Today I saw the surgeon. The very nice man who rearranged my digestive system. I've been seeing him every three months for the past two years. With the exception of a few times early on in the first year when there was a glitch or two that required more frequent seeing, or on his part, looking. Everything is pretty much as it was before the cancer was removed, along with some of my original parts. At this point, all test results - CT scans and blood work - show that there has been no recurrence. This is, of course, good news. And while I would wish that some of my issues would go away, I am required to take the doctor's optimism at face value, and believe that I can continue to live a good life.
So I left his office with instructions to increase some of my medication, get a repeat blood test to check for carcinogenic embryonic antigens (CEA), and a return appointment in six months. Yep, six months. It seems that reaching two years without a recurrence is a big deal and we can extend the time between appointments.
That leaves the oncologist, the cardiologist, Mammogramist (?), and of course, my primary care physician. Not to mention the G.I. Guy who does the colonoscopy. With all these professionals taking care of my health, I should live forever. As if.
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