple of times a year to try to determine how much the cancer has progressed. (It began in my prostate, has metastasized into my bones.)
But on April 8 I was frightened—not by the cancer (which is frightening enough) but by COVID-19. I was afraid to go to a medical facility (there’s not just a cancer center in the building) where there might be people who are carrying and/or suffering from the virus. Both Joyce and I are vulnerable enough without dancing in the living room of the virus.
About a week ahead of my appointment I started calling the center—but could not reach a human being (lots of other people were changing appointments, I’m sure). It took several days before I actually reached a nurse.
I told her of my fears—especially the bone scan, which requires a couple of steps: (1) an injection of radioactive material, (2) a two-hour wait for the stuff to circulate through me, (3) a return for the scan.
Ordinarily on scan-days, Joyce and I would go sit in a coffee shop somewhere. But by April 8, things were shutting down. Nothing open. There was no way I was going to sit in the waiting room for that long—or out in the car. So I canceled the appointment and would reschedule later.
The nurse also told me I did need to come in for my quarterly Trelstar injection—the testosterone-inhibitor that denies the cancer the “food” it wants.
That appointment is on Wednesday, the 22nd. Today.
But the nurse also told me one other thing that stunned me: My oncologist (with whom I’ve been for a half-dozen years or so) is leaving University Hospitals and moving out of the area. Now what? I was supposed to see him today, as well.
A nurse left voice-mail for me on the 20th, telling me that I would not be seeing him—he was in the process of clearing out. But I still must go in for the Trelstar. They would call back with further instructions.
So ... that’s where I am right now. About 9:15 we will head up to Seidman. When we arrive, I will go in; Joyce will wait in the car. I’ll get the shot—and scurry home.
Or that is my hope.
After I get home, I will complete this post, letting you know how it went.
10:30 a.m.
We just got back from Seidman--and this was certainly the quickest trip in my entire Seidman history. I was not at all looking forward to it--to being in a medical facility in Pandemic Time--but I had to go to get the quarterly injection that has been prolonging my life.
We pulled up right in front, and I went through the doors (automatic) and met two masked nurses (I, too, was masked), who asked me some questions about my health and took my temperature with some sort of laser-looking device that would have driven a cat mad. (It didn't touch me--just a red dot: Was I being measured? Or assassinated?)
Into the waiting room I went, and no one was there but the two receptionists, who were now behind solid glass. They took my info, told me to sit, and I did.
A few moments later an aide came for me--took my temp again and my BP (which was higher than usual--hmmm, wonder why?), then told me to wait for the Nurse with the Syringe.
Which I did.
Turns out, she lives in Reminderville and has a seventh grader at Harmon School, where I taught for about 30 years!
No trouble with the shot (she was good), then I washed up, called Joyce (who'd stayed in the car), and she drove from the lot to pick me up, and off we zoomed home. Before I left each encounter, though, I made sure I thanked all the health-care workers for what they were doing. I was afraid to come in for a swift appointment; they are there all day.
I was surprised at the traffic, both on I-271 and on Ohio 91 (our two main roads): It didn't seem all that reduced to me--nor did some of the drivers seem to have ... improved ... since last I saw them. Some bizarre moves by some of them.
Anyway, we're back safely; we've scrub-a-dub-dubbed; we're back at work.
By the way, I have not still not heard who my next oncologist will be. So I've got to call down there this afternoon and try to find out. (None of the folks I dealt with knew.)
I know that medical professionals have some different priorities right now, but I do need to know who will be guiding my treatment(s) from now on.
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